I grew up near a tiny little cemetery-about a dozen graves in all. It was tucked away on a small knoll, surrounded by trees, with a creek flowing in front of it. It was well hidden from the road and had a loose laid stone wall surrounding it. It was seldom visited. But something about it was sacred.
Think for a moment about those sacred places you remember. Not necessarily a cemetery or a church, but those places that have had a deep impact on your life. Maybe because of their natural beauty or because of the memories created there. I think of an old steel bridge where I could sit with the guys, drink cokes and look back to the lights at the grain elevator in our tiny little town. There are many sacred places becoming lost to the pages of time in our great state. They're worth visiting again-and sharing with your children and grandchildren, so that the stories live on.