Fingerprinted and Convicted

5 October 2015

San Martin

Fingerprinted and Convicted

Left Leon in a rainstorm. After a long, monotonous walk around the industrial outskirts of the city, it finally leveled off on a trail along highways. Not inspiring scenry but then again it was rainy. This did not last long before we found ourself in strong winds, about 30mph, and strong rain and sleet. Yikes! Such is the Camino.

It didn't dawn on me that some who read my blog may have interpreted that I am not enjoying my Camino. Each Camino has different challenges and benefits. To make it clear, I am so dearly loving my Camino. It does have its physical challenges, knees and blisters, and it has the adjustment of people of very different attitudes than my first Camino. I have also had a difficult adjustment to missing the frequency of contact with family and friends.What I may have neglected to make clear is that the Camino is working its blessings deep within me.

I am loving it inside and out.

This was characteristically the case today.Our sweet Lord brought me to reflect upon a scrapbook of my life. It contaned all of the people and events of my life that were captured in my mind's eye as richly loving moments. With the image of each person and event, the metaphor of having their fingerprint upon my heart became vivid for me.

Here is a short journey of my oldest to more recent examples of those closest to me who left their fingerprints on my heart.

Have you ever stopped to reflect on what your oldest memory is? Think back upon your days as a very, very young child. Who was there? What were they doing? Saying? How were you involved?

My closest family and friends have heard me ask this question. This is largely because of the profound impact it has had and still does have on me. Two people and events come to mind. The strongest was a time with my Italian grandpa. I was perhaps three years old. They lived near the Chicago Stockyards near 46th and Union. They lived in a typical two story bungalow there and Grandpa was taking me to his workshop. I recall being mesmerized by the first site of all of the tools, hardware, and monstrous grey workbench. He hoisted me up to sit there, then was quick to tack set a row of what I now believe were roofing nails in the benchtop. He handed me a tack hammer and showed me how to hammer away. I slipped my tongue to the side of my pursed little lips and pounded away on those big headed nails. Here is where my "moment" occurred. Sometime during the fury of nail blasting, I looked up at Grandpa. That was 64 years ago and I recall it like it happened today . My grandpa Ginestri was staring at me in admiration and abundant love. His loving facial experession has been branded in my memory all these years.

Yes, my grandpa "fingerprinted" me with his love.

Another early memory was that with my Ma. She was a schooled beautician. I was three years plus and she would sit me on the large white porcelain pedestial sink and begin to "fix" my hair. I had naturally curly hair. Ma would fuss with it until leaving one long swirling curl that drooped onto my foreheard. What I recall was her stepping back, admiring her work, giving me a loving mom look, and saying something like, "That's my big boy!"

My Ma "fingerprinted" me abundantly with her love all through her life.

I still recall being a little boy about five years old when I was ring bearer for my Aunt Jen and Uncle Len's wedding. There are nothing short of 100 photos of my cuteness on their wedding day. Even today, I have my aunt an uncle as the last remaining relatives of my Italian relatives. Today they are a fountain of faith and love for me. On the Camino, I can sense the sweet fragrance of their prayers.

Fingerprinted by their love.

So many events from childhood to adulthood flipped in my scrapbook of people and events of being loved. It was this luxury of time that allowed me to draw them to memory. The Camino provides this head time.

Of course, I was overwhelmed by the memory of finding the love of my life. I fell head over heels in love with Barbara Amore. Dating, marrying, and raising children has been a fountain of the sacrament of our marriage. We weathered storms and heartache togther and each precious event has left the fingerprints of our love.

Not to overlook the fruit of our love that God has provided, our children. A father could not be more grateful for who they are and who they have become as loving, responsible, and successful adults.

My family has fingerprinted my heart.

Another thought that played full stage in my thinking was how blesed my wife and I are to have daughter-in-laws of such faith and character. Each one has such a core of inner beauty and strength. It brought to memory their parents. What they did to raise such wonderul ladies! I so look forward to the family my daughter will someday marry into. Knowing my daughter's wisdom, the choice will be made after very careful baby steps of keen discernment.

My heart has been fingerprinted by so many in my childhood, my family life, and a whole battalion of friends who love us.

I tried to paint a picture of how simple and profound an impact it can be simply by taking a look at a scrapbook of my life. How life-giving it is to give the time to reflect upon all those who have loved us into who we are today! Each mental photo of those I reflected upon in this entry led me to see there are countless fingerprints upon my heart.. Yes, a collage of fingerprints.

Seeing this led me to feel convicted, "I am loved." I am both fingerprinted and convicted. "I am so overwhelmingly loved."

As rich as that conviction became in me, the truth is that all that love is but a shadow of the love God has for me. in 1 John he writes, "It is not so much that I love God. It is that He first love me."

Here's my encouragement. Give yourself an evening, a Saturday, or Sunday afternoon when you're not rushed. Take out your oldest scrapbook of pictures. Study each and consider the love that was contained in each event, each person involved. Immerse yourself in the experience. An overwhelming feeling of love will flood over you. With each photo, each memory, each personal experience you will begin to feel the accumulation of the fingerprints upon your life.

It will convict you, rest assured. You are so overwhelmingly loved.

Your fingerprinted pilgrim,

Deacon Willie, DW