Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • 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.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.