When I think “home,” I think of the house that I grew up in. We moved in 1967, but to me it’s still home. In fact, that’s it, in the picture.
But you can’t go back: not in a fallen world, you can’t. Would you believe the taxes on it are almost $9,000 a year? That’s what we call Blue State taxes. And I won’t even tell you what it sells for. You wouldn’t believe me.
And anyhow, although the house still stands, my mother’s multifloribunda rose hedge is gone, the playground is gone, the woods is gone, and all the nice people and dogs and cats that I grew up with, they’re gone, too. Even if I could get back to my old bedroom, when I looked out the window, any window, everything would be different.
Nine thousand bucks in taxes. Every year.
No, you can’t go back. But we can and do go on. “In my father’s house are many mansions,” Jesus tells us. One of them is already set aside for you. I want to look out through that bedroom window! Is that my Grandpa coming up the walk? Is that my uncle’s car coming down the street?
I do believe it is.