Fingerprints

I'm a random fact geek.  My brain is a treasure trove of random, seemingly useless knowledge.  Case in point: before Andrew died, the hospital held a flag ceremony anointing his body and the organs that would be soon going to their new bodies.  After the ceremony, we were walking out to the hospital courtyard, where an organ donation flag was to fly for 36 hours to honor the gift of life Andrew was providing.  While we were standing there, what did I say?  "Did you know the top of a flagpole is called a 'truck'?"  While true, still seriously random.  It's my gift.

Fingerprints are amazing.  Every single person has a unique fingerprint.  Fingerprints (and toeprints - also completely unique) are fully formed with ridges when a baby is still in utero; 3 months before birth.  Of the millions upon millions of people on this earth, no two people have the same fingerprint.  Jesus Christ had fingerprints.  He was fully God and fully man, and, as such, he had fingerprints.  Ten completely unique constellations of whirls and loops, never to be replicated.  God's fingerprints are everywhere.  Much like my own fingerprints, I can't see them with the naked eye in the moment.  However, with hindsight and the dusting of the Holy Spirit, they become visible, unmistakable identifiers of God's presence and providence.

When I was in high school, a friend from youth group was killed in a bike accident.  It was, I believe, the first time anyone my age, that I actually knew, had died.  Ben's death was one of those jarring shocks to the teenage system, one that punctured seeming immortality.  Being from my home church, I've seen his family frequently over the 15 years since I left home.  Ben's parents sent me a card on Thanksgiving this year.  Knowing from personal experience what it is like to have to go through a holiday season so soon after tragedy, they wanted me to know they understood; I and my family am loved and prayed for, and I will make it through this.  Fingerprints.

About 7 months after Ben died, I was doing track practice with my frequent practice buddy.  We were running one of the most boring routes we had to do: straight out for probably 3 miles, turn around and head back.  I remember this day like it was yesterday.  We were talking about Heaven, and how I personally hoped there were bar-b-ques in Heaven.  When it's March 6th in Minnesota and you're on the road for 6 miles, a brat sounds really good.  We were nearly back at school when the student manager's car screeched to a halt next to us on the street.  She got out of the car, and shouted that my running buddy had to come with her THAT MINUTE.  They got in the car and were gone.  When I got back to school, I learned that the police had come to take her home.  Her father had been found, dead, that afternoon.  That night, as I drove my 1986 Ford Tempo to her house, I had no idea what to say.  When she saw me, she walked over to me, hugged me tight and asked, "Who is going to walk me down the aisle at my wedding?"  I just held her.  Throughout the next months and years, that friend and I had many conversations about God, Heaven, life, and death.  We kept running together.  We lost touch after a few years, but one of the first people to send me a card when Andrew died was her.  And her words, they touched my heart in unique way.  I got to stand beside her during the greatest tragedy of her life, and here she was, 20+ years later, offering to stand beside me in mine.  Fingerprints.

College orientation at Taylor University in Upland, IN, and who do I meet?  This short, blond firecracker with a ridiculous laugh.  Turns out she lives down the hall from me.  One of the first nights of orientation, we go rollerblading together around campus, and end up laying in one of the many fields, looking at the stars.  We shared about ourselves, and I learned she had experienced her own deep heartache, losing her older sister when she was 12.  This girl, she became one of the best friends I have ever had.  Her dad, one of the most unique, hysterical, loving men, became sick with his second bout of lymphoma our senior year of college.  I remember driving her 5 hours home one day in January because her dad was failing.  A very short time later, I was back there, attending her father's funeral.  We're older now, and she's married to a military man, so she moves all over the world and back, but when we get together, we're 18 again, and as tight as ever.  Even though her family is being sent to Germany in a few weeks, this friend is flying in from Arizona to stand alongside me this weekend, just as I was there to stand by her when her world crumbled 16 years ago.  Fingerprints.

Six years ago, I met Andrew's aunt.  Not only is she one of the tallest women I have ever met, she gives the tightest hugs ever.  I felt a kinship with her early.  She married in her 30's to a Hondlik man, just like me.  She is a strong believer in Christ, and she is a fierce mama bear.  As Andrew's mom was dying, she took over the role of helping throw my bridal shower, and lighting the unity candles with my mom at our ceremony.  Later, she helped throw my baby shower, and enveloped me into her family as if I had always been there.  She has been a ready ear to listen and share her own experiences of life, marriage, and family.  She, herself, became a widow ten years ago, when her husband, Andrew's uncle, died suddenly of a heart attack.  When Andrew collapsed, she was at the hospital every single day.  She sat with me in the ICU, she massaged his feet and his head.  She brought me Swedish Fish, and coffee.  She sat there and held me as I cried, and she let me ask the questions no one else could understand, save for a widow with young children.  She was there in the waiting room after Andrew died, and held me as I wailed.  She has been my confidant, protector, support, and shoulder.  Fingerprints.

Four years ago, at workshop week, I had a new coworker.  This coworker intrigued me.  She was outgoing and seemed to be everywhere.  At some point, we became friends.  I know somewhere in there I awkwardly asked her if she wanted to get coffee with me.  We talked, and discovered more and more similarities.  A fellow sister in Christ, she, too, had a husband who struggled with mental illness.  Over the years, we have exchanged thousands of text messages, and many hours of conversation.  She has been a prayer warrior for me, and I for her.  When I met her, she had been a widow herself for only a short time.  Her youngest child was only a year older than my Mr. M when her husband died.  I got to be a listening ear for her when she needed to talk, both about her late husband, but also her current husband.  We laughed, we cried, we compared stories of our challenging, but lovable spouses.  When Andrew collapsed, she was one of the first people I reached out to.  Multiple times a day, she would check in with me.  While I was sitting in the ICU, she brought me a breakfast sandwich one day, and then sat there and stared at me like a hawk until I ate it.  When Andrew died, she texted me to ask how I was (the next day.)  When I told her I was fine, she showed up at my door an hour later.  She hugged me, told me she didn't believe me for a second, and that was okay.  She has been exactly where I am.  And she has come out on the other side.  Fingerprints.

My father was a minister for 41 years.  Twenty-three of those years was at the same church (North Haven Church) in North St. Paul.  This past May, Andrew and I began attending Grace Fellowship Church, and shortly thereafter, my parents actually began attending there, too.  In June, the Executive Pastor of Grace Fellowship Church accepted the Senior Pastor position at my dad's former church.  (Try and keep up with that one!)  On his last Sunday at Grace Fellowship, I introduced myself to him and his wife, and let them know they were going to a wonderful congregation that would love them so well.  They have loved our family extraordinarily since 1994.  Five months later, as Andrew is laying in his coma, this pastor posts on North Haven's social media page about my family's situation, and requests prayer for us as a beloved member of the North Haven family.  And when Andrew died, this same pastor opened up his church to us and our family to have Andrew's memorial service at North Haven, the same church were Andrew and I were married, and where we held Andrew's mom, Cheryl's, memorial service nearly 6 years ago.  Fingerprints.

My storm is just beginning.  I know that.  Just when I think I might make it through a day without bawling, something turns me into a puddle of mush.  And then there are the days when I start the day crying and it just keeps going from there.  In the midst of the darkness, the raging waves, and howling winds of this storm of grief, these fingerprints from God are the lighthouses.  They protect my wounded and fragile heart from crashing into the rocks, and fill me with light and warmth.  These fingerprints stretch so far back; I don't know why that surprises me.  Just as every moment of Andrew's life was written in the Book of Life long before he was born, so was mine.  God has been preparing me every moment of my life for this storm.  When I weep, God weeps too.  When I cry out and wonder what is going on, he answers with his peace and calm.  When my brain goes to scary places of guilt and shame, God provides people who speak truth into my situation.  As surely as I know God has used these people's pain in service to me today, I also know that someday I will be called upon to serve another out of my pain.  I know this because God wastes nothing.  My pain is not wasted.  My pain will become my proclamation of God's goodness to another in her time of weakness.  Until then, I'll keep singing.

Today, I'm singing "New Wine":


"In the crushing
In the pressing
You are making
New wine
In the soil, I
Now surrender
You are breaking
New ground
So I yield to You and to Your careful hand
When I trust You I don't need to understand
Make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
In the crushing
In the pressing
You are making
New wine
In the soil, I
Now surrender
You are breaking
New ground (hey)
You are breaking
New ground
So make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
'Cause where there is new wine
There is new power
There is new freedom
And the kingdom is here
I lay down my old flames
To carry Your new fire today (oh today)
'Cause where there is new wine
There is new power
There is new freedom
And the kingdom is here
I lay down my old flames
To carry Your new fire today
So make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
God, I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Sing that again, make me
Make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
God, I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Oh, Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me (oh, Jesus)
Jesus, bring new wine out of me
It means we're getting back on the altar
Let's sing this to render everything, Lord
New wine out of me
Jesus, Jesus, bring new wine out of me (keep going)
Jesus, Jesus, bring new wine out of me
Oh, Jesus, bring new wine out of me"

Comments

  1. Thanks for sharing friend. Beautiful words. God's fingerprints are truly awesome.

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