We are indeed connected by a spirit, a spirit that I can't explain but that connects us just the same. As I think of family and the friends of my youth, the one word that comes to mind is "love."

We had a yard sale at my childhood home in preparation for the eventual sale of the property. I felt gloomy; this is the place I have come home to for over 50 years. I came here for comfort as a child when I had been kidded at school. I came here later when I lost a wrestling match in high school. I came home every summer to share my birthday with my family. I came on Christmas to share a very special time of the year with "family." I came here to share Sunday afternoons with cousins and midday lunches in the summer when there was so much food a nap was required after lunch.

I came here to rejoice when my son was born, and I came here to cry when I was divorced. During the day I saw some of the people of my youth and relived old memories. A cousin stopped by and shared memories of my Father who passed away over 20 years ago; a member of the youth group that my parents led for many years stopped by and talked about old times at church and the effect my parents had on her.

An older gentleman who had done odd jobs for my Mother in later years pulled me aside to tell me how much my Mother had meant to him. But I was almost brought to tears when two men whom I had seen only once or twice in the past 30 years walked up to the back door. As I was growing up, one gave me the first real job I had off the farm, a job that actually paid a weekly check. The other was an old fishing partner.

I remember the sound of the horn on his little Renault. That horn was the signal for me to run into the shop to get my fishing gear for an afternoon on the lake. He eventually became a fisher of men at a church in North Carolina, and we lost contact for a few years. Today, as I look back on these people, I realize it is not the place I called home that drew me; it was not the house and farm of my youth, but the people.

We are indeed connected by a spirit, a spirit that I can't explain but that connects us just the same. As I think of family and the friends of my youth, the one word that comes to mind is "love." One visitor began to cry as she picked up a piece of pottery and said, "I want this to remember your Mom by." Another brought ham biscuits her Mother had made, for the giving of food is a way of showing love. I can't explain this love nor can I control it or turn it on or off. I only know of its presence. I can tell you how it feels. It is warmth and a comfort; it is the feeling of home.

There are those who take the Bible literally and say heaven is a place where the streets are paved with gold, with mansions lining the streets. There are others who say that heaven is not a place but a state of mind where one knows only peace. Others will say heaven is where we will have everything we ever wanted, and still others believe we will only want what we have. But today I realized there is only one way I can describe heaven. It is a place where the only thought or power will be love. Where "God is love" will be manifest in our hearts.