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It’s been over a week since my wife and I went on an archeology dig with our daughter. She’s the archaeologist in the family– we are not.

I participated in a dig with her last summer, which was a lot of fun. This year, Denise joined us, which made even more fun.

What was it like being on an archeology dig?  It was hot, dirty– and very much the adventure you might expect. We were part of a large team of archaeologists working three “rich” areas. Lots of artifacts.

We saw flint points, metal points, flint tools, shell casings from army Spencer rifles– the list goes on. It was all cool stuff.

We also found bits of pottery. Now, up to this point, while it was truly neat to see and hold these artifacts, it was difficult to seeing living breathing people. There was such a vast distance in time between then and now that it was difficult to connect. Yes, it made me gawk at the workmanship, and marvel at what it must have been like to live in such a rough environment. But it wasn’t until we were cleaning and cataloging a small piece of broken pottery that one of the older, more experienced participants spoke up and said, “Oh, just wait until you find pottery that has a fingerprint in it!”

A fingerprint, left on the pottery? Now, wait a minute…a real human being, sure-enough fingerprint?

Okay, now a reality hit me. Suddenly I saw past the deadness of the cold objects in front of me and saw a real live, happy, sad, joyful, brokenhearted, successful, depressed, hope-filled human being. Not ancient bones, but the imprint of a living person. It brought the deadness to life.

It was one of those ah-ha moments that I will never forget. 

I’m glad God never forgets our fingerprints.