The Christmas Cross is a story about finding your way home for the holidays, told in the context of one man's journey in a small Texas town. Unique interactive elements inside this book-including envelopes with pullout letters and surprises-makes this a one-of-a-kind Christmas treasure.
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|Publisher:||Nelson, Thomas, Inc.|
|Sold by:||HarperCollins Publishing|
|File size:||759 KB|
About the Author
Since entering the ministry in 1978, Max Lucado has served churches in Miami, Florida; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; and San Antonio, Texas. He currently serves as Teaching Minister of Oak Hills Church in San Antonio. He is the recipient of the 2021 ECPA Pinnacle Award for his outstanding contribution to the publishing industry and society at large. He is America’s bestselling inspirational author with more than 145 million products in print.
Visit his website at MaxLucado.com
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Read an Excerpt
Clearwater, Texas was ready for Christmas. The sky was bright winter blue. A breeze just crisp enough for a jacket swayed the large plastic bells hanging beneath the lamp lights. Aluminum garlands connected the power poles, and Frosty the Snowman chased his hat on the Dairy Kreem window. Even the pick-up truck in front of me had a wreath hanging on its tailgate. This central Texas town was ready for Christmas. But I wasn't.
I wanted to be back in Chicago. I wanted to be home. But things weren't so good at home. Meg and I had fought. Weeks of suppressed tension had exploded the day before. Same song, second verse.
"You promised to spend more time at home," she said.
"You promised not to nag," I replied.
She says I work too much. I say we've got bills to pay. She feels neglected. I feel frustrated. Finally, she told me we needed somewhat was the word? Oh yeah, we needed some "space" ... some time apart, and I agreed. I had an assignment in Dallas anyway, so why not go to Texas a few days early?
So, it was the fight with Meg that got me to Texas. But it was the photo that led me to Clearwater. My dad had received it in the mail. No return address. No letter. Just this photo: a black-and-white image of a large, stone building. I could barely make out the words on the sign in front: Clearwater Lutheran Church.
Dad had no clue what the photo meant or who had sent it. We were familiar with the town, of course. Clearwater was where I was born and adopted. But we never lived there. My only previous visit had been when I was fresh out of college and curious. I had spent a day walking aroundasking questions, but that was twenty years ago. I hadn't been back since. And I wouldn't have returned now except Meg needed "space" and I could use an answer about the photo.
I pulled over to the side of the road and stopped in front of a two-story brick courthouse. Cardboard cutouts of Santa and his reindeer teetered on the lawn. I lowered my window and showed the photo to a couple of aging cowboys leaning against the side of a truck.
"Ever seen this place?" I asked.
They smiled at each other
and one cowboy spoke. "If you've
got a strong arm, you could throw
a rock from here and hit it."
He instructed me to turn right
past the courthouse and turn right
again. And when I did, I saw it. The
church in the photo.