In 1961, at Greenville College, I took Dr. Stanley Walters’ class on the Geography of the Holy Land.
In 1964, Delphine and I toured the Holy Land for three weeks.
In 1984-85, we worked at the archeology dig at Oboth, the Rift Valley oasis where Moses headquartered about 1300 BC (Numbers 21:10). When we weren’t digging, we led busloads of tourists around Israel, introducing them to the Biblical sites. Plus, we made personal jaunts exploring Lebanon, Israel, and Jordan.
So, when the idea of Elijah as a real person touched me, I felt knew this man. I had wandered his village in Gilead and walked his paths in the Jezreel valley. I had placed my shoes in his footprints on Mt. Carmel. In Zerephath, I had marveled at the same snow-covered Mt. Hermon as Elijah had.
The topography of the Bible hovered in me with its songbirds, rock badgers, Absalom oaks, and the usual rain shower at 1 p.m.
The land of Elijah? I was eager to write.
