Over three hours highway view,
Sitting idle wanting to feel new.
Grasping for solidity, pining for the water,
The dirt, the rocks, the firepit, the Father.
This place, we say, holds the essence of Christ.
No other place has ever sufficed.
Acceptance is guaranteed, cliques are void.
Never leaving is a thought that's been toyed,
A thought that's been considered  and desired.
When we commune, my heart's set on fire.
God's touch, his presence, his love, is within these borders.
The day we leave, we act like loiterers.
Longing to stay, to love, to praise,
To be with each other and encourage always.
Social networking attempts to keep us connected,
But nothing is  equal to what that cross did.
The cross is a symbol, not only of Jesus' death,
But of community, of oneness,  of the Spirit's breath.
Each visit to Heaven is filled with tears,
Reminders of memories shared over the years,
Reminders of pain, prayer and friendships.
Words of love and thankfulness breeze through my lips.
This ground, I swear, is full of grace!
Heaven on Earth, my favorite place.