Rich: Jay, the good shepherd

It is conventional wisdom that you should never do business with family. And, for the most part, that is probably true.Unless that family member is an honorable, God-fearing man like the one that my niece, Nicole, was wise enough to marry and bring into our family.

Rich: The intelligence quotient

Tink was in his office, supposedly, working. We both have home offices because we are both writers and work from home. I am a serious writer who composes prose for books and this column.You would be surprised how much harder it is to write this column of 650 words than it is to write an entire book.

Rich: The Tinker diaries

In my office is a beige wicker suitcase with brown leather straps.Inside are 32 handwritten diaries produced by Charlie Tinker during his years working at the White House for his cherished friend, Abraham Lincoln.In another area, squirreled away by Tink, is a hand-duplicated set of those diaries.

Rich: The return

It happened the other night. He returned for the first time in 30 years. His eyes were still dark brown, his hands were short but wide, and his teeth were still pearly white but rarely seen because, for him, life was a serious business.

Rich: One million words

One million words ago, I started this column.That’s a lot of stories to tell.Additionally, I have written eleven books, including one that was adapted into a television movie and another that is nearing its 50th printing.

Rich: Too funny to be true

This story sounds too remarkable to be true. You may doubt its veracity.But trust me: the truth it is.It began decades ago. Some stories happen quickly, but the most remarkable ones unfold over the years.This is one of those stories.

Rich: The colors of war

There is a multi-awarded country song, written by Jamey Johnson and Bill Anderson, with a line about two soldiers in World War II in a black-and-white photo: “You can’t see what those shades of gray keep covered; You should have seen it in color.

Rich: When a landmark died

Perhaps, it is the older we get, the more it hurts.Or perhaps it is the more sentimental we get, the more it hurts.Growing up, we rarely ate out. We were rural country people, so my parents counted pennies to have enough for taxes, electricity, and the few groceries we bought.

Rich: The frying pan

When brides stopped registering for china and crystal, making it less fun to shop for wedding gifts as well as much harder, I just started looking around my kitchen at what items I use the most.

Rich: The mother who was but wasn’t

She loved me so much.Often, she’d tell stories of my childhood and always begin with, “You were the cutest little thing I've ever seen.”Her favorite story to tell happened when I was three. “Your Mama always dressed you like a little doll. I ain’t never saw nothin’ like it.