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My Cross

My Cross is SmallDuring the early afternoon, the sun shines brightly through the stained glass window.  Amidst the dancing colors in the church pew, holding my small ivory cross, I sit alone and pray.  I pray for guidance and for strength.

We all have our crosses to bear. Some we chose for ourselves, others are given to us.  My cross is small – its burden, heavy.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of footsteps coming near.  A priest walks by, points to the shrouded figure in the Easter display and exclaims, “Isn’t it wonderful!  He has risen!  He is here!”  I want to respond but I remain silent as he hurriedly exits through the side door.  …

I am here.

Excerpt from Clay Diary, April 2000

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