I bought this dish at a local garden center one of those long weeks when Sue was in the hospital in 2020. It was such a reminder to me that even in hard times she remained in God’s good hands.Hands were very important to Sue.

Hands speak.

Not only do they communicate through sign language but also they speak of a person’s inner state of Being…of who they are and what is going on in their heart.

Uncared-for hands.

Grabbing hands.

Nervous hands.

Rough hands.

Quiet hands.

Gentle hands.

Healing hands.

Sue often told me I had healing hands. That my touch was healing. I’m not exactly sure what that means because when I have a headache my hands don’t really do too much to help me!! But I do recognize the many ways hands communicate.

The first gift I ever gave Sue was a hand. I had only known her a few short months when her birthday rolled around. She was turning 54.The TV show was still being produced, and she was traveling extensively as a keynote speaker, staying in fine hotels around the world. I had a dilemma. What do you give someone who appears to have everything? I’m someone who always likes to give a meaningful gift. So as I racked my brain, the realization dawned on me that there was nothing I could buy for her that she couldn’t buy for herself.

Suddenly divine inspiration hit me. In the years before I met Sue I had worked with a midwife and delivered babies in an Amish community. Because photos were not permitted, every little one that came into the world had his feet inked and precious footprints preserved. Sue had also attended one of these births with me and witnessed a first breath, and saw a first cry. And was in awe when she felt the pulsating umbilical cord as the lifeblood flowed through. She was fascinated with the power and energy of these beginnings of life.

I had my own ink pad in the closet so I pulled out a parchment paper, inked my entire left hand (And yes, I am left-handed!) and carefully pressed my hand on the paper, gently rolling the fingers to make sure I had the fingerprints. For some reason, it just seemed like the perfect gift to give someone who started their FBI career reading fingerprints!

Then, I found my calligraphy pen and wrote in freestyle script those enduring words by blind hymn writer from the last century, Fanny Crosby. “He hideth my soul in the depths of His love… and covers me there with His hand.”

Putting it inside of a yellow manila envelope, I printed Happy Birthday on the outside.

I was pretty shy in those days, and it felt like such an inadequate gift!

But, it was a gift from the heart and Sue absolutely loved it! She loved it so much she took it to a professional framing company and spent hundreds of dollars on getting it matted and framed! She repeatedly reassured me it was one of her most prized possessions and she wanted me to bury it with her!

I had to do a lot of talking over the years to convince her that it was not a good idea to bury that expensive frame!

Today as I look at that spontaneously inked but elegantly framed handprint hanging on the wall in the master bedroom at the foot of the bed, it makes me smile. It warms my heart that she enthusiastically embraced such a simple little gift.

She had the wisdom to interpret the inspiration behind it, seeing that it was actually the Lord who was giving her words of encouragement. Often, on some of those long dark days of MS pain, she would be resting in her room. From the kitchen I would first hear humming sounds from the bedroom. Before long she would be triumphantly belting out the words, her voice growing stronger and stronger. “He hideth my soul in the depths of His love, and covers me there with His hand!”

No matter how rough the day or how rotten she felt, she clung to the truth that Jesus was holding on to her with His good and gentle hands, and He would never let go.

Even now, if I close my eyes and listen carefully, I can still hear her unmistakable voice reverberating His praises and His promises throughout the house. And I’m encouraged to trust the same good Hand.

He holdeth me up, and I shall not be moved; He giveth me strength as my day.

He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock that shadows a dry, thirsty land.

He hideth my life in the depths of His love,and covers me there with His hand, and covers me there with His hand.

(Fanny Crosby)