My shift was finally over. The double doors of the intensive care unit shut with a click behind me, cutting off the noise of people talking, machines beeping, and monitors alarming. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed jubilantly for the door. A friendly housekeeping employee called goodnight.
"You have the look like you're going home," he said. It was true. My steps were bouncy, my head up, a smile threatening to float to the surface of my face. I laughed and called goodnight back to him.
The main plaza of the hospital was mostly deserted, and so I dared to vent my feelings by whistling the famous melody of Dvorak's New World Symphony, popularly called, "Going Home." What did I care about steps that I had to climb, or about grumpy people in my way, or about raindrops between the hospital and my car? I was going home--and everyone could tell!
Yes, going home. There are few greater privileges than having a wonderful home to which one can't wait to return. But this will only bve my home for a few more years. I'm on my way to my real Home, the one in glory with my Savior. What a home that will be--I can hardly wait!!
And I ask myself, would someone say of my daily life, "You have the look like you're going home"?