For much of my early life, the words good, evil, and Satan carried enormous weight. They were not abstract ideas. They were forces. Real. Immediate. Dangerous. I grew up Seventh-day Adventist, and in that world Satan wasn’t symbolic. He was active. He could infiltrate objects, influence thoughts, possess people through the wrong book or ritual.
A crucifix is not a single image, but a language. Small inscriptions and quiet details—often overlooked—compress layers of meaning meant to be recognized slowly, not explained all at once.
If the first way to read the cross is outward, the second is inward. Here, the cross becomes less a symbol to observe and more a map to inhabit—revealing how meaning, suffering, and relationship intersect within lived experience.
I don’t claim to know who made this place or how it works. I just know that when human noise falls away, something larger becomes easier to feel. Humility matters more than certainty, and reverence beats explanation every time.
A NOTE BEFORE YOU BEGIN This post is Part 1 of a four-part series. It is not intended to stand alone. Over the coming weeks, I’ll link the remaining posts here as they’re published. Together, they explore the cross not as doctrine, but as orientation — a way of standing in the world, thinking clearly,
