Along time ago, ten years or so, in land far far away, Canada, I had a dream.
A marvelous dream, an idea, a plan to photograph and write a book about hands.
Hands have always fascinated me.
At this junction in the road of my life, I was heading east to the great unknown...a year abroad in Greece to work with a team of missionaries serving refugees.
My dream was to capture the spirit of what hands are capable of and
what my hands might do.
And so on and so forth.
Along the way, this dream was shattered by broken words,
disappointment and ultimately poor timing.
Prior to this time, and since then, I have collected many photos, magazine tear-outs and quotes about hands and have stashed them in a big ole "hand" book.
From time to time I see hands doing their thing...
especially when Dels was born deaf and we spent chunks of time using our hands to speak.
From time to time I see my hands and marvel at all they accomplish.
From time to time I see my mother's hands in my hands,
my grandmother's hands in my hands.
I notice my hands changing.
Yesterday, I was struck at how capable and strong my hands are...
how wrinkles are evident, and how the outline of my wedding bands have created permanent indentations and tan lines.
Hands to speak, to play, to hold, to lift, to pray, to fold, to create, to cook and so much more.
To give, to receive and to love.