January 2014

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Last month, a few days before Christmas, there was a water leak somewhere in the house. Maintenance Guy decided he needed to break through the wall in my room to see if a bathtub pipe was involved. So he moved my furniture to get to his point of entry. Of course, I was left with the mess Maintenance Guy made. And the leak had not one damned thing to do with my bathtub.

One aspect of the mess was the furniture. He had moved the television and its table, and in the process of doing so had knocked a cross off the tv. I missed it as soon as I got home. It's one of those often referred to as pocket crosses. Churches often give them to parishioners, with the intention that the recipients keep the crosses in their pockets.

I had been given this cross in late 1990, when my mother was heading into surgery after her first stroke. The dear friend who gave it to me had received it from a former pastor of our church, and thought I needed it more than she did. So I kept it in a coat pocket. Until the coat needed washing, and I put the cross on the tv for safekeeping. I hadn't put it back in the pocket, mainly because I liked being able to see it. Lots of memories and several layers of love in it.

I searched for the cross for several days. I finally decided to stop, because I was pretty sure it was still in this room and I have often had good luck finding things after I quit searching. But I was still angry that the man had knocked it into some hiding place.

Yesterday when I came home from work I had a lot of stuff in my totebag, and knocked into a small container on the table by the door. When I leaned over to straighten it, something shiny caught my eye. Yes, it was the cross. I almost cried when I saw it.

It is now safely in a coat pocket.