From watching him play the other day – I recognize his hands in the picture, she mused.  My friend is talking about a street artist we had the pleasure of listening to just recently. I love his story but I don’t really know it. He was a clarinetist; he is a lover of Mozart and jazz. He plays it all on a table of water glasses down near the waterfront in Old Town Alexandria VA. How does one wind up as a street performer, how does one learn to play glasses of water, how do you find yourself in this position but still love what you do?

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in Eat, Pray, Love; “We have hands; we can stand on them if we want to. That’s our privilege. That’s the joy of a mortal body. And that’s why God needs us. Because God loves to feel things through our hands.”  I find the thought of that fascinating and interesting somehow, but I think at the same time I knew it. Going back over some of my images I found many that reflected hands and I instantly knew the circumstances and the feeling that went with each image.

If you find yourself holding someone’s hand when they need it most it will become part of your story. “One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others”, said Dejan Stojanovic. There are times they may not even realize you’re holding their hand, like when you teach them about living on their own, surrounding themselves with themselves and enjoying their own company, but you’ve made a difference in their life.

This is especially true in the life of a dog. Trust, love, familiarity, your hands can convey all of these things. A dog knows your story better than you do sometimes. Never raise your hand to a dog but always extend it. 

And while you’re extending your hand to someone you love your story and theirs will become one. That wonderful time when you join your lives and as John Geddes so wisely said in A Familiar Rain…“…we’ve let go of so many things, but never each other’s hand …”  If the unthinkable happens and your lives are no longer joined it may very well be because you let go of each other’s hands, by choice or by circumstance. That too becomes your story.

You will leave notes. 

You will celebrate. 

You will create. You will ponder. 

You will lend your hand. 

You will reassure. 

You will work. 

You will discover. 

And you will grow old. “…You won’t age? I promise you this – your hands will go shiny and transparent and at the slightest bruise they’ll bleed…”  ― John Geddes.

But if you’ve lived your life through your hands in a way that God can “feel things”, your story just might be a beautiful one that people will tell over and over. Like Mozart’s for instance, being told to this day in concert halls and on street corners.