The Wooden Cross

After both of my parents died young from cancer and I watched my grandparents fight the disease, I developed a strong fear of cancer. I have often felt it stalking me like a grizzly bear.

A few years ago, some preliminary test results scared me into thinking cancer had come for me. The day I got the results I went to my farm and walked the fields, orchards, and woods, talking with God. I poured out my heart, confessed my fears, vented my anger, and asked for help. On my way home, I stopped at a convenience store. I got a phone call while walking in and sat on the wooden bench out front. When I placed my arm on the armrest, my hand landed on a pocket-sized wooden cross.

I carried that cross in my pocket daily over the following months as I endured a biopsy and the agonizing wait for results. Whenever I reached into my pocket to hold the cross I felt God’s reassurance that no matter what happened, it would be okay because God was with me. When I learned the results were negative, I went and put the cross back where I had found it, so it could reassure someone else of God’s grace.