Marked Hands

When I was just a little girl at my mother’s knee,
I asked her as I touched her hands just how it came to be,
There were so many lines on them; they were so marked and rough,
Not knowing the price a mother pays to make sure we had enough

Marked hands of a mother; marked by a labor of love,
Daily chores in daily life, strengthened by a Hand above,
Marked hands of a mother; a price so gladly paid,
The most beautiful hands on earth that God has ever made

My little daughter asked me not so very long ago
Why my hands were marked and rough and just what made them so,
A world of emotion moved me behind my simple reply,
‘A mother’s hands get marked with time as busy days go by’,

Marked hands of a mother; someday she’ll understand
That all the caring and the sharing leave marks on a mother’s hands,
Hands that labor gladly for all that God has given,
Hands that fold in thankful prayer to a Father up in Heaven

Someday I’ll sit in Heaven at my Savior’s knee,
I’ll touch His nail-scarred hands and ask just why He died for me,
Marks on the hands of Jesus; marks of a price He paid,
Marks of love amazing in the sacrifice He made,

Marked hands of my Savior; marked by a labor of love,
For only through His nail-scarred Hands will we see Him above,
Then at His feet I’ll gaze on Him and ask to understand
The story of such awesome love as I touch the marks on His hands

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin