A little boy was dying and he asked his mom what it was like to die. She thought for a little bit and said... Remember when you were a little boy and you went to sleep in our bed. In the night, your father would lovingly carry you to your own room. When you woke up, you were in your own room. Heaven is like that. It is like waking up in your own room. Your heavenly Father carries you there.
Home. It is being home. What a beautiful, beautiful picture. I often long for my bed and my room. It is a place of safety and comfort and love. I can't wait to be home.