There is a cross located near the western border of southern Illinois. It is the tallest cross in the western hemisphere at 111 feet. At night, when lit, the cross can be seen for 7500 square miles and has attracted visitors from all over the world. The idea was conceived in 1937 when two ministers wondered of a place where believers of different denominations could worship together.
I had heard from a piece of property I was on in Missouri, just 20 miles away, that the cross could be seen. One day, while at the best vantage point possible – standing on top of a chimney 30 feet above ground – I looked toward the cross but could not see it. The thought came to mind, which I yelled for all to hear was, ‘I can’t see the cross from here’.
Later that day, the owner of the property told me that that would make a good story line, and now 6 months later, the application has come to me.
Even from the best vantage point possible, I could not see the cross. I wondered and was challenged recently by the same thought in relation to the people I associate with. From the vantage point they have, will they be able to say the same of me? How far out does the cross that is supposed to govern my life, project? Can others even see it?
It has become a thought that is etched in my mind – both the negative and positive version. I don’t want people to be able to say of me, ‘I can’t see the cross from here’, and then conversely I am challenged by the thought to make sure my actions do reflect the cross and that by it being visible, people would be attracted to it.
Hunger and Thirst 