Home

Wednesday, September 20th, 1995
11:28 pmHome is not house; not a building of bricks and stones. Home surpasses those cold materials without cheer, with rays of warm sunshine and laughter. For on huge meadows never to end, white fleeces roam and feed. The grasses not as much a home as the dear shepherd near. For he satisfies not just their worldly hunger and thirst, provides for their yearn for security in the crock of his arms of love.

For home is not that, which makes creatures with blood ties stay in the same enclosure. It is an invisible, mysterious force, more than that of gravity on creation, which draws its members to the loving fellowship of hearts from far and wide. For within this is riches not of gold and silver, but treasure that moths and thieves are unable to touch. For as much as we are part of our homes, our homes are essentially a part of us. A part in the bottom, innermost layer of our hearts . . .