Handprints of Love: Adding to the family

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

—John 3:16

My family started a new Thanksgiving tradition last year. After dinner each of us used a Sharpie to write what we were thankful for on the tablecloth. My daughter-in-law Tara traced her hand to create a turkey, then others followed suit. This past Thanksgiving we used the same tablecloth but decided to paint our handprints instead. Adults applied paint to children’s hands, then pressed them firmly to the cloth. Afterwards, they quickly rushed them to the bathroom to wash off. Tara and Rebekah painted their spouses hands too.

I left the tablecloth to dry on a rarely used table. That same weekend I happened upon some 30 year-old Mother’s Day artwork that included the handprints of my son Tim. What are the odds of that?

I placed the artwork next to Tim’s handprint on the tablecloth and marveled at the picture of growth. My mind traveled back 33 years to the night of his birth and how I marveled at the miracle in my arms. I counted all his fingers and toes, memorized the slope of his nose, and was in awe over his curious blue eyes and few strands of blonde hair. I wondered if the colors would change or if he’d always be my blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy. What would he look like as a boy, a teen, a man? Who would he become?

My heart was full that night. How could I ever love him more than I did in those moments? Little did I know.

For four years he was my only child. During that time we spent countless one-on-one moments, building our bond of love. Memories flood my mind. Rocking him, singing to him, teaching him words and songs and hand motions. Playing cars and trucks and blocks with him. Reading to him. Praying with him. How could I love another little human? Little did I know.

Tim is my one and only son, but four years after his birth my first daughter Rebekah was born, followed by my second daughter Emma three years later. My capacity for love grew.

It grew even more as my son and daughters married, adding their three spouses to our family. When Tim and Tara had their first child, my first grandchild, Addison, I fell deeply in love once again. How could I ever love another little human as much as I loved Addison? Little did I know.

Now, nine additional grandchildren later, my capacity for love has grown. My heart is overwhelmingly full.

Family is my greatest blessing. I inscribed my gratitude on the Thanksgiving tablecloth. I read the same sentiment from others. And how sweet it was when Addison wrote a note of thanks specifically for her cousins.

As I reflect on these memories, I think of another mother, Mary, the mother of Jesus. Just as I fell in love with and marveled over my newborn son, Tim, she too marveled over the miracle in her arms. As I was curious about who my son would grow to be, she too had her own thoughts. On the night she gave birth, shepherds came to visit and shared with her and Joseph the angel’s message about the newborn Savior. “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19).

I also think about God. Scripture says, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).

How hard that must have been for Him to send Jesus as a newborn baby that night, knowing that 33 years later He would die an excruciating death on a cross. I shudder to even think of giving my one and only Son, Tim.

How could He do it? Only because of His great love for the whole world. It was His plan of salvation, so that anyone who believes in Jesus shall be added to His family and be included in the Great Thanksgiving Banquet in heaven.

Before I fold up my tablecloth and put it away, I give thanks once more for all those who have left handprints on my heart, and I rejoice in the God of my salvation.

Thank You, Abba Father, for loving me and inviting me into Your family, and thank You, Jesus, for Your crimson-stained handprints of love that marked the way Home for me. I love You.

I submitted my R. S. V. P. How about you?