Rich Dixon is back with another story.

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Everyone has a story. ~ Dick Foth

The first thing we learned in Greenville, Mississippi, was that we didn’t speak the local language. The label on the map looked like “Green-ville.” But the proper pronunciation is more like “Gren-vul” or, even better, “Gren-vul, y’all.”

The second thing we learned was the basis of “Southern hospitality.” Greenville was one of many places where complete strangers welcomed us like old friends. Before we arrived, we were set up with complimentary hotel nights, media attention, and offers of free food. We were especially intrigued by an invitation to dine at The Shotgun House.

This establishment was exactly what you’d imagine in an authentic Southern barbeque joint. Want fancy? Try somewhere else. If you wanted plain old great food – ribs, brisket, fried chicken – in a setting likely unchanged in several decades, this was the spot.

The server delivered incredible food, with a reminder to save room for homemade dessert. Aside from a couple of guys at the bar, we were the only customers, so she had time to chat. And just like so many people, she wanted to tell us a story.

She spoke, through tears, of a young man injured as a child. A stray bullet in a drive-by shooting left a sleeping toddler paralyzed below his neck. She talked about the boy’s determination and perseverance against overwhelming odds. His attitude was a gift to her, and she wanted to thank us for what we were doing to encourage people like her young friend.

Then she handed us a generous donation for Convoy of Hope. She thought a contribution in his honor would please him.

We asked if she’d be there tomorrow, if we could return with a copy of Relentless Grace for her and her friend. She said he’d be blessed by such a gift, but she was wrong.

Becky and I were the blessed ones.

Everyone has a story.