I'm on my way home today.  And I can't wait to sleep in my own bed with my own pillow.  It's amazing how small things are so frustrating as I age.  My tolerance goes down every year.  I think I'm getting crotchety.

It could be the same brand of mattress and pillow and the thermostat set at the same degree, but it's not the same.  Home is home.

I understand why Ken said--when he came home from Nam and retired after 21 years of deployments, "God willing, I will sleep in my own bed, in my own house and on my own pillow for the rest of my life."

I wonder why people got started talking about heaven as "Going home."  Maybe because home is so dear to us.  It's not that we have a lot or a little, but that we know where everything is.  I have built a "nest" around my recliner in my living room.  Scotch tape, stamps, kleenex, pens, a calendar to write notes on, a white out pen, lotion for my hands, finger nail clippers, etc. etc.  Everything you can think of is in a basket, within reaching distance.

I don't have to get up and go look for anything.  I have an antique walnut three drawer chest next to the chair that holds everything else I can possibly think of.

Except hot tea.  I have to get up to get my tea.

I wonder what heaven will be like.  I hope it is a little bit like home.

One thing we can be sure of, it will be perfect.