Getting God's Word A Cross

By the small, winding creek outside his Douglasville home, Ron Watson sits on a weathered two-by-four bench, listening to the gurgling water and thinking about life.

Sometimes, that quiet moment turns into a Facebook video — unscripted, unpolished, recorded on the spot. Watson smiles into the camera, speaking plainly, his gravelly Southern twang carrying words he believes are guided by something bigger than himself.

Those short videos are posted to a page called The Cross 123 Ministry. And for Watson, a humble alarm company owner who never set out to lead a ministry, they’re just one extension of a mission that has quietly placed hundreds of thousands of crosses into the hands of strangers across the country and beyond.

With an ever-present smile and an ease that puts people at ease, Watson can strike up a conversation with just about anyone. When he feels led, he doesn’t hesitate — whether the person is a friend, a customer or a stranger he’s just met.

His voice breaks when he talks about his children and their desire to one day take on the family business. Moments later, his mood lifts as he describes a birthday outing planned for later in the day — introducing his 15-year-old grandson to the thrill of go-kart racing.

Watson remembers being about that age himself when his life took a turn he never forgot.

“I was holding onto the pew so tight,” he said, recalling a Georgia church revival. “It felt like I floated up to the pastor. I told him I wanted to be saved. That’s when it happened.”

That moment sparked a lifelong desire to connect people with God — though Watson had no idea what shape that calling would eventually take.

Years later, during a Sunday morning service, a simple act of faith set the course for what would become his ministry.

“It started with just one cross,” said Watson, now 62. “A man gave me a cross. Then he gave me five or six more and told me to give them to people.”

Watson remembers approaching a husband and wife without hesitation.

“I walked up and gave them two crosses and told them they were prayed over,” he said.

Touched by the gesture, the couple asked for the remaining crosses to share with others. The experience stayed with Watson. He began polishing crosses and handing them out wherever he went. Before long, people started recognizing him simply as “the Cross Man.”

After placing cross No. 60,000 into someone’s hand, Watson said he began to understand the power of provision in the act. Determined not to profit from the effort, he helped form a nonprofit ministry — thecross123 — alongside friend Lance Odom at Cowan Mill Church in Douglasville.

Odom alone has shared nearly 70,000 crosses.

“That means he’s opened the box and put a cross into the hands of 70,000 people,” Odom said.

Around the same time, Watson noticed the number 123 appearing repeatedly — on clocks, phones and online. As he speaks, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through photos showing blood sugar readings of 123, an ideal number for a diabetic.

“I started seeing it everywhere,” he said.

From that, The Cross 123 took shape. Watson explains the meaning: One God. Jesus, God’s Son, who died on the cross. Three days before the resurrection.

“It’s turned out to be an awesome way to witness,” Watson said. “There’s no simpler way to start a conversation about our Lord and Savior.”

Donations to the ministry support causes such as a church pregnancy resource center, crosses sent to countries including Japan and Africa, and bottled water for the Douglas County Fire Department.

Since its founding in February 2023, thecross123 has given away nearly 400,000 crosses — with hopes of reaching the half-million mark this year.

The ministry’s reach grew through a chance connection with Phillip Fuller, a South Carolina metals business owner who now sends regular shipments of rough crosses made of an aluminum-zirconium alloy. Watson said Fuller refuses compensation and has made it clear the crosses must never be sold.

“People try to give me money,” Watson said, pointing to a business card that reads, Experience the Real Gift. “I tell them, ‘If you want to give something, give to your church.’”

Watson has placed crosses in roughly 40 businesses across Douglasville and surrounding communities. Recently, the ministry hid 3,000 crosses along Carrollton’s GreenBelt walking trails.

“I ask people to take more than one,” Watson said. “I ask them to give them to others.”

The stories that follow are what keep him going.

One evening, a father called after his son received one of the mirror-like crosses and asked for more to share with four others.

“That’s four lives right there,” Watson said, smiling.

Another time, a woman approached him after a funeral. Watson had previously given her a cross at her workplace.

“She asked, ‘Do you know that guy called Ron Watson?’” he said. “I told her, ‘I’m him.’ She hugged me and said she’d been headed to court that day — and the judge was lenient.”

That’s why Watson spends two to five hours each day polishing crosses — tumbling them to smooth rough edges, finishing them by hand and turning them into keyrings, bookmarks, necklaces and thumb grips meant to be held during prayer.

For Watson, simplicity is the point.

“It’s stood on its own for 2,000 years,” he said. “There’s no more powerful tool.”

As the morning light filters through the trees and the creek continues its steady flow, Watson’s eyes well with tears as he reflects on faith, family and home — including a 1-month-old granddaughter, Ronnie Kate, waiting inside.

“God winks at me every day,” he said. “He told me I have provided. I’ll spend my last dime trying to give back what He’s given me.”