The fingerprints are pressed onto every surface of the house. Sidewalk chalk gets recorded on the bathroom counters as well as sticky soap prints. They skitter across the mirror and along the walls until they turn into peanut butter and honey mush. Into birthdays they run, across the walls in shades of chocolate frosting with a few sprinkles pressed in.
I can scrub them away but they reappear as quickly as I wipe them off.
Sometimes they join the muddy footprints that sneak into the house and it’s the mark of modern people living as cavemen. The fierceness is painted in different mediums but it’s the stories of our lives recorded in our dwellings just the same.
Wipe, scrub and the prints never stop. It is constant – takes whole days sometimes to clean the away the marks of living. Mamas sometimes feel like…. less than important.
The Daddies shuffle their weary feet inside, marking the house with grease and dust. It’s hard work being the muscles and sometimes their labors are piggybacked by grief….
Do more, produce the impossible, and accept your less-than-enough raise because the world puts its own greedy fingerprints on your overburdened shoulders.
John 6. When Jesus had to feed 5000 people, he didn’t call in an order from a mega chain. He used the 5 barley loaves and 2 small fish from a little boy. A little boy who had someone to pack his lunch for him.
He stands up there under the giant tree that decorates the stage. The branches unfurl in every direction, loaded with books. This literary tree, blessed by God, pours out its wisdom on this dear pastor and he says something like this:
“I think he had a Mama. That little boy had someone to pack his lunch for him and she probably thought she was doing something mundane. But she made sure she took care of her little boy, and packed his lunch like she probably did, day in and day out.
And Jesus took that Mama’s daily chore and blessed 5000 people.”
How great is a God who puts His own fingerprint into each of our days. Our tasks we do repeatedly, thinking that we were made for nothing much, and He takes our work – our faithful work and uses it for His miracles.
Blessed are the mamas and daddies, and children and grandparents and friends and you. Blessed are we who continue to mark this life with our work.
In faithfulness, nothing done in His name is mundane.
I can leave the fingerprints and call it art. The little hands and feet that make them are surely one of a kind. Priceless.
I can scrub them away for another day, feeling good, because our Lord never makes one of His children mundane. He makes us a part of His miracles.
Do you have your own miracle story that proved His work in your life? Share in the comments.