Washed Whiter Than Snow, a Soapmaker's Reflection

 

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.

Modern Day Leper

Yesterday we had a new dishwasher installed. The man who came to do it was fast and efficient. We did our best to make him feel welcome in our home, talking to him about various and sundry things as he worked, but we could tell he was uncomfortable. He wore a mask and gloves - of course we knew it was due to Covid concerns, but it seemed so unnecessary. 

When he finished his work, we thanked him and I offered a gift of gratitude. Though he accepted my gift, he made sure my hand never touched his gloved one. When I stuck out my hand in thanks, he thrust his elbow at me. "Oh," I said, "I get it. Covid. Okay." With that, I gave him the acceptable elbow bump and he was on his way. 

I felt like a leper. 

I don't do well with rejection. It's been a thing since childhood. Rejection hurts, no matter how large or small it may be. 

Thinking about the worker's fear of contracting a disease from us made me feel sorry for him. I understood it and respected it, but wished he'd been more open to our hospitality. 

That led me to think back to Biblical days, where true lepers existed. Back then, leprosy was considered not only a health risk but a curse for some unconfessed sin. People with leprosy were considered outcasts and forced to live away from society. Alone and abandoned, these people suffered terribly. Their skin condition caused all sorts of problems as it disfigured their body but the emotional toil must have been much greater. 

I've seen movies on the Bible where lepers entering a town had to call out, "UNCLEAN, UNCLEAN." Their warning was meant to keep healthy individuals away. How painful that must have been for them, to not only suffer physical maladies but to suffer social anguish, too. 

Lepers still exist in the world today. In Africa, Asia, and other parts of the world, there are colonies of lepers living together. Many organizations work to help them receive medication and treatment for their disease, but still, the stigma of uncleanness follows them. 

I've often wondered what it would have been like to have lived in Bible times. With my heart of mercy, how would I have responded to a neighbor or friend with leprosy? Would I have shunned them or tried to help them? I'd like to believe I would have done whatever necessary to give them aid. 

I find it interesting that Jesus healed many with leprosy. He never condemned them, but had compassion on them. 

Can you imagine what it felt like for the leprous man to call out to Jesus asking for healing the one fateful day their paths crossed? He called out to Jesus saying, "Lord, if you're willing, you can make me clean." That man had big faith. He knew Jesus had the power to heal him and he wanted to be healed. 

Jesus could have just said, "Go, your faith has made you clean." But He didn't. Instead, He reached out and touched the man saying, "I am willing, be clean."

That touch...that marvelous touch must have lingered on the leper's arm for days afterward. How long had it been since anyone had touched his scarred and damaged skin? 

Can't you just imagine the power of Jesus' love flowing into the man's body as His fingers graced the man's skin? I can! I'm sure it was electrifying! Instantly, the broken man was whole. 

That's the kind of compassion Jesus has for you and me. He meets us in our brokenness and makes us whole again. He understands our struggles, our fears, our weaknesses and offers us His love, mercy, and grace in their place. 

I'm so thankful we have a Savior who sees us and cares deeply for us. He wants us to be whole. He doesn't force Himself on us, instead, He waits for us to approach. When we do, we must do so with boldness and confidence knowing He not only wants to help, He will help, for He is the lover of our soul. 

When Jesus commanded the leper to be clean, He didn't only cleanse the outside of the man's body. He also cleaned the inside. What joy the leper must have felt to have finally been made whole again! He was restored, set free, loved and accepted. The Savior had seen him, heard and honored his request, and he would never be called UNCLEAN again.