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Remedy for a dying parish: The kind of love that’s not afraid to sacrifice and struggle

Remedy for a dying parish: The kind of love that’s not afraid to sacrifice and struggle

The high-pitched ring tone echoed in my ear as I lay on the bed, listening, hoping, praying he would answer.
It was December 1984, and I was a lovesick college student, barely out of my teens, trying to connect with the man who had stolen my heart. How could I bear to live without him? What if he stayed in his Venezuelan homeland and didn’t return to the U.S. after the Christmas break? Was there a future for us? Could we make it work despite the fact we were from two very different worlds?

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