My hands are old. Perhaps the rest of me is too. I remember when my granddaughter sat on my lap and played with my hands saying, “I can make a map on your hands. I see rivers and mountains on them!”

I was only about 75 years old at that time. I wonder what she would do with my hands now that I am 93. Today I am thinking about how our bodies and change and how much these old hands have changed and what my hands have had to do all these years,

These hands have gone to school with me and written many papers and tests. These have gone from writing class, learning when to use capital letters and when not, to college papers and exams. Come to think about it, I don’t believe schools have those writing classes anymore. I hated all those circles we had to draw. Anyhow, those papers have been written all throughout my life.

These hands have lit the candles on a Christmas tree and have gone with me walking in the snow, holding hands with my loved one. These hands have cooked dinner on a wood stove and washed clothes using a washtub. They have used an old sewing machine, only I imagine my feet did most of the work! These hands have cleaned the soot out of our oil lamps too.

These hands have raised four children and have blessed them both in spanking and in love. My hands have put tiny seeds into the ground praying they will do what seeds are made to do. In the fall I have taken these fresh vegetables into the house and canned them so we could taste them in the wintertime.

These hands have brushed away many tears from my eyes as they have watched two babies and two husbands leave me for their heavenly homes. These hands have sewed many dresses and shirts and knitted many sweaters so I could know my kiddies would be warm in our northern midwestern winters. I have even painted many oil and acrylic paintings.

My hands still work. They have written and published a book and have had the joy of taken care of two grandchildren. These hands have learned a new art form, Painting with pencils. I don’t know if they really enjoy that, but they certainly know much about using an eraser!

I have no regrets for the long journey these hands have taken me. The Lord’s hands have led me all of the ways. One day, He will reach out and take me and my hands all the way to eternal life, and so I say, thank you, Lord, for my hands.

We have heard much these days of turmoil about our First Responders, and we are so thankful for them.  They have saved many lives and have helped many folks through difficulties. However, I will tell you about an experience I had and that I didn’t call my First Responder.

It was a tough year! My husband and I were living in Eugene, Oregon studying for his master’s degree at the university. My two children and I were living in a small apartment in Klamath Falls where my parents lived. We had thought we would be living with them, but my sister was ill and she was there. So this small cheap apartment was to be our home for a while. Oh, by the way, our actual home at the time was in Wisconsin.

One night, about 2:00 a.m., my daughter woke up screaming in pain. I didn’t know what to do! The neighborhood was “Undesirable”, but I had to send my eight-year-old son to the manager’s office to call my dad to come to take her to the hospital. I didn’t call a first responder. At the hospital, I felt at ease because I had put my four-year-old daughter in the capable hands of a doctor. So, I didn’t need to call my first responder. The doctor came to me to tell me he had to take out her appendix. I gave my permission.

Later, he came out again to tell me he had finished the surgery but her appendix was fine. He said he took it out anyway because she didn’t need it. He had discovered that she had cancer in her kidneys and that she would only live for 4 to 5 months! I should have called my first responder then, but I asked my dad to call my husband, and he did. I guess I thought my Eddie could handle the problem.

Eddie came home and the first thing he did was to pray to God who is our first responder! He then asked if the doctor had taken any tests. I said I didn’t think so because he hadn’t had time. He said that we had better find a new doctor right away, and he prayed again.

A man who was in the waiting room told us about his doctor and that we wouldn’t be sorry if we contacted him. We found him. Our first responder was on the job! The doctor told us she didn’t have any cancer, but the tube leading from her kidney to her bladder was too small and that she would need special therapy every week until it returned to normal. We were overjoyed!

When we left Oregon to go home to Wisconsin that doctor called the university hospital there and had all appointments arranged for my daughter. How much better it was when we prayed to God, our first responder.

Why didn’t I pray? I don’t know, but I know better now. I will always pray first, and then if necessary I will call those wonderful First Responders. How about you?