This world is not our home.

The 9/11 Commission submitted their report today. Boy, I’m not jealous of their job. They may be the most restless sleepers in the country, wrestling with the notion that we weren’t safe on 9/10, and are not truly safe now.

One of the songs I’ve heard, literally, since I was in the womb is “This World is not My Home.”

This world is not my home,
I’m just a passin’ through.
My treasures are laid up,
Somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me
From Heaven’s open door;
And I can’t feel at home
In this world anymore.

Those words have deeper meaning now than ever before. This world really isn’t my home. It is more of a classroom/lab than a home. It is a place where I learn about the blessings and tragedy of life; a place where I learn of my need for something–no someONE–bigger, stronger, wiser, smarter than me.

Today I was reminded that someone is guarding my life and soul, and that He is infinitely more capable than we are (or pretend to be).

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
Guard me while I sleep tonight,
And wake me safe at dawn’s first light.

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