By Alice Hickman|
A cool March evening. A brief rain shower. Crosses mounted along the ridge top road. First one, two, three and continuing through the long turn with a final three that made a total of nine.
The young mother came upon the sight that evening as she drove home from work.
The day, like many anniversaries before the death of her brother, had already been long. The sight of the crosses in the evening light overwhelmed her as she saw the last three, representing the spot of the horrible wreck that had taken her brother and cousin's lives.
She continued on to her parent's house where she would try and prepare them for the sight of the permanent memorial that had been erected that day.
After the daughter had left to continue home to her own family, the mother's mind drifted back to another Friday night, another Easter season and another three crosses on Pleasant Hill Ridge. These had been mounted at Pleasant Hill Church on the evening of Good Friday many years ago. She recaptured that vision once more. Bright lights shinning where her son and nephew each were high on a cross with the third person on the middle cross, in a live portrayal of Jesus and the two thieves and the Crucifixion. In the darkness that night the message of the cross was delivered to all those who passed by.
Two days later, the family had gone to their last Easter church service together.
The next Friday night, both her son and nephew died in a horrible auto crash nearby.
As the anniversary date had approached this year, it seemed everything had been unusually much more troubling for the mother. Her seventeen year old son had died seventeen years ago. A frozen milestone with questions unanswered and emptiness that remained.
Drawing herself back into the present, she continued washing dishes at the kitchen sink lost in her thoughts. It was only then that her gaze out the window gradually focused and that is when she saw it. The Rainbow! The brilliance of color stretched the span of her sight as the still small voice spoke a gentle reminder of the promises of God. Her Heavenly Father whispered "Trust Me" and peace once again slipped in where torture and torment had only moments before dominated.
So the story continues about the Pleasant Hill Crosses.
I am that mother. Two of those crosses represent my son and nephew. The vision of two different nights will forever be engraved in my mind. A bittersweet memory. But as I approach this place where many lives have ended, now I also will be reminded that the story doesn't end there.
There is coming a day when the dead in Christ will rise first and those remaining will be caught up together with them to meet the Lord in the air and we will be with Him forever.
And that is where the heart is.