It is bedtime. I am tired and ready for Oliver to be fast asleep already. The problem is he had a nap. When he takes a nap he cannot fall asleep at night––easily that is. My tired self has to put in the extra effort to get him to bed. I read him books, I lay with him, and then I leave knowing he will get up again.
Minutes later he is on my lap in the family room. I let him sit with me for a while but then try again before I fall asleep myself. I carry Oliver into his room and then turn the light off. As I am putting him in his bed, he points to his window and says, “Look Mommy, there’s a cross. When you turn the light off it makes a cross.” Sure enough there it is. The outline from his window frame shows through his curtain as a large perfect cross.
Oliver then says, “Mommy, Jesus got sick on that cross.” He places his sweet little head on his pillow and rolls over to face his wall.
I sit on the edge of his bed staring at the ‘cross’ my two (almost 3) year old pointed out to me. I don’t know how long I sit there in awe. I keep thinking, because of that cross…that cross means everything…that cross…until Oliver rolls over, looks at me and says, “You can go now, Mommy.”
I chuckle and leave his room but my thoughts of that cross linger. That cross…what else is there to say?