Verse 1 An old man rocked on an old oak porch, Coffee steaming in his hand. A young man pulled off the blacktop, Said, “Sir, I could use an older man.” The old man pointed to an empty chair, Said, “Son, you’ve come this far. Sit down awhile. The world’s too loud To hear what’s in your heart.” Verse 2 The young man stared across the fields, Said, “Life ain’t gone like I had planned. I’ve prayed till I ran out of words, And I’m doing all I can. How’d you make it through the years When nothing made much sense?” The old man leaned back in that chair And told him this: Chorus “Don’t count the scars, count the grace. Don’t let the hard years steal your faith. Some roads only make sense Looking back from where they end. I’ve walked through valleys asking God If He’d forgotten where I was. But every time I thought He’d left me… He was carrying me through. So don’t count the scars, son. Count the grace.” Verse 3 “I’ve carried badges, carried burdens, Buried friends before their time. I’ve stood beside too many goodbyes I still can’t leave behind. I’ve questioned God in midnight hours, I’ve cried where no one knew. And learned a strong man’s strongest prayer Can be, ‘Lord, just get me through.’ There are things I lost forever. There are things I can’t explain. But I wouldn’t know the mountaintop If I’d never known the rain.” Chorus “Don’t count the scars, count the grace. Don’t let the hard years steal your faith. Some roads only make sense Looking back from where they end. I’ve walked through valleys asking God If He’d forgotten where I was. But every time I thought He’d left me… He was carrying me through. So don’t count the scars, son. Count the grace.” Bridge The young man stood and shook his hand, Said, “Sir, I needed this today.” The old man smiled and raised his cup. “Then don’t thank me. Thank the One who sent you this way. Keep your eyes on Christ, son. Finish your race. And when somebody needs what you’ve learned… Give away the grace.” Final Verse Years went by. That old porch weathered. The old man’s chair stayed there. Till one morning another truck Pulled in beside the stairs. A young man stepped out slowly, With that same lost look upon his face. And an older man rocked beneath that oak… Coffee steaming in his hand. He pointed toward the empty chair. “Sit down, son. We’ve got time.” Final Chorus “Don’t count the scars, count the grace. Don’t let the hard years steal your faith. Some roads only make sense Looking back from where they end. You’ll walk through valleys asking God If He remembers where you are. And someday you’ll look back and see… He never left you once. So don’t count the scars, son. Count the grace.” Outro Some stories never make the news. They’re passed through porches, boots and pews… One empty chair… One hurting heart… One little piece of grace at a time.
