On Hiding and Being Found and Making it Home Safely

crossOn those nights when the last bits of daylight were leaving the Illinois skies near the same time we were leaving evening church, we would gather in the side yard for a game of Hide ‘n Seek. While covered eyes count to 20, we make our way behind the trees, behind the Sunday School building, behind the bushes. When darkness falls, even laying in the grass becomes a suitable hiding spot.

Silent. Perfectly still. Waiting for the “ready or not.”

And when the coast looks clear, we run.

Hearts pumping. Legs flying. Arms stretched out to reach home base — the base firmly secured to the church’s side — the base well-lit even after dusk. The Cross.

We fix our eyes on it. We sprint straight for it. We fling our arms around it and yell “safe” … And we are.

The Cross. Where all sin has already been forgiven. Where blood red makes me snow white. Where grace is lavished on me and my pounding heart is met with peace.

Only now can I see that I was practicing as a child all I really needed to know for the rest of my days.

Come out of hiding. Run to the cross. Be forever home free.

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