When the idea of Elijah as a real person touched me, I thought I knew something of his 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.
I had wandered Elijah’s village in Gilead and trudged his paths in the Jezreel valley. Stood in his footprints on Mt. Carmel. In Zerephath, I marveled with him at snow-covered Mt. Hermon.
The songbirds of the Bible hovered in me with rock badgers, Absalom oaks, and the usual rain shower at 1 p.m.
The land of Elijah? I was eager to write.