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I wish I had taken pictures of the hands of the people I love – at least with more intention.  My father had the most beautiful hands in the world.  They were strong, well-proportioned, elegant.  They were the hands of a craftsman, and even after injuries left scars, none of their beauty was taken away.  In some ways, they were more beautiful, because they reflected even more the beautiful work that came from his hands.  Daddy was a brilliant business person and executive, but at heart he was a craftsman, a woodworker.  Our eldest son Joshua is also a craftsman, and his hands are so much like his grandfather’s.  Josh is  woodworker, a wood carver, and a blacksmith.  He has beautiful hands that reflect his beautiful spirit.

Ashley has beautiful hands, also those of an artist.  He is able to hold a paintbrush with such delicacy and use the brush so precisely – love flows through his hands to anyone who will take hold of them.  This photo was taken some months ago as an illustration for a blog post I did on the Living Water.

This last photo is of me and my two older brothers.  I don’t remember the photo being taken, but not only do I remember my brothers’ hands of love, I can still feel them around me, protecting me, holding me up, lifting my heart.

The hands of God in my life have been displayed through the hands of the many people who have loved me and whom I love.  There are many photos not here – pictures that exist only in my mind, but nevertheless they are there.  The hands in my life that have supported, caressed, healed, disciplined, and embraced with love.  The Hands of God.

Such an abundance – the gift of enough. . .

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