Handprints

This week we had one day with the surprise appearance of the sun that we have seen way too little of in the past month. I am always amazed at how much my spirit rises with any amount of sunshine. In late afternoon, the sun had drifted to the west and shone brightly through my glass slider. I expected the usual streaks that appear out of nowhere when the sun illuminates them but I was surprised by a gift I received. There covering my glass was a myriad of handprints, all left as gifts by my grandchildren on Christmas Eve. The only identifiable prints were those at the lowest level, obviously those of the youngest, 13 month old Jacob. The rest were a wonderful melange of the rest of the bunch. On a rare sunny January afternoon I felt surrounded by their love.

I didn't wash the window. I can't see the prints in these ensuing cloudy days but I know that they are there. Just the knowing reminds me I am surrounded by their love and I anticipate the next sunny day when we can visit again.

Those handprints on my window make me wonder how many handprints have I left on the window of others' lives? And how many have they left on mine? Do we only see them when life is sunny? Or if we do see them when it's sunny, do we remember that they are there when the clouds roll into our spirits? Perhaps we need to use a little less Windex and a little more remembering. I need to know those handprints are smudged upon my heart's window. I think we all need to know.