Occasional thoughts from a young adult reveling in the messiness of life.
As I was packing for a recent trip, I found a necklace in my jewelry box that I had long since forgotten about. Tucked in the corner of the bottom drawer was a blue and green beaded necklace with a cross pendant that I made in 5th or 6th grade. I made many things as a child, but this was different:
It would be the only cross I would own until after grad school.
I remember that when I began making it, I didn’t have all of the materials I needed–just a couple of packs of beads. But I felt that I somehow needed it, so I scoured the house for anything that would suffice.
This was weird, particularly because my family had stopped going to church many years before.
I ended up stripping the paper off of two twist ties from the kitchen to make the cross. The wire was flimsy, and the crossbar wouldn’t quite stay horizontal. But it was a cross, and it was mine.
Of course, I didn’t “get” what the cross stood for, and the one time that I wore it to school, I hid it under my shirt because I was embarrassed. I’m not sure what embarrassed me more: not going to church or not having a “real” cross.
However, that’s less the point. In looking at that cross now and thinking back to that time in my life, I’m simply in awe. That cross is a tangible sign of the first time I responded to a God that I never really knew back then.
Ever since I found that necklace a few weeks ago, I’ve kept it on the dresser in plain sight. That flimsy little thing—which has made it through all 12 moves I’ve made across three cities—reminds me that although I wasn’t “with God” all those years, He was certainly with me.
No matter how frail or flimsy our faith may be at times, His love for us endures.