“Precious Lord, Take My Hand” by Joan Boone

I was born in Mars Hill, Maine, and spent my childhood nearby. Back then, people didn’t travel much. We lived out in the country, where my father worked for a farmer. Our home was modest, and my earliest memories include the anxiety of starting school. I had to take the bus, and when that door shut behind me, I felt overwhelmed and alone. I cried a lot, and my teachers had their hands full. Thankfully, my older sister, five years ahead of me in school, was allowed to sit with me for a while until I got used to it. Eventually, the principal had a firm word with me, and that helped turn things around.

Like most kids in those days, I helped out at home. In the fall, I joined my mother in the potato fields. I enjoyed school, especially the social parts—being in exhibitions, acting in the senior play, and dancing at Friday night socials. After graduation in 1953, I completed a business course that taught shorthand and typing.

Just as I finished school, Loring Air Force Base was opening. Civil service recruiters came and tested our class, and I was hired to work in the legal office. That’s where I met Blinn. He had been working for his brother-in-law at a garage. One Saturday, my dad’s car wouldn’t start, and I wanted to go shopping. I walked to the garage and asked for help. Blinn came, fixed the car, and not long after, asked me out.

We both worked at Loring when we married, and we went on to raise six children, all born within ten years. It was a busy, noisy, wonderful time—especially with four teenagers in the house at once. I stayed home while the kids were small and went back to work when the twins started school. I took a job in the school lunch program so I could be home with the children in the afternoons and summers. Our home was full of love and structure. Blinn and I always stood together when it came to rules. Even though we didn’t have much, we provided what our kids needed, and when we could, we gave them extras. If they wanted something special like skis, they often worked toward it themselves, and we helped as much as we were able. They learned responsibility, and we were proud of that.

The secret to our strong marriage—over seventy years now—has been patience, unconditional love, and commitment. We didn’t always agree, but we always respected each other. Blinn never raised his hand to me or spoke harshly. We supported one another and made decisions together, always grounded in faith.

My faith took root when I was about eleven. My father, who had struggled with alcohol, entered a twelve-step program and never drank again. That journey led our whole family to the Methodist Church. Women in the church took time to teach me and other young girls about God’s love and what it meant to commit your life to Christ. I was baptized and joined the church with my friend Joan Walsh.

As an adult, I stayed deeply involved. I taught Sunday school, helped with youth ministry alongside Blinn, and later became active in the women’s group. When Mrs. Banks restarted the group, she asked me to be vice-chair. I didn’t think I was capable, but she assured me I could handle it. That role grew into years of leadership. The group raised money, hosted events, and became a true circle of support. Those women were like sisters to me.

All our children were baptized in the Methodist Church, and most were married there—except for one who had a wedding in Kentucky. Our daughters who moved to Bridgewater attended a different church when their children were young because it offered more programs, but our family always remained grounded in faith.

Faith carried me through the tough times. Raising six kids on a limited income wasn’t easy. I leaned on prayer, especially when we faced challenges. One of our grandsons was diagnosed with autism. Another grandson went through the criminal justice system and lived with us for a time afterward. We changed our home to support him—removing a gun, adding a landline, and offering structure and love. It wasn’t easy, but we were committed to helping him rebuild. Both experiences taught me to see people differently and to love more deeply.

We also faced heartbreak with two of our children’s divorces. Our eldest son’s ex-wife moved to California with their children—our first grandchildren. I was devastated. I worried I might never see them again. But eventually, I did. One of them even lived with us after his release from prison, and he’s doing well now. That brings me peace.

These hard seasons taught me empathy and compassion. They made me slower to judge and quicker to listen. Life doesn’t go the way we plan, but God is with us every step of the way. When people ask how I face adversity, I say, “I just trust.” I’ve had many surgeries for arthritis and many moments of uncertainty, but I’ve never doubted that God was present.

In our later years, Blinn and I spent eleven winters in Florida. We eventually bought a little place and enjoyed many sweet memories there. But as travel became harder and we missed our grandson with autism, we decided to stay home. People ask if I miss Florida, but I don’t. That season was good, and now this season is too.

After our children were grown, I worked fifteen years in the school lunch program and later took a job managing the cafeteria at McCain’s Foods. I had applied to be a regular worker, but the manager said, “I think you have leadership skills.” That surprised me—but it helped me grow.

I’ve changed over the years. In the beginning, I often deferred to others—especially my mother. Even after getting married, I still leaned on her opinions. But with time, I began to believe in myself. I realized I had wisdom to offer, and my voice mattered. I’ve learned to accept people as they are, without trying to mold them.

One hymn that brings me deep comfort is “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.” It was especially meaningful during my sister’s memorial service and continues to speak to my heart.

As I look back, I want to be remembered as someone who loved unconditionally, who was always there for her family. I hope my children and grandchildren remember how much they were loved. My greatest hope for them is that they remain healthy, joyful, and close. Our six children have always been united, and I pray that never changes.

I’ve lived a good life. Once, my son Rodney reminded me of something I had said: “I just want my children to be reasonably happy.” That still rings true. Life isn’t perfect, but if they can find happiness, hold onto each other, and live with grace—that means the world to me. And for all of it, I am deeply thankful.