My Dad's funeral was Saturday, and we buried him Monday, in a pretty spot in the cemetery east of his town, near the train tracks. He grew up with a train running behind his home as a boy--though not this train, nor this country. It was good to go home--to see Mom & help her out, to see old friends near & dear, and to tell the funny stories of Dad.
We left there today, and drove the 9hrs back to home, home with a capital H. Home! Our home--empty now without the dogs underfoot. They'll come home tomorrow. Our bed & blankets, our sights & sounds and comforts of Home.
It's funny--I didn't cry much. Not because I didn't love my Dad or anything silly. Rather because I felt the Lord's comforting presence in what occurred. I have been blessed with seeing God in action a few times in my life, and this was one of them, and I am at peace because of what the Lord has done for us.