We were talking about this on the way home from hospital today. I confessed to Cindi and Bekah that it seems odd to me to be buried away from Richardsville. Crowded into that little cemetery opposite Richardsville Methodist Church lie so very many whom I have known and loved over the years: my mom and dad, my brother, both sets of grandparents, every last one of my aunts and uncles (save Uncle Edgar, who - thanks be to God! - is still walking around), my mother's grandparents, my cousins, my mom's aunts and at least one of my dad's. Yet for all that, I've chosen to be buried at St. Paul's when the time comes. Richardsville is "home" in the since that it is where my family roots will always lie, but bury me with my fellow confessors of the Augsburg Confession here in Hamel beside the non-stop roar of traffic along I-55. I trust that on the day of the resurrection, we'll find each other soon enough no matter where our mortal clay is planted, and well, this place has become home of another sort.