Fingerprints

Fingerprints.

They swirl like whispered secrets.

They rise in ridges, tiny mountains etched into flesh, They curve and twist, dancing in patterns no man can create on his own.

No two the same. No code to break. No map to decipher. Yet every surface you touch bears silent witness—

Marked by the gentle press of your presence,

A sacred print left behind.

And I wonder…

What if my life is like that too?

What if the winding path I walk—

The turns I never saw coming,

The valleys I wept through,

The peaks I didn’t feel worthy to reach—

What if all of it

Is not chaos,

Not coincidence,

But the soft tracing of the Finger of God?

Every twist,

Every detour,

Every moment I thought I was lost,

Was actually me

Moving along the ridges of His fingerprint—

His holy design pressed into time and soul.

I am not wandering.

I am being held.

Carried along the grooves of His grace.

Pressed into the pattern of His presence.

I am walking the fingerprint of the Holy One.

And so are you.

Even when it hurts.

Even when it’s dark.

Even when it feels like He’s far.

You are not forgotten.

You are not random.

You are not a mistake.

The Almighty is here, touching, guiding.

A sacred swirl of purpose.

His hand is on you.

And you,

Beautiful soul,

Are walking the fingerprint

Of the One who carved stars

And calls you His own.