This week we made a quick run to Arkansas. Our RV was parked on Uncle Jerry's mini-storage lot while we were in Israel. We were able to see a few family members and ministered Wednesday night for the Pine Bluff church. It was nice to see the Hills again. They are great people of God.
Although I made occasional family trips to Arkansas when I was growing up, it is still like a foreign country to me. We drove down Highway 67, passing places with names like Mule Ditch (a creek of sorts), Little Running Water Ditch (another creek of sorts), and Gar Slough (you guessed it: a creek of sorts). The oldtimers named their villages and towns things like Bald Knob and Little Rock. This is the land of bayous and Bill Clinton, razorbacks and rice fields. In Arkansas, farm supply stores are more numerous than shopping malls and the farmers talk farm talk, politics, and local gossip.
Although Arkansas life is far removed from the one in which I was raised, I am irretrievably connected to it. Family ties have a way of doing that. Though I don't understand this country, I somehow find it comfortable. There is something so American about Arkansas, that I consider it an asset to have family roots there.
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