I get to read a lot of fellow bloggers posts. So many are well written and are intended to encourage women in their walk with Jesus. One phrase that has been a familiar one is His fingerprints, it is about being created in His image, His workmanship, how we are knit together, formed in the womb.
We continually phrase and rephrase His words to express our views on how we are becoming new creations, conforming to the image of Jesus, what we do to become stronger believers, more mature in faith. Are we masterpieces? His workmanship, anywhere near it?
The answer is a resounding, yes! And we can say it with joy! Even a hallelujah! As believers, Jesus bought and paid for our souls, no matter how sorry, miserable, or unworthy. It cost Him dearly and His salvation is a precious gift. More than even on a baby, newborn and wrinkled, chubby and pink, freshly fashioned with the fingerprints of God, are His fingerprints on us.
A believer is also born again, the spiritual emergence from the womb, that God’s creations come from in the Spirit, we are wrapped in the fingerprints of God, as I told a friend last week, the dimples of His love. Not just a cute or even funny turn of a phrase. I find myself rubbing my legs in lotion to soothe winter dryness, and there the are, the dimpled knees and thighs, that He formed to make me walk, even though I have had times and illness that prevented me from walking, I can walk, because He has fashioned me to be favored and healed and walk in His presence, dimples are a gift.
As I type, I notice the eight little ones under my fingers at the back of my hands, on occasion a little blue vein, it will show when I have pounded the keyboard too long or too late. I never paid much attention before. I really never noticed. I can praise Him for those dimples too. And for hands that can perform a myriad of tasks, even if they are tired.
I can of course convey His love, typing hands, healing hands, holding hands. I have loving hands, firm hands and hand that reach out to others, and hands that hold the Lord’s hands. Hands that pray and fold and fold laundry, prepare meals and plan events, that purchase things we need, He has fashioned me to both love and be loved to touch and be touched.
And then the ones that sort of pin tuck the cheeks, face or perhaps backside. I was looking at my picture, sometimes I smile and have one, sometimes two, one sort of stands out against a silly, slightly, crooked grin. The smile that starts out slight, and ends up a laugh, my nonstop cherry lipstick never smears. It’s a little dry but it never smears.
I might start to look at the double chins or the short neck but God says no. ” See that sparkle in your eye, I put it there, the glow on your face, that is me, my light and love shining through you. You are my child. My beloved and masterpiece, I am still perfecting you, my fingerprints are all over you, you are dimpled with my love. ”
He may even add that like a sculptor, His hands are wet, with the Holy Spirit, and He pats and even pinches that skin to perfection. renewing both inner and outer being and spirit, He is perfecting the creation that in His mind is already formed and perfect. We were created and spoken into existence by the breath of God, and He is for us not against us and with us for all eternity.
That perfect little dimple that parts the cheek as smiles slip across us, His joy. It’s probably just His fingerprints. No, actually, His thumbprints as He holds our faces gently, dimples of His love.
His peace, Rebecca Jones / Connor Wilkins Unsplash Adobe Spark