When I was a boy growing up in Milan, Tennessee, I had a special stick horse whose name was Pete.  And, during those summers of boyhood, I rode old Pete all over my grandparents’ farm in the Graball Community--around the apple trees, up the hillsides, under the walnut trees, by the blackberry vines, through the cotton patch, down by the pond, to the mailbox, and through the hallway of the barn (which was located on the site of the old Hammonds’ School).  That trusted and faithful old stick horse would take me from one end of that farm to the other.  At that time in my life I thought their farm was one of the biggest farms in the world!
    Pete and I would always go by the pond so he could get a drink and I could dismount for a short rest, lie on the bank of the pond, watch frogs jump in and out of the water, and bounce dirt clods across the shimmering surface of the water.  We would then make our way back to the front yard where I would dismount and lie in the shade of those unforgettable old oak and maple trees and watch the clouds float by overhead.  When the pears were ripe, I’d pluck one, wipe it on my jeans, give Pete a bite, and then I’d eat the rest.
    By the time Pete and I had made our way to those familiar trees in the front yard, in my wonderful childhood imagination, I had rounded up all of the outlaws, saved the wagon train from an Indian attack, herded hundreds of wild horses into the corral by my shack in the canyon, and panned about three sacks of gold from the stream which ran from the mouth of the old mine.
    I can still see myself lying there, carefree, stretched out on the ground, straw hat lying beside me, my hand resting on our Collie family pet, and a gentle summer breeze blowing across my face.
    My childhood imagination allowed me to go anywhere on my stick horse.  I can remember many nights when I would sit for long periods of time, looking at the moon and stars.  I was so fascinated with the mystery of what was out there, and, there were many times when I hopped on my stick horse, and, together, Pete and I would set off on a flight to those faraway places.
    Part of the thrill of living is the cultivation and use of our imagination.  However, if we do not use this precious gift, we can easily lose it.  We can get so caught up in our routines, pressures, schedules, and responsibilities that our childlike wonder and fascination evaporate, leaving only a dead shell of existence.  This can happen to any of us, and it is sad when we permit this to occur.
    Play, wonder, and creative imagination are important.  These priceless qualities of our minds help keep us alive.  Playful imagination motivates us to be creative and spontaneous.  It enables us to be in touch with ourselves, others, the creation, and God.  It helps us constantly grow and enter the deeper dimensions of life each day.  It keeps us alive, aware, and responsive to all the many things which are happening around us.  And, it enables us to have a full and rich life.
    Each year life gives us a new summer which is always filled with endless options and countless opportunities to be caught up in the excitement and thrill of living!  We can choose to make this a special time for remembering and re-living those beautiful and happy memories of childhood!
    So, join me and old Pete in this venture.  Ride alongside us.  Let yourself go.  Let that little girl or boy that is within you play a little.  Kick off your shoes and socks.  Loosen your tie.  Give yourself permission to enter that magical world of imagination, and play a little.  Climb onto your own stick horse and gallop with me and Pete out to the stars?  If we choose to do this occasionally, we will be more prepared to make this a better world and live a much fuller and happier life!  (DHL)