Today has been one of those busy, unexpected blessing kind of days. Last week, one of my girls called to let me know what her kids—five growing, opinionated grandchildren—wanted for Christmas this year. I had braced myself for a long list of Amazon links and store suggestions. I was even planning to take the easy route: write a check, send it in the mail, and let Mama handle the shopping and wrapping.
But that’s not what happened.
Instead, she hesitated for a minute and said, “They’re not particular… but they really love your homemade soap.” Handmade. Suddenly, the easy route felt too easy, and maybe even a little empty. These kids are growing up, their values shifting, their eyes opening to the love, time, and care tucked inside something made by hand. They don’t want stuff—they want something that feels like us.
So today, I pulled out my soapmaking supplies and scattered them across the kitchen counter. Before long, I was working in a familiar rhythm—oils, lye, color swirls, fragrance, mold. It felt good knowing these bars would need weeks to cure, and that I was giving a gift that required patience, planning, and intention. Useful and pretty. I can do that, I thought.
But as I measured and stirred, my mind drifted to the origin of soap itself. How something so simple has always been connected to cleansing—not just of the body, but of the spirit. And suddenly, a Scripture I’ve known for years came to visit my thoughts:
“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”
—Psalm 51:7 (KJV)
I pictured women by a river’s edge long ago, scrubbing garments with fullers’ soap, beating dirt from cloth as water splashed around their feet. No fancy packaging, no pretty colors or essential oil fragrances. Just hard work, grit, and the promise of clean.
Soap has always done one job: remove whatever shouldn’t stay.
That’s exactly what King David was crying out for in Psalm 51. He didn’t need just a surface wash—he needed a cleansing deep in the fibers of his soul. True repentance. A fresh start. A heart that smelled like grace, not guilt.
Standing in my kitchen with a wooden spatula in hand, I realized my grandchildren might not know how spiritual soap can be. They may not realize how love lingers in every handmade bar. So maybe, tucked inside their Christmas box this year, there will also be a little letter—one that tells them why we give handmade gifts, and even more importantly, why we need a clean heart only God can make new.
I still have a prayer shawl to stitch, a necklace to string, and a hat to crochet—each with its own story and its own quiet lesson. But those are for another day. For now, I’m grateful for curing soap on the counter and the reminder that Jesus is still in the cleansing business.
As I wrap each gift, I’ll pray that they feel loved not just by me, but by the One who washes us whiter than snow.
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the simple reminders hidden in everyday things. As soap cleans our hands and clothes, You alone can cleanse our hearts. Wash away anything that keeps us from You. Renew our spirits with Your grace, and make us whiter than snow.
As I give these handmade gifts, let Your love be felt in every stitch, swirl, and scent. May those who receive them know the beauty of Your forgiveness and the joy of being made new.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
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