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 crossthat 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?

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