You may listen to this song here and get a free lead sheet here.
Won’t you tell me about that cross that’s hanging down from your neck?
Did you get it as a gift or purchase it for yourself?
Did you choose to wear it now or put it on by habit?
Won’t you tell me about that cross that’s hanging down from your neck?
Won’t you tell me about that cross you’re wearing as a necklace?
Do you usually have it on or mostly keep it boxed up?
Is it just some pretty shape or does it have some meaning?
Won’t you tell me about that cross you’re wearing as a necklace?
Won’t you tell me about that cross you’re wearing upon your neck?
Do you often think of it or take it much for granted?
Does it tell what you believe or is it merely jewelry?
Won’t you tell me about that cross you’re wearing upon your neck?
I wear this cross upon my neck to tell how God loves me.
I wear this cross upon my neck to show I love Him, too.
I wear this cross upon my neck to say that God loves you,
For His Son died upon a cross,
But He rose from death to give us life,
When we trust in Him.
Thanks to my former pastor, Randy Mathis, for making me think more seriously about the reasons people wear crosses.
If you’re like me, you frequently notice people–both men and women–who are wearing crosses. Some are small. Petite. Some are big and look heavy enough to ward off an attacker if the wearer took it off and swung it.
But are all of those people Christians? We can’t tell just by looking, but we can express admiration for their crosses. Sometimes we may even be able to ask about their significance.
Are you prepared to reply truthfully if someone asks about your cross.
Look for me again next Wednesday. Better still, subscribe to receive these weekly posts by email.
My twenty-fifth Christian novel, Wait for Me, is out and available on Amazon in both print and Kindle editions. The cover (front and back) is depicted in the graphic below. Underneath that is a graphic showing the covers of the first twenty-four books.
Links you might be interested in:
As I Come Singing. . . 