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Ronda Rich's blog

Liberation by pick-up truck

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On a plane once headed out west to Phoenix, I sat beside a very nice man who was flying to a job interview. It was for a bank job, I remember.

Over the course of four hours, we became friendly enough for him to talk of the mother who, alone, raised him and how close they were.

Coming out even in the end

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There is only one thing that scares me about dying. It is so momentous that it rocks my heart with grief whenever I think of it. It is a tumultuous rocking that resembles the Mississippi River in New Orleans when the ocean is signaling that a vicious hurricane is headed that way.

A name and a story

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In the South, everyone has a story. Every name is followed by a few sentences or paragraphs. No one is known by name alone.

It was perhaps the first thing I warned Tink when he moved here, “Be careful what you say about anyone at church because you never know who’s related to who.”

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