Outside of Milledgeville, Georgia, was the Cline-O'Connor farm, Andalusia. Seated on the veranda in a rocking chair overlooking the sloping hills was a badly crippled woman. She had a difficult hand to play. Her name is Flannery O'Connor, and she always did her own thing. The truth is, Flannery was a complex and mysterious female writer who had a deep desire for mystery and privacy of self. I am writing how I knew her and how I saw her and what she meant to me as a writer, thinker and believer. I knew and her saw her as a part of the larger picture of God's grace. I am imperfectly trying to pass on some of the knowledge, humor and writing she shared with me.