Going Home

The view from my new front porch is breath taking. Green fields spattered with red clay and yellow flowers can be viewed for over a mile. Wiley bulls graze on tiny pine trees. Sometimes they bellow for no apparent reason.

I love it.

Two men are installing wood floors with our move-in date set for sometimes next week.

I can’t wait.

Currently, Tom and I are staying in the family farmhouse about a half-mile away. I visit my new house three to four times a day. I just go in and stare at it. I imagine where I’ll put one piece of furniture, or wonder which cabinet would be the best place for my new dishes. I’m counting the days.

This morning, it occurred to me that my new house, as nice as it is, is not my real home—my heavenly mansion.

While my mother-in-law was passing into eternity, her family gathered around her bed and sang:

“I’ve got a mansion, just over the hillside.

In that bright land where, we’ll never grow old.

And some day yonder, we will never more wander,

But walk the streets that are purest gold.”

 

I believe that but sometimes I don’t live like it.

In fact, often I don’t live like it.

Philippians 3:20-21 states:

“For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ; who will transform the body of our humble state into conformity with the body of His glory, by the exertion of the power that He has even to subject all things to Himself.”

My friend, Michael, explains it like this. It’s like a dog behind a closed door. The master comes home. The dog knows his master is home and claws at the door. The room he is in is just a waiting room. The real joy for the puppy is to see his master. To be with him.

My desire is to long for Jesus.

Sometimes, when sorrow hits our friends or family or our country, we feel some of that sorrow and long for something, someone, someplace better.

Heaven.

Jesus.

My Lord.

Another illustration of a longing for Jesus is a bride and a bridegroom. When my daughter was engaged, she couldn’t wait to be married! She thought about it and dreamed about it, and I suspect her bridegroom did, too.

Listen to this passage from Revelation 19:7-10:

“Let us rejoice and be glad and give the glory to Him, for the marriage of the Lamb has come and His bride has made herself ready. It was given to her to clothe herself in fine linen, bright and clean; for the fine linen is the righteous acts of the saints. Then he said to me, ‘Write, Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb.’ And he said to me, ‘These are true words of God.’”

Jesus invites us to a heavenly feast prepared for His bride, the church. He tells us a little of what has been prepared for us in John 14:1-3:

“Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.”

When trouble or heartache hit, Christ’s Words are something we can hold on to. Like my friend whose young husband went unexpectedly to be with the Lord. Or the parents whose child has been put in prison. Or the evangelist, who while proclaiming Christ in a hostile nation loses his family or his freedom, or even his life.

What kick-started my heavenly thoughts were words hand-written and taped into my dad’s Salvation Army songbook. They were composed by writer Anne Ross Cousins:

“Oh, I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine!

He brings a poor vile sinner

Into His ‘House of Wine.’

I stand upon His merit,

I know no other stand,

Not e’en where glory dwelleth,

In Immanuel’s land.

 

The bride eyes not her garment,

But her dear bridegroom’s face;

I will not gaze at glory,

But on my King of Grace.

Not at the crown He giveth,

But on His pierced hand;

The Lamb is all the glory

Of Immanuel’s land.”

 

My wood floor is beautiful. But it doesn’t compare with streets of gold.

And my Bridegroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 Comments on "Going Home"

  1. Sue Dunigan says:

    The flooring looks amazing. I am sooooo excited for you! Hallelujah.

  2. Linda Ridenour says:

    Pauline, Thank you for this reminder. I needed this. The floor looks beautiful. When we are in KY, I walk to where our “Big House” will be built and try to imagine what it will be like. Today, I will focus on my eternal home. Thank you!

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