The Cross


The Cross stands alone at the top of the hill

And in my dream, it is not made of wood

But it is white, alabaster or perhaps marble

It stands tall, high as a skyscraper

With arms spread to embrace the entire world.

There is a light shining from the Cross

A bright light that reaches out from every angle,

And every side of the Cross

And I know that the light is shining so that all

The world can see it.

The Cross beckons us

“Come stand with Me”

But the message it sends is also

A last call.

And people are seeing the Light

They are hearing the message.

From their houses and from the fields

They start on the road to the Cross.

I am on that road

With many of my loved ones.

But there are also ones that are not there

And I cry out, “Wait, Lord, please touch their hearts, now”

“Give them another chance”

And some more come

But others do not.

A sense of urgency overtakes the

Mass of people

We must reach the Cross

It is our only hope for salvation,

For peace in the days to come.

But no one is fighting

There is no jostling for position

Or shoving to gain the lead.

Instead, everyone helps everyone else

The weak lean on the strong

And everyone carries the young.

The road is not smooth

It is rough, tangled with weeds

Strewn with rocks

Anything to slow us down or

Even halt our progression.

And, some fail.

The Cross stands alone at the top of the hill.

Will you come?

Author: Susan Mouw Copyright: 6/19/98


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