“Mr. Selby, you can’t take that into the operating room. You’ll have to leave it with your wife,” the nurse said.
My dad tightened his grip around the tiny metal cross in his right hand. “Then I won’t have surgery,” he stated. The cross was a gift from my daughter to her papaw, engraved with the words “God loves you.” He had found great comfort by carrying it into multiple surgeries.
“But you know you really need this heart stent,” the nurse pleaded.
“Nope. Not without my cross.”
Eventually, the nurse gave in, and the staff wheeled him down the hall, cross in hand. Dad had endured so many procedures that I’d lost count. Each time, in the pre-surgery room, he joked and laughed and acted confident. But I realized he had to be afraid. Outcomes were always uncertain, and recoveries were often painful. I think holding the metal cross reassured him that he wouldn’t be alone during the operation. The Father of compassion and the God of all comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3) would stay by his side, guiding the doctors and protecting my dad’s life.
Clutching the cross brings me comfort and courage in moments of dread and fear, whether it is a physical cross or the knowledge of the cross of Jesus. It reassures me that God is everywhere, at all times, and through all scary experiences.
—Becky Alexander
