No Battle Scar

No Battle Scar

by Janet Martin

I stood at the gate, one I well knew about,
Since my youth I'd been taught how to get in or stay out,
When suddenly there appeared on the last stepping-stone
The most glorious Being I'd ever laid eyes on,
As His eyes beheld mine, both wonder and fear
Surged through my body, for 'twas certainly clear
That this indeed was Christ the Lord!
And I was drawn to my knees as in His presence I bowed,
His compassion and kindness so brilliantly shone
Down on that moment on the last stepping-stone

Then I lifted my head as I beheld His glory,
And I timidly said, "I believe the great story!
I believe that you love me and died for my sin,
And only through your blood will I ever get in
To the heavenly kingdom and the bliss that awaits
All who pass through these bright pearly gates",
I professed my devotion, gratitude and love,
My desire to be in His kingdom above,
I thanked Him for being my precious Savior,
And hoped in His sight, that I would find favor

Then long was the silence, there was pain in His look,
As He lifted His eyes from a most wondrous book,
There was sorrow in His gaze, and a tear in His smile,
He spoke with tenderness, as to a little child,
And His words made me drop my head in shame,
"There is hope", He said, "For all who call on my name,
For I am the Way, the Truth and Life,
I am your freedom and victory in strife,
Now you've laid down your armor, released from life's war,
But where, precious one, are your battle scars?

Where is the record of the second mile?
You wearily trod, because you were My child,
And someone needed a faithful friend,
A hand to hold so they could stand,
Where is the suffering? A soldier's price,
If you love me, then where is your sacrifice?
No mark of labor on your hands,
No wounds, no scars, no prison bands,
No dark hour where only I knew
The battle you fought as I carried you


Where is the sleepless night as you prayed?
For all the lost souls who carelessly strayed,
Where is the day where you hungrily fed?
From my living Word as your daily bread,
Where is that moment when you humbly laid down?
The pleasures of this life for a much richer crown,
If you are my child, as you say you are
Then surely there must be at least one battle scar,
To prove love's measure, to show love's price,
The mark of a soldier's sacrifice,

Then there was silence. How could I reply?
No battle scar for the One who had died!
Not only for me, but for each living soul,
Yet I'd been unwilling to yield Him my whole!
No battle scar for His love so great!
On this last stepping-stone it was now too late,
Too late to go back and to show Him again
That for His sacrifice, how truly thankful I am!
Too late, too late! I wept as He spoke,
Then suddenly, thankfully—I awoke!

2 Tim.2:3-4
Therefore, endure hardness as a good soldier of the Jesus Christ; No man that wars entangles himself with the affairs of this life,
That he may please Him who hath chosen him to be a soldier.

Author: Janet Martin