Donate, cry, pray, then read

I could not have put this better myself. My heart and prayers go to Moore.

Nicole Hill

Do you know what it takes to be an Oklahoman? You probably don’t because to be an Oklahoman is to be nuts, balls-to-the-wall crazy, off-the-charts insane. You have to be.

In Oklahoma, when you pop out of your mama, the doctors give you the once over. They check your eyes, because they know you’re going to have to stare down EF4 tornadoes and not flinch. They check the gravel in your guts, because true grit’s making a living from hard, dry land — molding a life from red clay. And they check your heart, because to be an Oklahoman is to be the smack-dab center of the Heartland.

Then you grow up in Oklahoma with your “Yes, ma’ams” and “No, sirs” and “Ranch, pleases,” and you learn how to drive in a place where you reserve one hand for waving to the neighbors you know and the neighbors you don’t…

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