Before crossing the Wabash River to attend a Purdue football game, my westward journey in Lafayette, Indiana took me down familiar South Street. Eyes peeled, I passed directly by Home Hospital, illustrious site of my birth more than half century ago. In ensuing years, I have waited patiently for an appropriate bronze statue marking among the thousands born there, it as the place of my birth. As that never materialized, I was content to settle for merely a bronze plaque.
My heart was unprepared for what my eyes were about to see. Arriving at my noteworthy birthplace, I was shocked to find the building razed. Flat. No statue, no plaque, no hospital. Just rubble.
Where, pray tell, is my birth record?
Faith puts such humbling indignities into perspective. Scripture promises in Revelation 3:5, 'He who overcomes will thus be clothed in white garments; and I will not erase his name from the book of life, and I will confess his name before My Father and before His angels’.
I am significant. I am redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. My name is forever written in the Lamb’s book of life. I am His, and He is mine.
Who needs a plaque? I have the Word. Who needs a statue? I prize The Old Rugged Cross.
…Adding insult to injury, the Boilermakers lost the game.