Going Home
By Max Lucado

I'll be home soon. My plane is nearing the airport. I can feel the nose of the jet dipping downward. I can see the flight attendants getting ready. My wife is somewhere in the parking lot, parking the car and hustling the kids toward the terminal.

I'll be home soon. The plane will land. I'll walk down that ramp and hear my name and see their faces. I'll be home soon.

You'll be home soon, too. You may not have noticed it, but you are closer to home than ever before. Each moment is a step taken. Each breath is a page turned. Each day is a mile marked, a mountain climbed. You are closer to home than you've ever been. Before you know it, your appointed arrival time will come; you'll descend the ramp and enter the City. You'll see faces that are waiting for you. You'll hear your name spoken by those who love you.

And, maybe, just maybe—in the back, behind the crowds—the One who would rather die than live without you will remove His pierced hands from His heavenly robe and…

applaud.

Excerpt  from his book The Applause Of Heaven.