Fingerprints

Last weekend we drove past Foothills Elementary.

Home to the Foothills Falcons, and to me, a handful of years ago.

I still remember the sixth-grade science fair.

My hypothesis focused on whether fingerprints are hereditary or not.

I borrowed a fingerprinting kit from my Grandpa.

He showed me how to gently roll a finger from side-to-side to get a good, clear fingerprint for my experiments.

I fingerprinted friends and family, classmates and teachers.

Everyone helped.

I made a poster of the different types of fingerprints and my findings.

I worked hard on the project.

And I learned something.

Fingerprints are totally unique.

No two people have the same ones.

Not even people from the same family.

Not even identical twins.

That’s why we can use them to identify people.

Each person is born with their very own.

I sat on the floor in front of my mirror to get ready this morning.

I had to squint through tiny fingerprints covering the bottom half of the mirror.

Just the right height for tiny Hank hands.

I can’t bring myself to wash them off.

They’re Hank’s.

I called Jake on the way home from work this week.

Sometimes I like when he doesn’t answer, because I get to hear his voicemail greeting.

2016 Jake said, “Hey this is Jake, leave me a message” and I smiled.

I’d know that voice anywhere.

I’ve been thinking about God’s hand and His voice lately.

I’ve been watching, listening.

When words come to mind when I don’t know what to say.

When I feel joy in the hard.

When somehow it all gets done.

I see His hand.

I hear His voice.

I look for Him and He’s there.

And I can’t wash them off, His fingerprints.

I’d know His voice anywhere.

“In our daily life it is our paramount task and blessed opportunity to encounter God” (Elder Uchtdorf “God Among Us”).

Maybe that’s why I’m so happy.