“‘Twas grace that brought us safe thus far, and grace will lead us home.”

These words, penned by John Newton, carry the weight of truth and the melody of eternity. Grace has been the theme of my mother’s life—a faithful companion that led her through 92 years and, just last Monday, escorted her home to heaven.

Just twelve days earlier, on Christmas Day, we spent a day filled with laughter, memories, and a poignant drive through the landmarks of her life. We passed through New Hope, Tennessee, by the humble farmhouse where she was born and raised during the hardscrabble years of Depression-era Appalachian poverty. Her mind seemed to chase the fleeting echoes of a childhood etched with hardship and simple joys. Time had softened the edges of those memories.

Yet, it was at Tabernacle Hill that clarity embraced her like an old friend. Cresting the hill, we saw the plain and simple white church. It was there, on a cold February night in 1957, during a revival meeting, that Jesus changed her life. Her voice carried conviction as she said, “That was the most important decision I ever made.”

We continued down the other side of that hill, arriving at the home where she and my dad built a life together—a modest, two-story house from the 1950s. It wasn’t grand in structure or style but rich in the things that mattered most. It was the only home I knew until I left for college, a place filled with country cooking, open windows in the summer, and the sound of my momma’s prayers.

As we slowly drove past, she asked me, “Do you miss the house?”

“No, Momma,” I replied without hesitation. “Because home was never about the house—it was always about you and Daddy.”

Honestly, I didn’t fully grasp the depth of those words until I was by my mom’s bedside as she passed. In that sacred moment, I realized that home wasn’t confined to walls or memories—it was the love and presence of those who made it. Now, with my mother reunited with my father in heaven, my understanding of home has deepened.

In John 14, Jesus speaks tenderly about home, saying, “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:2–3).

Heaven isn’t about a street of gold, a crystal river, or a gate of pearl—it’s about being in the Father’s house. The phrase “Father’s house” appears 65 times in Scripture, evoking a sense of lineage, belonging, and identity. Jesus used it to describe something far greater: an eternal home where we are forever welcomed by the One who loves us most.

For my mother, her faith was anchored in God’s eternal promises. Now, she rests in her Father’s house, surrounded by perfect joy and endless love. One day, I’ll join her there because I made the same decision to follow Christ she made in 1957.  

Today, as we laid her to rest, I carry her legacy of faith, trusting in the grace that leads us home. Her earthly home, though filled with love and warmth, pales in comparison to the eternal home she now knows. And with my mother and father now reunited with our Savior, my perspective on home has changed forever.

Home isn’t somewhere I’m from—it’s where I’m going.