The Wooden Cross

While I was at camp, I received a wooden cross necklace. A few nights after I had gotten it, I wrote down what that cross meant to me. For most, it was the cross. A key element and symbol in Christianity. But for me... Well, keep reading.

This cross to me represents the good. The beautiful. The pure. The hope. The dreams. The wishes. The thoughts and words of what could be. Of what is. The true. The love. The happy. The joyful. The longing for all of this is woven within this cross. This cross gives me hope of strength, happiness, love, and life. It gives me hope for the truth and the knowledge. The friendships and the lovers. For a better future, present, and past...

Every single time I place that string around my neck, a thousand of those ideas shoot through my head, faster than I can comprehend. And every single time I take it off, I wonder what it is that makes this cross mean so much. I wonder if I accomplished. If I learned. If I succeeded. If I was happy with the future, present, and past I've been given. And once more I wear the necklace and remind myself of the goodbeautifulpurehopedreamswishesthoughts that I associate with that wooden cross, and I feel something indescribable.

Something unimaginable. 

Something more.


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