WRITTEN ON THE PALM OF HIS HAND
by Mariane Holbrook


I dreamed I was taking a walk with my Lord,
The One I’d been longing to see,
The same caring Saviour whose bride I’d become,
Who’d suffered and died just for me.

We walked hand in hand by the smooth, crystal shore
Through daisy-filled meadows in bloom,
I glanced at His profile, so chiseled and fair,
How tender the face of my groom!

We stood by the water, his hand gripping mine,
I felt I’d been floating on air.
I turned his hand over with palm facing up,
And asked, “Is my name written there?”

So, guiding my finger, He came to a spot
That was shaped like the point of a nail.
The skin all around it was perfect and clear
But this spot was thicker and pale.

I ran my forefinger across what had been
A very deep hole in His palm.
I instantly knew I was touching The Scar
Though I tried to remain very calm.

“The names of all those who have trusted in Me
Are found ‘neath this scar in My hand.
My blood that was spilled there has covered their names
In a way that you can’t understand.

“The spike that was driven had left a deep hole
That grieved my dear Father above.
God placed the saints’ names in that raw, tender place
Then applied a scar tissue of love.”

I lifted His palm to my quivering lips
And I kissed the scar covering my name.
I knew from the tears that spilled down from my face 
That I never would be quite the same.