The Sign of a Cross

This past Sunday John, Sarah and I went to church. I have been praying especially hard lately, but on Sunday I felt completely discouraged. As I sat through the readings and homily I could not concentrate; my eyes wandered to all of women with swollen bellies and the parents holding beautiful babies. I thought about all of the milestones that we have missed over the last 13 mo. of Joeys life and as I saw precocious toddlers snuggling their moms I wondered will he cling to me like that. I thought about his eventual christening and how big he will be compared to all of the other children there on that day. I pondered where will I even find a baptism outfit for a toddler? I just felt so sad.

But, my depressing train of thought was interrupted by a sassy four year old (Sarah) who had tired of sitting still and was quickly becoming disruptive. I took her by the hand and escorted her to the cry room for alittle "come to Jesus meeting". I knelt down and quietly scolded her for her behavior and explained that we would have to now wait in the back of the church for Daddy. As I stood up I picked her up in my arms and as I did so something caught my eye. I could NOT believe it...hanging in my church right next to me on the wall was the exact SAME hand-painted Guatemalan cross that hangs in Joey's nursery.

I know it sounds silly but to me it was a sign, a sign that I need to keep praying, and keep being patient, and keep waiting and that He is listening and that my son will come home.