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Hoosier United Methodist News Archives
| Hoosier United Methodist News |
March 2002 |
My Witness:
The Broken Cross
By Diane Pearson
I had a conversion experience several years ago that I don't talk about often because it's so personal, but the Lord has clearly said to me that I need to share this story with people.
A miracle occurred in my life the day after I returned from a three-day religious retreat where my eyes were truly opened to God's love for me. During my morning walk near my country home, I experienced a definite "nudging" from God to go to a different place for a walk. It was a place I had never visited before that day - a local cemetery. It was too far to walk, so I jumped in my car and headed in that direction.
I had driven past that cemetery hundreds of times in the past, but I had never taken the time to explore it. I knew nothing about the layout of that cemetery. I turned into the first driveway and drove slowly through the oldest part of the cemetery. Some of the graves there are from the 1800s, and many of the monuments are beautiful works of art.
But my attention was drawn away from the beauty of it all because the cemetery had been damaged by near-tornado winds a week earlier. It looked like a war zone. Huge trees were down and some of those magnificent old gravestones toppled.
I drove through the entire cemetery surveying the damage. When I got to the farthest corner, I felt another "nudging" to stop my car. I parked my car and got out to start my walk.
I found myself in front of a little sign that said "The Garden of the Crosses." I walked up the steps and saw three crosses, but the largest cross in the center was lying on the ground broken into three pieces, obviously damaged by the storm.
As I stood there looking at that broken cross, I had a vision of Jesus. He was dressed in a white robe with long, loose sleeves. A white rope belt was knotted around his waist, and he wore brown sandals. I saw only a side view of his face, with the familiar shoulder-length brown hair and beard. Jesus reached down toward that broken cross, but when he picked up those three pieces, they became one. He lifted that cross onto his left shoulder, stooped under the weight of the cross on his back, and struggled to walk toward an adjoining garden.
That vision disappeared after a few moments, but the message was unmistakable. God spoke to me in that moment more powerfully than He ever could have through words. That broken cross represented my brokenness, when I had given my life and my burdens to him completely. Jesus took my brokenness and put me back together again, a new creation, and then he bore my burdens for me.
Last updated on 01/14/2004