A few days ago, we were at Thanksgiving Point for the annual Tulip Festival. As a last stop, we walked over to the Light of the World garden with the beautifully carved statues of Jesus Christ. I didn’t say much to my kids as we walked around. We were all, surprisingly, mostly reverent and quiet as we looked at the incredibly life-like creations.
“Jesus Chwist!” my 2-year-old suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the sculpture of the Savior walking on water.
“You’re right, Briggs!” I said, hugging him. “That’s Jesus.”
“Mom,” my 6-year-old called, standing beneath another life-sized sculpture. “This one is the saddest.”
It was of the King of Kings carrying the cross with a crown of thorns atop his head.
“It is,” I said, looking into his pain-filled eyes. “But look over here.” I pointed to another of a boy in the woods, gazing up at two personages who were floating above him in the air.
“What is this sculpture of?”
And then something amazing happened.