Some time ago my wife and I had the opportunity to drive through my hometown and visit the grave site of my mom and dad. It’d been ten years since our last visit. Their burial spot is the only one in the cemetery with a live oak tree. My dad planted it three and a half decades ago. Today the trunk is as thick as a man’s torso. But it wasn’t the size of the tree that impressed me; it was what my dad had carved. A heart. He etched the design and scraped out the bark. As the tree has grown, so has the carving. He knew we would need a reminder of his love. You have a place in my heart.
Friend, your Father did the same. Not with a live oak tree, but with a cross. Not with a carving, but with the crimson blood of Christ. You have a place in the heart of God.
