The cross! If you were to ask me where I feel safe, the cross would probably be the last place to come to mind. And yet, I chose exactly this place. Not because I particularly like being there or feel comfortable. Nor because I find the mighty oak cross especially beautiful – how can a battered man carry such a cross? And yet, all my life, the cross has been a sign of home. It stands on a small hill, and when I see it, I know I will soon be there.

It was only later that I learned the history of this place: The cross was erected as a sign of gratitude – for the homecoming of a soldier who had already been declared dead. The long-lost son returns. And what remains: the cross!