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“We are all in pain, we choose to suffer.” I remember, as a teenager, my father spending hours in the yard landscaping as an escape from the vagaries of pastoring a church. I always think of him as the bishop’s

I set up the camera and let it roll. In her kitchen. In rural Iowa. August, 1993. Over the next two hours my eighty-four-year-old friend, without hesitation, without probing, without concern, spoke…about her itinerant life and the struggles of share-cropping,