I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.
—Anne Lamott

Howard Perdue was the owner, manager, and spiritual leader of the Ford tractor dealership in McRae, Georgia, during the 1950s and 1960s. In that era, about 185 percent of the population—practically every man, woman, child, dog, and mule—was involved in the overtime occupation of worrying about soybean prices and praying for rain. Because no one could do much serious farming without a tractor and the proper plows, Perdue was the center of the universe. He was also my mother’s brother.

The Perdue-farmer relationship was a special one. Few farmers started the planting season with enough money to fund all their farm equipment needs. They typically bet—along with Perdue—on the success of their harvest. Their new combine or fertilizer spreader was bought on credit and a promise to pay “when I make my crop.” Frequently, farmers literally “bet the farm” when an unexpected equipment failure led to an unforeseen expense. But the risk was not only on the customer’s side; if the farmer could not harvest his crops, Perdue lost as well.

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