Most people would have called him a “pack rat“. I always knew the clutter of “junk” in his repair shop on Morgan Street in Rushville had a higher purpose. Most things he saved he could just not bear to give up hope on. If he could not “fix’ or remake what was broken, he was sure to find a piece or a part that would complete or repair something else he had “saved”.
As it was with the broken alter cross from my home church in Rushville. You see the church burned to the ground when I was a teenager. Lost in that fire was the home of a lifetime of memories of growing up. Lost were the “stain glass windows” that had been added . Surprised were the members that watched them melt in to liquid vapor reminding them they were not “the real thing but plastic made to look like real stain glass. For me as an early Christian this whole event cemented how fragile our lives are and how much more a church is than a building and its contents.
Searching through the ruble of what once was First Baptist Church of Rushville, My Dad came upon the alter cross, blacken and in pieces. I know he knew it wasn’t really “holy” or sacred. It was just a cross and a symbol of what is holy and sacred. Yet the shiny cross had reflected a lot our our family’s lives thru the years. It had seen me as I went forward to be baptized. It had seen both my parents dedicate a life time of living and giving to their church. My Dad had served communion many times from the table that held this cross.
Since I was a jeweler, Dad had mentioned several times through the years about having the cross restored. I had never picked up on what he was asking and to be honest had let it pass. It wasn’t until Thanksgiving Day when He had a heart attack that I saw the cross. Nestled in the turmoil and chaos of his shop was the cross. I realized the importance of the cross when I first saw it.
Next to it I found a bronzing kit that he had purchased from the the back of some magazine. You know the one that says” become a millionaire over night. Bronze baby shoes as a business.”
I could tell he had applied the bronzing solution to the cross.
My first thought was I will try my hand at restoring the cross. A few days before Christmas my Dad’s heart burst and he was rushed to Methodist Hospital for open heart surgery. When He finally came through the surgery, I began to look at the cross. I soon realized the bronze paint that had been applied peeled off rather easy and after peeling off the entire cross with my thumb nail, there it was the shiny alter cross that I remember growing up. Evidently the solution Dad used ,took off the black and damaged surface and restored it’s luster .
On January 16, I was so proud to show my Dad “The Old Rugged Cross”. By than I had repaired the base and except for a few scratches , it looked pretty great. As he walked out of my shop for the last time he said “maybe now it could be back in the front of church where it belongs.” Little did I know that this would be his last words to me. My Dad went to sleep that night and didn’t wake up.
In morning his death I first clutched this cross as a symbol of all that my Dad stood for. In my heart I knew he was right. It needed to be back on the alter where it started. But I also was realistic enough to know not everyone would feel the same way about it that I did.
That was over ten years ago and I still have a problem letting go of the cross. I can make a thousand excuses why it should remain in my closet, protected from the trash heap. I have just never found the time or place to return it to. Yet I still hear his last words and feel I let him down.
Wherever this cross ends up, it remains a cherished memory of my Dad and his ability to see the good in all things. I have been called a “pack rat” also. Yet I confess that my motives for saving things are not always as pure and gracious as my Dad’s. I just seem to accumulate a lot of “stuff”. If it is for good use, that remains to be seen. I do hope if I leave no other character trait to my children, I hope they grasp the ability to see the best in all people and not to give up on them
I did return the cross .eventually to the church.
Not sure it was appreciated as much as I appreciated returning it. No it did not go on the main alter as my dad had said. It was put in small chapel where my brother was married to wife number three. I also was overjoyed to know it was in the church as we laid my mom to rest.
I am in the process of letting go of the residue of The Acorn Tree and all the "junk" I accumulated. It brings me back certainly to thoughts of my dad and I can not help but wonder if anyone will see the value in any of my "stuff".
