Where is your home

We know nothing more than this life until you rescue us and set us free.

Then our eyes are opened, and we realise, the God who made us, is not confined,

To time and space, to height and depth, and length and breadth.

Day after day we work and then play, we make our friends, our home, our life.

All we know are the pleasures and pain of this life.

But when the time has come for you, or you lose someone you love,

And you look at the stuff you have, that suddenly means nothing more,

No one to do things for, no one to do life with or for.

What has it all been for? So much is left undone, who gets to see it now.

Build your treasure in heaven not here.

You can't take your stuff out of here.

And those that remain who remember your name, will only miss you, not your stuff.

Though this world brings you pleasure or pain, it's your memory that will only remain.

Such sorrow I have never known. I miss you so much.

I wish you were here to share in this holiday with our girls.

Maybe instead of wishing you were here I should wish I was there with you.

I like it here too much. I was happy loving Jesus with you, making our home together here,

Not ever thinking too much that 'this is not our home'

© 2016 Barry Wadhams