Tentative, I step closer and let my hand feel the weathered wood, wet from last night's rain, of that Cross that grows out of the earth back here. An Old Rugged Cross.
Fingertips brush the moss that clings to the grooved grain, new life out of that which died. Without fanfare, velvet moss pulls up over the crossbeam's nakedness. It's just two lengths of lumber. tree long dead, I know, but where it takes me, to the intersection of history, of humanity and its Maker, of my sin and His mercy, that is the holiness that hushes me, bringing me low.
I press my forehead against the wood, leaning, It holds. And that verse from past week's memory work slips up unannounced,
"In this the love of God was manifested toward us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world that we might live through Him" (1 John 4:9 NKJV).
Daily, I count gifts, numbering how He loves, and yet it's here at the Cross He drives the stake into the ground, nails His devotion over humanity: "In this the love of God was manifested toward us ...."
The common blessings I experience daily only extend the Crossbeam of Calvary into my everyday, leading me along the Love that supports the cosmos.
I inhale this place. Today, to live through Him, on this, the beam of blessing unending.