There is no place, no place, no place like home

When I was a kid, we never called ourselves “United State-rs.” We were Americans.

“Where are you from?” America.

“Eisenhower is president of what country?” America.

We didn’t ask God to bless the United States. God blessed America.

Our birth name has more poetry, more humanity to it than our geo-political identification. It’s our family name. 

Nobody calls it the USA dream. 

To be correct, of course, we share the name with our southern neighbors. I’ve traveled very little in South America, but I am blessed to have spent most of my traveling here in the land of the free and home of the brave. 

I realize a lot of people prefer to travel to other countries, and I have done my share. But no other place I have ever been has given me more personal satisfaction or sense of pride than seeing the sights of these United States of America, sea to shining sea.

I’ve seen the Judean Desert sun hit mountains where the Dead Sea scrolls were found shoved inside a cave; watched fishermen pull in their nets on the Sea of Galilee; heard the Islam call to prayer echo across minarets above Cairo.  

I have hummed the line from Handel’s “Messiah,” standing before his grave marker in Westminster, the musical score etched in marble above it: “I know that my redeemer liveth.” I’ve heard the Vienna Boys

Article source: http://www.knoxnews.com/story/opinion/columnists/ina-hughs/2017/07/04/there-no-place-no-place-no-place-like-home/447541001/