As long as I can remember I have been fascinated with American Indians. When I was in second grade, my father, who understood my interest, gave me a book on American Indians. My father also introduced me to two of his friends, who I later learned were authorities on American Indians.

I spent time talking to these two men, especially the older one. He was retired, and had a wonderful collection of American Indian artifacts (legally acquired), all of which are now in museums. We spent hour upon hour talking. The good doctor was very knowledgeable about Indian culture, and was free in sharing his knowledge with me.

When I was in fourth grade, I started carving a name on the woodwork in my home, especially in my bedroom. When my mother discovered my carving, I was in trouble. When she asked why I was doing it, and whose name it was, I told her it was the name of the person I would someday marry, who would be an American Indian. Neither my mother nor I knew such a person.

Many years later I ascended a narrow trail overshadowed by tall pinion pines at Mesa Verde to fulfill a lifelong dream of visiting the Indian cliff dwellings there. I stooped to enter a home that looked much as it had when its last resident had lived there when Genghis Khan was conquering northern China. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized that the walls were covered with hand prints. Upon closer examination I realized that the original occupant had plastered those walls eight hundred years ago, and when the mud dried, that Indian’s hand prints had been preserved for posterity.

I placed the palm of my right hand in some of those prints. My hand was larger. With my left hand I held the hand of that person whose name I had carved on the woodwork in my bedroom when I was in fourth grade – that American Indian who grew up far, far away from where I grew up and to whom I was now married.

At that moment I understood. Just like some long ago Indian’s hand prints are still preserved on the walls of his long ago home and look like he must have just finished the job, God’s hand prints are all over everything He has made. I see them! Do you?

Some day very soon I fully expect to be standing, holding the hand of the one whose name I have tried to carve all over my life as long as I can remember, looking at His hand prints all over His creation – that One who now seems so far, far away in some ways.

“The Case For A Creator” helps adjust one’s focus and discover God’s hand prints all over creation, especially those who are not certain of what they are seeing.