Home. A sentence is a group of words that expresses a complete thought; however, this one word says it all. (Yes, I know there must be a verb to be a sentence!) How often we express that overwhelming rush of emotions with this one word that says it all…home. After an exhausting road trip, the sight of home brings welcomed relief. After a devastating circumstance enters our life, nothing brings comfort like home.
Now that I’m in my autumn years of life, and I have faced the deaths of both parents, I hear the refrain sung by Tom Jones playing again and again in my mind: “It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home.” Of course, he’s singing about coming home to be buried. Although I’ve hummed this song many times, I cannot feel I have such a place where I long to be buried. In fact, I’ve never been one to become completely attached to anything. Instead, I carry within the scrapbook of my mind many warm memories that can be accessed at a moment’s notice. That seems to suffice in the realm of holding on to something forever.
This past Thanksgiving, I found one of my staff coming to terms with her empty nest syndrome. She brought all kinds of pies for our student lunches since she wouldn’t be cooking a big meal this year. Then, I remembered that “stomach in my throat” feeling I get every time my children and grandchildren gather together with us for a holiday, and then leave for their homes. Suddenly, my own home seems a little empty, a little less jovial and complete. That’s when I take great comfort in the knowledge that God has prepared a home for us in Heaven where we will at last meet and simply say, “Home.”