Hands That Traveled Ahead of Me
The handmade statues came from my great-grandmother, a woman who never rushed 
anything. Not her prayers, not her cooking, and not her work. She had a calm presence 
that did not need to announce itself. When she was alive, her hands were always busy, 
usually quiet, and always purposeful. She believed in service more than talk. During her 
time on mission, she made these statues herself, shaping them slowly wherever she 
was staying. For her, creating was an extension of faith. Making something with 
intention mattered more than making something perfect.
The statues originated during her mission work, far from home, in places I only know 
through stories. Eventually, they were sent to me, wrapped carefully and passed along 
like something fragile but important. When I first held them, I noticed how worn they felt. 
Not damaged, just handled. They had clearly been touched many times before me, 
carried, prayed over, and moved from place to place.
Each statue is small, uneven, and slightly rough to the touch. You can see where her 
fingers pressed too hard or softened an edge by mistake. Nothing about them is 
uniform.
They were meant to be held, not displayed behind glass. When light hits them, shadows 
settle into the grooves, almost like the statues are holding memories inside them. (They feel old in the best way.)
To my great-grandmother, these statues were acts of devotion. To me, they are proof 
that faith and creativity can survive distance and time. My family sees them as 
reminders of who we come from and what we value. For future generations, they 
represent intention.

– SB

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant