The Pioneer Parson
He came . . . driven by an irresistible power,
the power of love for those who sought a
new home in the wilderness. He knew that bread and
shelter . . . the right to own . . . were not enough.
God, the birthright of every soul, must have the
center of the stage. He came alone, yet not alone . . .
the love of God was in him. To Rock Rapids the
railroad brought him; but now “apostle horses” he
must use. He turned toward the setting sun . . . but
never a shack did he encounter. He walked until
Old Sol his race had run. Must the prairie be his
bed, he wondered . . . when suddenly a bark . . . a
curl of smoke . . . there . . . beyond the knoll . . . a
dugout . . . warmth and shelter.
Refreshed,
next morning he hastened northward . . . to a
settlement of Swedes, his kinsman . . . living in
dugouts and sod-houses. Here at a dugout in a
hillside he knocked. A woman answered . . . he
explained! Her eyes filled with joy as she exclaimed,
“Praise God that He has not forgotten us,
in this wilderness!”