As I'm putting things away, emptying boxes, etc, I run across a large wooden cross (14" X 6") with Jesus nailed to it. Janet gave it to me 37 years ago. You may have heard me talk about Janet; my best friend growing up who's now passed. Her Uncle John was a Catholic Priest and had many beautiful crosses and rosaries in his sparse, simple bedroom upstairs at her old stately house.

I haven't always kept this sacred cross on display. In fact, it was in a drawer for the first 10 years or so. Then, as tragedy crossed my path growing up, I'd fetch the cross in hopes of any type of prayer miracle, hold it, looking for some spiritual guidance in my mixed up life. And with Janet now passed, it's now a strange connection to her.

Today I pull it out of a box and reminisce about it's origin and wonder about the story it could tell before it came into my life. It gains more prominence the longer I have it and is as much a part of my home as my bed or stove. Essential. Necessary. And as soon as I find the perfect spot in my newly moved into home, back up in very prominent position it'll go.