If You Lived Here…

yucca     pyracantha     Mockingbird      PearlyGates

If you drive around Richmond for a while, you’ll probably see one or more signs that say, “If you lived here, you’d be home.” While that might attract some people, I’d be more interested in where I started and how I reached wherever I’d gotten to. No matter how nice stopping might be, I could end up quite a distance from other places I’d like to be.

I love home, and I love being home. At this stage of our lives, my wife and I are thankful to have a nice mobile home that’s paid for rather than a fancy “real” house that has a seemingly never-ending mortgage.

Practically everyone in our community waves when we’re out walking, and most of the neighborhood kids have learned that our dog’s name is Happy—and that she is a wigglesome bunch of happiness who’d probably lick an intruder to death.

Not that we need to worry about intruders. People here keep watch on everything that’s going on. On those rare occasions when a stranger ignores the “No trespassing, no soliciting” sign, a resident will call the sheriff’s office and let them send somebody out to determine who the trespasser is and what he or she is up to.

If I answer the door to someone I don’t know and he or she clearly doesn’t belong here, I get out my cell phone for a close-up picture. “So the police will know who to arrest,” I tell the stranger.

Living in this kind of neighborhood is a pleasure. Even though we have to pay land rent, Kathleen and I still have enough of a sense of ownership to plant trees and bushes—the Pyracantha is almost as tall as the house—and fence in the yard before we bought our dog.

Kathleen works just four or five miles up the road and our grocery store, bank, and favorite restaurants—almost everything we need on a regular basis—lie within a two-mile radius.

Our church is the only exception, and it’s just a pleasant ten-minute drive in the country.

Doctor and dentist are many files further away, but we don’t need them often enough to object to the drive.

Yes, there’s no place like home.

Hmm. But what about that Gospel song that says, “This world is not my home”?

The older I get, the more comfort I take in those words.

I look at the moral and economic decay of this nation, and I don’t feel at home here anymore. Not like before, anyhow.

While people who believe in the value of human life and in the importance of working hard for what they want may still be in the majority, we’ve remained silent too long and allowed the career politicians to take control—and to go a long way towards destroying what used to be the finest nation on earth.

I thank God I have Heaven to look forward to. With every day older I get, the closer I am to my true Home.

If you have comments or observations—if you disagree with anything I’ve said—please feel free to share.

I’ll see you again on Wednesday.

Best regards,
Roger

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s