Cross In My Window: The Cross on the Hill

After returning home from the Nazarene District Women’s Retreat back in late October 2015, I walked along the driveway with my dog, Bailey, talking to God about the trip and asking Him to keep me focused on Him so that I would not loose what I found during the retreat.

As I stared up at the cloudless fall sky, the bright, late afternoon sun shone on my face, blinding my eyes and warming my heart. I thought of the women who raised their hands up in worship. I watched them that final morning of the retreat. It was like they were little girls staring up at their daddy, holding their arms high up to him, waiting for him to pick them up and embrace them. That image of childlike adoration warmed my heart.

I thought about myself, the silent worshipper, the one who internalizes every word and thought and feeling. For me, worship is a silent and private matter. Too much noise and distraction pulls me away from the presence of my Father.

As I walked up the driveway back toward the house, with the sun rays reaching out to me, I lifted my head and turned my cheek to receive its warm kiss. The gesture reminded me of my little four-legged baby girl, Bailey, and how she closes her eyes and offers me her cheek to kiss. It is a tender moment, so precious to me. That same tenderness I share with my Father. This thought, too, warms my heart.

When I opened my eyes, I turned my head to look behind me. I thought about the “cemetery gate” (reference to Susie Sullenberg’s Saturday sermon) and how I was now standing just outside of the gate. “Help me keep my focus on You, Father, so that I keep walking forward and do not turn back.”

For years, I felt like I was standing and walking against a brick wall. I desperately wanted to move past it and knew there was a window or a door nearby, but I did not know how to get to it. I kept staring at the wall, trying over and over again to walk through it, but failed each time.

I have heard so many times about the difference between being saved and being sanctified. I understood the difference and I believe I have experienced both, but I was still stuck. I was not where I wanted to be nor where I knew God wanted me to be. But how do I get there? HOW? My heart was willing, but my flesh was weak. I just knew, if someone could explain the how to me in practical terms, I would do it gladly and finally be rid of that brick wall.

On Halloween night, during a comical lesson about goblins and Jack and the Beanstalk, the wall crumbled. He called me. “Now is the time. Not tomorrow. There is no tomorrow. Now.”

“BUT HOW!?!?” my heart cried out. I felt the desperation building up inside me. I hung on to Susie’s every word, waiting to for the step by step instructions. “God does not want to be number one in your life, He wants to BE your life.”

“BUT HOW???” I silently screamed to both Susie and Jesus. “Give my life to you? I’ve done that. Prayer? I’ve done that!”

I hate to show emotion in public, even in a setting like this, but I could not stop it. The desperation choked me like never before. “HOWWWW????” My analytical mind needed clarification.

I wrote my secret shame, the shackles keeping me imprisoned by the Legion, on my little index card. I stood and got in line to take my card and drop it in the makeshift coffin. I walked like a zombie, following the herd, yet still struggling to make sense out of the how and what was now going on inside me.

Just before I reached the first step. I felt a force pull me out of line and onto my knees. “Not yet,” He said. “We are not done here.”

I had not fully surrendered. I wept. I asked Him to take it, all of it. I told Him I knew I was unable to do it on my own. I have tried and failed too many times to count. I knew He needed to take it, but I didn’t know what exactly that meant or what that would look like. What will happen tomorrow or the next day when temptation comes back because it will.

But something miraculous happened on that step on my knees, feet away from the coffin. The wall fell. I still cannot explain why or how. I understand it was God, but that is all I know. I suppose that is all I need to know.

As I walked up my driveway after returning home from that glorious retreat, visualizing the gate from which I had just emerged, another image entered my mind; the cross on the hill. It was not just any cross and it was not just any hill.

Before I got sick with cancer, I spent one week every October at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Trappist, Kentucky. After a day or two of detoxing from the world, I took a walk in the woods. Since I thrive on solitude, I often veered off the man made path. The last year I went was no different. That year was harder than ever before, though. My divorce was not yet final and I was going through extreme grief over what should have been and what was. I was sick, feeling very fatigued and sleeping most of the time. I was over a year away from finding out that it was cancer that caused me to be so sick.

I had spent most of my time at Gethsemani in my room sleeping. I was determined, though, to have my time in the woods with God before I left. These were always special occasions. God never failed to meet me and walk with me and teach me in those woods. We walked hand in hand and talked as old friends. I coveted these moments.

As I usually did, I veered off the trail. Once I began feeling too fatigued and noticed the sun fading, I headed back for the path, but got lost. The woods crowded deeper and higher around me, blocking out the sun. Darkness consumed me and I grew afraid.

After a short prayer, I saw a ray of sunlight and followed the light. I thought the light was directing me away from where the path should be, but something about that light filled me with peace and I felt safe in its presence.

After some time, I ended up at the top of the hill. The light rested on a cross. I knew God led me there. I stood in front of the cross and took it all in, everything that lead me to this spot. I was in awe.

Then, I looked up past the cross. From this spot on the top of the hill, I could see everything below so clearly. I saw the dark woods where I had come from and wondered how I ever made it through that. The light.

I saw the steeple from the abbey, where I had come from and where I needed to return.

I saw a clear field below and an old gravel road leading back to the abbey. I saw my way “home.”

After a few moments sitting on the bench in front of the cross taking it all in, I made my way down a narrow path to the open field below. When I got to the dirt road, God told me to stop and look behind me. I did.

“Remember this moment,” He told me. “Remember everything I have shown you. That dark field is your life right now. I know you are afraid. I know you feel like you will never get out of the woods. But, just like in those woods, keep your eyes on Me. When you get discouraged and think you will never get out of the darkness, focus on Me. I will lead you. You may not know where you are going. Trust Me. Follow Me.

“Now look at that spot where you exited the woods and look at the clearing all around you. Remember the peace you feel right now, safe and sure of your path. Just as I led you out of the darkness of the woods, I will lead you out of the darkness of your life.

“Now, look up. See the cross on the top of the hill? Look at how it rises above the trees and how the light shines upon it. That is Me. I am there. I can see you in the woods and I can see you in the open field. Follow My light and you will never be led astray. I will always be right here, and right here, and right here. And right here and here and here and here.”

As He said each “right here,” He revealed His image in the woods, on the hill, at the spot where I walked out of the woods, out in the open field, directly in front of me, directly behind me, to my right, and to my left. He took my hand in His and we walked, hand in hand, back to the abbey.

My lesson that year was trust, something I struggled with after the divorce. Something, I admit, I still struggle with today.

On that spot on my driveway, He told me to look behind me. I turned and looked. I saw those woods and that cross in the distance, on top of the hill.

“I told you I would lead you out.”