Coming Home

Every summer, my mother and father would pack up our family for two weeks of travel around the United States. Half the time, we would spend the night at a motel, for my father's sake, and the rest of the time, we would camp, for my mother's sake. We enjoyed our travels, but my favorite part was the coming home.

During the last day of vacation, we would be determined to sleep in our own beds that night. So we would travel the last few hours in the dark. We always fell asleep but would awaken as soon as our car tires hit the gravel stones that made up our long driveway. We knew we were home.

Eight years ago, we heard about a farm in Va. that was for sale. We had prayed for 'wide and open place, free from restriction'. We decided to check it out. When we began to drive down the long lane of this farm, I heard the familiar sound of car tires on gravel. And again, I woke up inside, and knew that I was coming home.

Three years would go by before we could call this our home. We gave up our dream and then it was given back to us. We waited and prayed and kept the secret of the farm for a whole year before we let anyone else know, just in case it would fall through again. I love our bit of Heaven here on earth. I love our community and church and school. But most of all, I love the lane. When my tires hit the stones, I know I am coming home.

I think there will be some sort of sound like that when it is time to go to my other Home. It won't be leaving of this home but a going in deeper into a Home within this home. There will be another beloved lane; another bed to sleep in. There will be a sigh of relief. There will be a wonderful knowing that I'll never need to leave my Home again.

How I long for my Heavenly Lane. How I long for Home.