Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny

village near Nuremberg, lived a family

with eighteen children.

In order merely to keep food on the

table for this mob, the father and

head of the household, a goldsmith

by profession, worked almost

18 hours a day at his trade and

any other paying chore he could find

in the neighborhood.

Despite their seemingly hopeless

condition, two of the

Albrecht Durer children had a dream.

They both wanted to pursue

their talent for art.

They knew full well that their

father would never be financially

able to send either of them to Nuremberg

to study at the Academy.

After many long discussions at night

in their crowded bed, the two boys

finally worked out a pact.

They would toss a coin. The loser

would go down into the nearby mines

and, with his earnings, support his

brother while he attended

the Academy.

Then, when that brother who won the toss

completed his studies, in 4 years, he would

support the other brother at

the Academy, either with sales of his

artwork or, if necessary, also by

laboring in the mines.

They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning

after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss.

He went off to Nuremberg.

Albert went down into the dangerous mines

and, for the next 4 years, financed his

brother, whose work at the

Academy was almost an immediate

sensation.

Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts,

and his oils were far better than those of

most of his professors, and by the time

he graduated, he was beginning to earn

considerable fees for his

commissioned works.

When the young artist returned to his

village, the Durer family held a

festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate

Albrecht's triumphant homecoming.

After a long and memorable meal,

punctuated with music and laughter,

Albrecht rose from his honored

position at the head of the table to

drink a toast to his beloved brother

for the years of sacrifice that had enabled

Albrecht to fulfill his ambition.

His closing words were,

"And now, Albert,

blessed brother of mine, now it is your

turn. Now you can go to

Nuremberg to pursue your dream,

and I will take care of you."

All heads turned in eager expectation

to the far end of the table where

Albert sat, tears streaming down

his pale face, shaking his lowered head from

side to side while he sobbed and

repeated, over and over,

"No...no...no...no."

Finally Albert rose and wiped the tears

from his cheeks. He glanced down

the long table at the faces he loved, and then,

holding his hands close to his right

cheek, he said softly,

"No, brother, I cannot go to

Nuremberg. It is too late for me

look...look what 4 years in the mines

has done to my hands !

The bones in every finger have been

smashed at least once, and lately

I have been suffering from arthritis

so badly in my right hand that I

cannot even hold a glass to return your

toast, much less make delicate lines on

parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush.

"No, brother...for me it is too late."

More than 450 years have passed. By now,

Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful

portraits, pen and silver-point sketches,

watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper

engravings hang in every great museum

in the world, but the odds are great that you,

like most people, are familiar with only

one of Albrecht Durer's works.

More than merely being familiar with it,

you very well may have a reproduction

hanging in your home or office.

One day to pay homage to Albert for all

that he had sacrificed,

Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew

his brother's abused hands with

palms together and thin fingers stretched

skyward. He called his

powerful drawing simply

"Hands"

but the entire world almost immediately

opened their hearts to his great

masterpiece and renamed his

tribute of love

"The Praying Hands"

The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one...no one...ever makes it alone !

Thank you Melody Warren for this beautiful story.