In my book, “Choosing Life,” I mentioned how much I enjoyed school.  Learning, really.  I loved history and geography.  One of my teachers told a story about a train ride through Europe.  There were four passengers in her compartment.  The only language they had in common was Latin, so they conversed in Latin.   I studied about the world, and I longed to see every bit of it.  I wanted to climb the steps to the Parthenon, sit in the Coliseum, stare at the Mona Lisa, watch the changing of the guard at the queen’s palace, ride a camel to the pyramids, and stand on the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem.

I got as far as Arizona, where I have lived for the last 50 years.  But here is the surprise.  I spent most of my early years in and around Philadelphia.  As long as I’ve lived in Tucson and as much as I enjoy Tacos, I long for Philly cheesesteaks from Pat’s or Geno’s.  Nothing draws me more than the smell and the roar of the North Atlantic.  I have been able to tolerate the Pacific off the California coast, but the wildness of the North Atlantic speaks to my heart.  Basically, there is no place like home.  Philly and the Jersey Shore are in my DNA.  Wherever we are from, it always calls us home.

Lately, I’ve been longing for another home, in a place prepared for me by the King of the Universe.  I’ll finally get to stand on the Mount of Olives, but I’ll be looking at the New Jerusalem with streets of gold.  The people I have loved and lost will be there waiting for me.  And I will finally hear the voice of the Lord Jesus call my name and say, “Welcome Home.”