Here is one of life’s sweeter moments…watching your husband baptize your four year old granddaughter, Molly. She is so pleased, her small self dripping wet beside her brother. She belongs to Jesus. It is simple and true and very real to her.
Afterwards, she comes to me with her face turned upward, close so I can see, her eyes searching. ”Grandmommy, is the cross still on my forehead?” she asks. The pastor has anointed her with oil and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. She wonders, is it still there?
“Oh, Molly, honey, the cross will always be on your forehead,” I reply, not skipping a beat. I believe that is true. She is a marked woman.
She thinks about it a moment. ”Okay, so did he get it on there straight?”
I had to laugh. Yes, he got it on there straight. Heaven forbid that one should wear the cross on one’s forehead a bit crooked.
This is one of those moments I am storing somewhere deep inside. I need to be reminded. The cross sets me apart. It sets me straight. I am not my own, but I belong to Him as surely as if I had a visible sign etched on my forehead.
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