Heartprints

(12/2002) A Story of Passing and Love/Christian

Much of all great wisdom given to us through time begins with one amazing phrase — Once upon a time. And that is where this secret begins.

Once upon a time, I was born into a small and loving family. I was a gift to my mama and daddy, and a proud, older brother. However, not being first, I wouldn’t be left to claim to be the youngest either. Three more courageous, adventurous, and wild young boys were added over the next several years. Alas, my singular great claim was to be the only girl in the brood. It was a role I took seriously, knowing that mama and I had our work cut out for us.

Mama taught me that the greatest gift a family would ever know is the joy of sharing our love with each other, even if it mightn’t always feel the greatest when we were in trouble.

“Y’see,” Mama would always remind me, “loving each other isn’t always happy. Sometimes, it’s gonna hurt. We just gotta be there for each other and know it’s love that keeps us there.”

Mama was the kinder side of love. Daddy applied wisdom when it was needed most.

It was pretty clear to see that Mama needed help, more than Daddy, because I found myself oft times trying to set her straight. After all, we women needed to help each other out, right?

And I?

I needed Mama to know I paid attention and did my own learning. I lived for the opportunities to show her how strong and grown-up I was becoming.

One day, as I was laying on the floor near her feet, one of my younger brothers came barreling into the room, howling like a banshee and sobbing over a small cut on his finger. Standing up to get in on the action, I could see it wasn’t but a small prick from a thorn. I watched Mama, expecting to see her brush it off and send him out the door again.

Instead, she smiled at him, kissed his forehead, and brushed away his tears. Then she reached out, pulled him into her lap, and wrapped her arms around him.

She began to rock him gently, silently, holding his head to her chest until soon the hysterics had stopped, although he continued to cry for a bit.

I was puzzled. This wasn’t normal. I’d learned that comforting meant hugging and rocking, with gentle hums and soft reassurances. It took everything I had to stand by quietly, instead of reminding her she was doing this all wrong. Still, he wasn’t as loud as he was at first, so I kept quiet.

Suddenly — and I do mean SUDDENLY — he was completely silent. Not a muscle was moving. His hands were even relaxed and ever so still.

I had just about decided he had fallen asleep when he whispered, “Mama, whus dat?”

I barely heard Mama’s breathy response. “It’s the heartprints, little one.”

I looked at her face, for signs of something that would tell me who this crazy woman was. My mama was wise beyond years — logical, knowledgeable, and quite the opposite of the creature holding my brother. His screaming must have scrambled her brain. I was obviously going to have to clear her senses. So I waited.

My little brother remained quiet for a moment longer, pressing his ear closer to her chest. With an impatient sniffle, he lifted his head to look at her. She smiled brightly at him again and barely managed to plant a kiss on his forehead as he scooted off her lap and was away to play.

This was my chance.

“Mama. You KNOW th’ain’t no such things as heartprints!” I spoke firmly, a bit irritated, and very sure of myself.

“Oh?” She asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Well! It’s obvious since y’can’t see ’em like fingerprints and footprints.” I spoke in my infinitely-no-nonsense voice knowing she couldn’t argue my logic.

She leaned back briefly, eyeing me rather curiously with her hands crossed in front of herself. Then she uncrossed her hands and patted her lap.

“Come here and sit with me. I want to tell you a story your Granda shared with me.”

She motioned for me to come to her so she could draw me onto her lap.

Okay. If there’s ONE thing every child knows, you never pass up a chance to sit on Mama’s lap. And this invitation came with a bonus! Nobody is wiser than Daddy, unless it’s a granda. This was a story I definitely needed to hear.

I sidled onto her lap, as she folded her arms around my waist and I watched her face as she began.

“One day, when I was just a wee girl, about as old as you are now, I happened to fall and hurt my ankle when I was playin’ in the fields. It pained me more than you could imagine, and I cried hard trying to walk back home.

Not far from home, my daddy — your granda — heard me an’ came runnin’ and scooped me up into his arms. He hugged me to his chest tight as he was walkin’ back to the house, and between the hurt, I felt safe. With my ear against his chest, I heard a sound. I couldn’t ever remember hearing it like that before.”

“I didn’t move. Just laid there listenin’ while he walked. When we were close to the house, I asked him.”

“Daddy, what’s that sound?”

“I looked up at him, expectin’ he’d answer and I saw him smile down at me as he told me they were heart prints.”

“I guess the look on my face was a lot like yours, my sweet girl. It sounds like nonsense, after all. He sat down on the steps in front of our little cabin, me still sittin’ in his lap, and got all kinds of serious. I watched him, just like you’re watching me now when he explained.”

“Y’see,” he began, “when God created all the wonderful things in this world, everything had a reason and a purpose. And sure, we all have hearts. But for a long time, nobody ever heard a heartbeat.” He kept on with his story.

“Our Father God knew there would come a time when we would ask Him to be with us. Those times often come when we hurt the most. That day came for God when he sent Jesus to us. Like any loving parent, He knew Jesus would hurt, but He had to watch Jesus suffer so we could feel His Great Love. When Jesus died on the cross, and his heart beat the last time, Our Father hurt just like me an’ your mama hurt when you suffer,” your granda told me.”

“Then, on the day Jesus came back to us, we got the gift of heartprints. The sound of my heart beats the same as my daddy’s and his before him and all the way back to the day Jesus rose and came back to us. It isn’t something you see, but it’s something you feel — a love so great that it beats in the heart of every living thing. Nobody can stop that.”

“So. Your fingers and feet leave their mark for all the world to see. On walls, and windows where you’ve touched. Your footprints tell me where you’ve been, and where you’re going. But your heartbeat? It echoes mine. It reminds you, same as it will remind your children after you, and so on. I’m always here for you. And everyone before me — even Jesus.”

“That ‘thump’ is God’s heartprint, for, and in all of us.”

“Oh, sure. There’s those that will call it somethin’ else, and choose not to believe in any of it. But they can’t deny their heartprint. They’ll just call it whatever makes ’em feel best about who they are. You can call it what you want. But, just as mankind was made in His image, our heartprint is with us forever to remind us of his love for all eternity.”

Mama got quiet and I could see in her eyes that she was remembering that moment with Granda. Her face shone so brightly, I was holding my breath. Then suddenly the magical memory was gone. With a sigh, she reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face as she smiled down at me again. Her fingertips lingered against my cheek making her loving smile so much more powerful.

“Granda’s love warmed me and made me feel safe and strong again. We share our heartprints. That’s the secret of a mother’s love when we tend to your hurts, my little one.”

Before I could gather my wits and spurt out a hundred questions she knew would follow, she hugged me and set me on the floor as she stood up.

“Now, go tell your daddy and the boys that dinner will be ready at a quarter ‘til.”

“Twenty-five ‘til? Okay.” I spoke as I turned to go.

“No, not twenty-five ‘til,” she said as she chuckled, “A quarter ‘til…fifteen minutes.”

I stopped instantly and turned on my heel. “Mama,” I said as I turned back to look at her, still barely three feet away, “don’t be ridiculous! You KNOW a quarter is twenty-five!” I heard her laughter following me as I turned again and ran out the door. As I ran, I couldn’t stop thinking of all the things I still had to teach that woman.