My Son at the Cross

I count it a great blessing and privilege to work at school where we celebrate Easter break and gather together as a campus for a special Easter Chapel. At one point during Chapel yesterday, our principal simply played a recording of "Amazing Grace" and asked students to reflect upon Easter and pray. A church group had just finished a short play depicting the events surrounding the resurrection, and a wooden cross from their production remained on the stage. Students were given the option of praying in their seats or coming up to the foot of the cross to pray, and handfuls of students in grades K-8 took turns coming up to the cross. I love seeing and hearing children pray, but seeing my own son, kneeling at the cross with his head bent in earnest prayer, is an image that was burned into my heart yesterday, and I will treasure it always.

I will treasure it not merely because it was a poignant picture to tuck away in my memory, but because of the truths wrapped in the imagery. Indeed, Zack would have been just as close to Christ sitting in his seat, and his prayers would have been just as acceptable to God. The cross the children gathered around holds no power or significance apart from whom and what it represents, but seeing him kneeling there was a beautiful picture of my young son's relationship with Christ and his understanding of the gospel. I have no idea what words his prayer contained, but I do know he has accepted Christ and has an understanding (far beyond my understanding at his age) of what it means to be a child of God. I have many hopes, dreams, and prayers for my son, but that Zack would know and follow Christ has always been my greatest desire for him. God's answer to that prayer is precious to me, and the mental picture I now have of Zack at the foot of the cross is a gift.