“In short, while I certainly don’t have all the answers, when I look at the brokenness of this world: it is not God’s fingerprints that I find on the smoking gun at the scene of the crime.

You know where I do see His fingerprints?

On the torturous crossbeam that Jesus held onto tightly, as He carried my cross through the streets and up to Calvary. I see them on the nails he gripped while hanging there to die my death for me. I see His fingerprints all over the places where Christ stood in my place, and where he took me by the hand to lead me into the eternal glory of new life in Him.

I find the fingerprints everywhere that my Father, in His relentless love, searched for me in the night of my own darkness. Or I find them wrapped around me, in the places my Father held me in His loving embrace, and on His best robes He threw around me to clothe me, after I came home exhausted from a long journey of running away (Luke 15:20).

I see the hand of God where the Holy Spirit worked His wonders and miracles, and cast out the darkness with His invincible light. Surely this was the “finger of God” (Luke 11:20).

I see God in the hands of the nurses and doctors who cared for our son, and the friends and family who reached out with compassion and grace to lift us when we were down.

Everywhere I find pure light, life and love: those are the places I find God in the story.”