Contributed by Bobby Gilstrap on May 25, 2010
When our family moved to East Point, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta, our house was in the flight pattern for Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport. Every few minutes, all day and all night, large commercial jets would take off and fly over our home before veering off to destinations unknown.
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Contributed by Bobby Gilstrap on May 25, 2010
Some unknown poet put it this way:
They came to the gates of Canaan,
But they never entered in;
They came to the very threshold,
But they perished in their sin.
And so we are ever coming
To the place where two ways part,
One leads to the land of
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Contributed by Bobby Gilstrap on Jan 25, 2001
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Two bicycle repairmen in Dayton, Ohio, dreamed of flying. They went to the Dayton Public Library and checked out a book on the life and works of a German man named Lilienthal, who had succeeded in flying a glider. The two men were named Orville and Wilbur Wright. They began to explore all the
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