On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
To the old rugged cross I will ever be true,
It’s shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then he’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where his glory forever I’ll share.
Recently, I was going through wood searching for more walnut and pulled out this Sycamore. The tree this is from was cut down about 14 years ago. I was there the day it was sawn into lumber. It was beautiful to see! It was then stored in a shed destroyed by Hurricane Ivan. I assumed it was long gone 12 years ago. Upon visiting the spot last year I pulled this out of the dirt. I knew exactly what it was! I took the time to make a cross out of it last night. I may have enough for 8 total. The nails used are what held together my great grandfather’s barn which was destroyed by the same Hurricane. Everything about this cross has been resurrected so to speak. Each one will be unique and one of a kind.