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  • I was 25. My son was 4. I was driving him to the Ruth Washburn Co-Op Nursery in Colorado Springs, Colorado, in my banana-colored '68 Fiat Spider convertible on a cold
    morning. The cloudless blue sky was like a stark, blue desert. My son asked me, "Why did God make us with hands?" I was silent, stumbling, wondering how to answer. He blurted out, "I know! So we can work." It was a reminder to me that sometimes a simple question just needs a simple answer.
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