Christian Living

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It started with a prayer, really. In early 2006, I got up one morning and was reading Proverbs when I suddenly started to think about what a bad time I was having with my divorce. I missed my kids, my dog, the cats, and even my soon-to-be-ex-wife. I was sad and angry and ridden with guilt and pain. I was in full self-pity mode, and I knew that if my wife had called me right then, I would have argued with her about stupid things that made no difference - and I would have ended up feeling even worse than before. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. I wanted to grieve but I couldn't. I just couldn't seem to break the barrier of emotion that kept me from functioning. I even contemplated calling in sick to work. I was, to put it shortly, in a serious funk.

So I got up and went through the motions of getting ready for work: shave, shower, make a bag lunch, brush my teeth, get on my shirt, tie, shoes, then grab my coffee and head out the door. Just a few blocks from the final turn for the mall where I work, I heard a song on the radio that wrenched at my soul. Suddenly, the ache bound up in my heart that morning was released, and something occurred to me: With all the weight I felt I carried, how small my burden was next to Christ's! I started weeping as I drove down the road. All that pent-up emotion poured forth in racking sobs and a stream of tears. I pulled over and sat for a minute to let it all out.

"Thank you, Lord," I said aloud. "I can bear my little burden now." Then a thought popped into my head, and I pictured Christ's pain as He carried the Cross up to Golgotha.

I softly prayed, "Put your burden on me, Lord. Let me carry it a while for you."

I don't know why I said it. I'm not sure where that thought came from, but there it was. I knew I was almost two millennia too late, but I felt right then as if I owed Jesus a debt that I wanted to repay right away. Through His endless love He had lifted the burden from my heart, and His love filled me with such strength and confidence, I felt as if I could face that or any other day with nary a thought for my little burdens. I wanted to carry that cross for Him, even if only for a while.

To carry the Cross... Hmmm... It wasn't until later in the day that I got the idea. Normally I carry in my pocket a little aluminum cross made for me by a friend in seventh grade. Sometimes I reach into my pocket and pull that cross out and rub it like a worry stone, turning it this way and that as I mull over a problem or say a prayer. What if I wasn't carrying it in my POCKET but in my HAND all the time? What if I put that cross in my hand and never set it down for the whole day? How would carrying that cross change the way I worked and did things throughout the day? And that's how the idea was born.

The next morning I got up and did my morning reading, and then I read some of the Gospel of Luke. In Jesus' own words:

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Luke 9:23-24
23 Then He said to them all, "If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. 24 For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it."
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I thought about the idea of carrying that cross. I sat on my bed and pulled my little cross out of the jeans I'd worn the night before, holding it in my left hand, marveling at how small it seemed now compared to when I'd received it thirty years ago. It was just 2½" tall and 1¼" wide, imperfectly cast in aluminum. I curled my pinky and ring-finger around it and turned my hand over. I figured I could handle a day like that. After all, haven't we all had a day when we've had a bandage on a finger? When we do, we favor that finger all day, avoiding pressing too hard on it or getting the bandage wet. We end up doing a lot of things one-handed simply to avoid the pain of touching that wound. Of course, when you've got a cut, you have no choice about how to handle your wounded finger. But I had decided to keep this little cross in my hand the whole day, voluntarily never putting it down or away. I did have a choice, and I chose to carry the cross.

Ironing my work shirt was no problem, but shaving was interesting, as was getting a shower. I found I simply couldn't flatten my hand without losing my grip on the cross. Making coffee, eating breakfast, and even making my lunch were still no problem. Then I got in the car to drive to work: not too difficult with three fingers holding the wheel while I shifted. I had done similar steering with a cheeseburger in my hand, so the little cross was no big deal.

The first real test of the day was at work, when a customer wanted me to take a framed art print off the upper part of the wall. I climbed the ladder and reached for the print. I grabbed the left side with three fingers and held it as tightly as I could, for fear I'd lose my grip. I got it down with no problem. I gestured with my hands as I talked to the customer, sometimes pointing out a feature of the artwork with my left hand. The cross was in my hand the whole time. They bought the print.

Late in the afternoon, my hand started to cramp and sweat. I began to reflexively open and close the fingers of my left hand, shifting the cross from forefingers to pinky and back again as I tried to loosen up the muscles. I could also feel a slight cramp in my left wrist as I did inventory paperwork that afternoon. Then another customer bought a very large art print and I accepted the challenge of wrapping it in brown paper and plastic, to protect it from the rain we had that day. Manhandling the huge roll of paper into position was tough, since I really couldn't really lift it with both hands. Handling the four-foot-long print wasn't too bad, but the cramping almost made me lose my grip as I taped the paper down. By the time I got home that evening I felt like my pinky and ring finger were going to be permanently curled into that position.

I was honestly surprised that no one noticed that I was carrying something in my hand the whole day. Most folks came into contact with me only briefly, and they probably thought I was carrying a small tool or a pen or something. But my coworker Jen must have noticed the way I held my hand and worked, and yet she never said a word. I also ran into a friend from my church, but we only spoke for a few minutes and then he and his wife went off to see a film. I was prepared to tell people what I was doing if they asked, but no one ever did. I just kept my little exercise to myself, all the while thinking of how carrying this little cross changed the way I did things that day.

Many, many times I was tempted to put that cross down, to put it back into my pocket, to make it easier to do some of the things that were made harder. But I had committed to carrying that cross, and so I stuck it out. You know what I found out? It really didn't change things much, and I was still able to do my job just fine. And throughout the whole day, I had a constant little reminder of my faith. Sure, many people wear a cross on a necklace, and some have a lapel pin or a coin or a ring. A lot of people carry a tiny "Cross in My Pocket" on a little card with a poem on it. But how many people actually carry a cross in their hand, where it is no longer simply "just there" but truly a part of everything they do throughout the day?

Think about our faith, our morals, our convictions. Do we put them on every morning with our clothes and just figure they're always there, always a part of our lives? Or do we really let our faith influence our everyday lives, allow it to affect the way we physically and mentally go through our days? How often do we do the easy thing and set aside our faith to accomplish some task? How often do we put away our integrity in order to allow us to act just a little differently than we would if our faith were guiding our actions? I think the best of us never set aside their faith, never put down their belief in the love of God and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and never forget for one moment the significance of the Cross and Christ's sacrifice. This little exercise of my faith was a trial of sorts, a test of my newly-restored faith in Jesus. I had picked up a 2½-inch-long aluminum replica of the Cross, and I carried that little burden for a whole day without failing. The final question is whether or not I can carry my love of Jesus Christ so faithfully in my heart for the rest of my life.

© 2010 Glenn A. Pettit-Noel

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