I was driving too fast on the interstate in the middle of the night to race my daughter the three hours to Children’s Hospital in Little Rock. (Unbelievably, they were out of ambulances in the tri-county area.) About ten minutes after turning east on I-40, I saw a light in the sky ahead, high enough that it clearly was not on the ground, but still right there in front of me. The light quickly took the shape of a cross, an unexpected but pleasant surprise.
For several minutes, the cross shone in the sky in front of us, guiding our way on our frightening errand. The lighted symbol gave me instant peace as I drove through the dark night, long after we passed the hill on which it was perched. I wondered who constructed it: did they know how much it would mean one day to at least one traveler in need of comforting? That power has always been the beauty of this holy symbol, instead of the horror which it should have been. The cross saves and comforts those who are willing to turn toward it; it has always required us to make the first move. But that night, it gave without expecting anything in return except to appreciate the gift it represents.
“The Christian religion, though scattered and abroad, will, in the end, gather itself together at the foot of the cross.” –Johann Wolfgang von Goethe