Hands

I've always loved hands. I remember my grandmother's hands: warm, solid, and loving. I remember the first time I saw that my mother's hands were aging; the fear that filled my heart at the thought of losing her someday. My first hand-holding... his hands were cool in mine.

Hands playing flutes... trumpets... drums...



And oh! The beautiful mommy hands touching and holding our newest granddaughter, who was born three months early... and her own tiny, miracle hands!






And my hands, working in glass, bring me great pleasure. I love the feel of glass, the snap of cutting and breaking glass, the texture of glazing, the pressure of grinding...



And then there are the hands that were here in Dulce last week.

 Approximately thirty people from the Denver (Colorado, not Iowa!) area loaded their cars, trucks, and a small bus, and came down to Dulce to help at our church.




They ran a fabulous VBS for the children of Dulce;

They cleaned...

                       They served,
                                 they raked,
                                        they painted,
                                                  they lifted...




  They drank coffee together,



They fed.....
            they hugged....
                       they built and rebuilt steps and ramps.



It was amazing and wonderful to be on the receiving end of such giving in the name of Jesus.


 The blessing of these hands in this place is gratefully accepted.


We pray that these lovely people were as blessed to be here as we were blessed to have them.