The Imprint of Love
Reflections on Bloody Fingerprints
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash
One morning I looked down at my hands and realized that I had accidentally cut my finger while making breakfast. While only a tiny sliver on the tip of my finger, it stung. I placed a Band-Aid on the small cut and continued to wake up my girls and ready them for school. After the hustle and bustle of getting out the door and to school drop offs, I came home to a funny – if slightly alarming - sight. My own fingerprints, in the bold red of blood, were scattered around our home.
My morning routine includes waking up before most of our household and preparing breakfasts, coffee, and lunches. I let the dog out and make sure his food and water bowl are filled. Then I replaced paper towel rolls, set the table with placemats, fill glasses of orange juice, and then pack water bottles and lunch boxes into backpacks. Evidence of all these actions was sprinkled throughout our home like a comically domestic crime scene.
I chuckled as I continued to find – and thoroughly sanitize – my own bloody fingerprints. They appeared on doors, a coffee cup for my husband, the bottom of the plate of toast for my daughters and even the scoop for my dog’s food.
A strange thought ricocheted through my mind: the imprint of love. The gentle, almost rhythmic, routine of care, practiced day after day.
How many fingerprints of care are impressed on my life? How many people have taken the time to serve me, to anticipate my needs, to step into my life and love me in a way that leaves bold marks on my heart? Countless.
And these softly placed fingerprints impact not only me, but also my family. I use a cookie cutter to shape my daughters’ toast each morning because that is what my Pop did for me as a child – a practice he continued with my girls with the addition of sprinkles. I wake them up with snuggles and prayers because that is how my Mom woke me for school. I make a concentrated effort to check in and offer support when a friend is going through something medically intense because of how much it meant to me when my friends covered my family in support and casseroles when I was ill this past year.
Many fingerprints on my life have been the simple presence of a friend. The continued care and blessing of a loved one saying, “I am here, I am with you.”
Shortly after giving birth to my first daughter, I was hospitalized for kidney stone complications. My husband needed to stay with our tiny baby, so I was alone in the hospital. I remember feeling overwhelmed, in such pain, utterly helpless, and alone. Then I received a text from one of my dear friends asking, “can I come sit with you?” I don’t remember my exact reply, but it was something along the lines of “I’m not great company right now…” and she simply replied, “what is your room number, I’m already here.” She sat with me while I cried in sheer overwhelm. She helped me attach my breast pump, because this was especially complicated while hooked up to an IV. She was present with me; and that presence is a gift I will never forget.
Like so many small moments in life, my bloody fingerprints also brought to mind portions of scripture. The lamb’s blood smeared across the Israelites’ doorframes in protection from the angel of death in the Old Testament. And our subsequent protection and life which come from Christ’s perfect sacrifice in the New Testament. These represent the big moments of care – the climatic, awe-inspiring moments of provision.
But what about all the other smaller moments of loving care we are shown by our Heavenly parent? All the moments of gentle care in which God anticipates our needs and provides for us. In which He offers us His presence as a balm for loneliness by the feel of sunshine on our lifted face. My heart is drawn to these quiet moments of the wind caressing my hair, the sound of rain on the roof, and the snuggles of a little one. Like fingerprints dotting my home, these moments remind me of the care I’m continually shown by my loved ones and my God.
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