A Place of Our Own
How long I longed when I was young to have a place upon which I could fix my name
To have a place on earth to call
My own and share with those I love.
I leased or borrowed or rented or in the case of parsonages, lived by virtue of my calling to a church.
I always wondered how wonderful it would be to have a place upon which I could raise a humble sign that bore my own name—our name.
What would it be like to own a place on earth from which no man could threaten to evict me or censure my actions or charge me rent or make unreasonable demands.
Always I enjoyed my brief occupation of beautiful places not my own and entered into the joy of them if only sitting on a lonely dam or walking
In a patch of wood where I was given leave to walk.
Always I appreciated public land upon which I could place a temporary claim for the price of admittance or fee. The leaves of those trees were just as gold or scarlet, the river running just as clear, the sun on my neck just as warm as if I owned it.
But now by God’s great kindness we have a place—a humble place to call our own for as long as we have the health and strength to occupy and care for it. We have the deed. It’s in our name.
I have not hung a sign, maybe someday I will, but when I lie down at night it gives me pleasure to know I could and that God—he has been good.