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A human life, I think, should be well rooted in some area of native land where it may get the love of tender kinship from the earth, for the labors men go forth to, for the sounds and accents that haunt it, for whatever will give that early home a familiar unmistakable difference amidst the future widening of knowledge.  George Eliot

Matthew’s gospel reports that when Jesus appeared to the women at the tomb, following his resurrection, he told them, “Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” 

Jesus was a Galileean.  After rising from the grave, Jesus went home.

Cool.

Love Wins

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