"Heaven," by Annie May Lewis

Annie May Lewis was one of the most significant influences in my life. I got to know her initially through my work at Harding Graduate School of Religion in the early 80's, where she was the head librarian. Professors who taught us then, like Jack Lewis, Harold Hazelip and Carroll Osborne demanded that we study, but it was Annie May who taught us how. Later, I was blessed to preach at the White Station church in Memphis, where Dr. Jack was an elder and Annie May was a special encourager. It was an honor to serve as her preacher during that time.

Annie May went home to God in March of 2006. A couple of years before that, in February of 2004, she wrote an article for the White Station church bulletin. I came across it today and wanted to share it with you.

"Heaven," by Annie May Lewis

My first year in college my parents told me that I could join other students for a Thanksgiving bus trip to Washington, D.C. For a freshman with limited travel experience a trip to the nation's capital sounded like a dream come true. The week of the trip, my roommate, whose West Tennessee home was a short distance from mine, said, "My daddy is coming for me at Thanksgiving to take me home. Would you like to go with us?" The fascination of the Washington trip very quickly faded with the prospect of going home to spend Thanksgiving with Mama and Daddy.

I canceled the trip, packed my bag, and was on my way home. To make the event even more exciting, I didn't call home. I knocked at the door. Sixty-eight years later the memory of the initial shock, the open arms, and smiles are as vivid as today's events. What was the nation's capital in comparison with my small hometown? The White House couldn't hold a candle to that white frame house that was home to the two people I loved best in the world.

I have in recent years enjoyed the privilege of travel to distant lands, but I have discovered that whether the distance traveled is ten thousand miles or a hundred miles, whether the absence is nine months or a weekend, I am always eager to return home and inevitably say, "There's no place like home." Scripture uses the literary device, "How much more." So it will be with heaven. If my earthly home holds such affection, how much more will my home in heaven.

As Mama and Daddy made such loving preparation for the homecoming of each child, so Jesus is now preparing for my homecoming. There is so little about heaven that I know, but I do know that running up those front steps on that Thanksgiving morning is a foretaste of the joy that awaits me.

On occasion I return to my hometown for visits with cousins and close neighbors, but the people for whom I made those very frequent trips are no longer there. The house still stands and the memories are still there, but those who made the memories have already gone home. I look forward to an association with them that won't include any goodbyes.

Elizabeth Goudge in her novel, The Dean's Watch, has the dean say to the watchmaker, Isaac, who is afraid of dying, "We shall see many kindly faces. It is a house, remember, a friendly place." It is indeed that and much more. It is home.