BACK TO THE LAND OF MY ROOTS

I'm always a little surprised at the depth of my feelings when I return to Iowa.

The past few weeks have been a great trip back into familiar places and cherished faces of lifelong friends.

(Here we are with Alice Gibson Stetz, my Junior High Sunday School teacher)

As a boy I couldn't wait to move away from the cold winters, but as an adult I remember the wonderful Iowa summers; hunting arrowheads, fishing, building log cabins, hunting rabbits, baling hay, driving the tractor, fixing up my '36 and then my '37 Chevy freedom machines.

I just went back--again--to the place along the railroad tracks where I got shot point-blank in the back of my head. To the farmhouse where they cancelled the ambulance because I was too far gone to make it to the hospital. Grandpa Mosher told them "send him anyway!"

Glad he did that.

Now I thank God for including that gunshot in my life.

Hugging necks and sharing memories with old classmates is a wonderful trip.

Yes, I love my roots--but I love them best in the good old summertime.