A personal reflection on coming home when the world feels lost
There’s a heaviness in the air lately.
You can feel it pressing against your chest—like the sky's grown thicker and the ground more uncertain. Headlines bleed chaos. Community feels fractured. Faith, once a shelter, now feels distant… maybe even silent.
You didn’t mean to walk away.
Not at first.
It started as a small compromise.
A tired Sunday.
A prayer left unsaid.
A wound unhealed.
A silence you mistook for God turning away.
But here’s something the dark doesn’t want you to know:
Distance doesn’t disqualify you.
God hasn’t moved. And His voice still carries—soft, steady, breaking through even the thickest fog:
“Come back to Me, and I will heal your wayward heart.” (Jeremiah 3:22, NLT)
If you’re reading this, the return has already begun.
The fact that something in you clicked open… that you’ve made it this far into these words… that’s not weakness.
It’s longing.
It’s hope still alive.
You’re not lost. You’re loved.
And the world may be getting darker—but the light you’re reaching for?
It’s Christ.
Not the version paraded in politics or peddled in performance-driven churches.
The real Jesus.
The one who touches lepers and weeps for friends.
The one who looks down from a cross with mercy in His eyes and says, “Come home.”
Maybe you’ve been told that to come back, you have to clean up first.
Fix your mess. Get your theology straight. Start “doing better.”
But that’s not how love works. That’s not how Jesus works.
He didn’t wait for Peter to stop denying.
He didn’t wait for Thomas to stop doubting.
He didn’t wait for Mary to be socially acceptable.
And He’s not waiting for you to be anything more than willing.
So let’s speak honestly, you and I.
You’ve seen enough to know this world is breaking—
breaking people, breaking hearts, breaking systems.
And maybe your faith broke too.
That’s okay.
It’s not too late to begin again.
If you’re tired, that’s a good sign.
It means you’ve carried enough on your own.
If you’re angry, that’s okay.
Even prophets cried out, “How long, O Lord?”
If you’re numb, that’s not failure.
Sometimes the soul survives by going quiet.
But if you’re longing…
if something in you whispers, “I want to believe again”—
then know this: Christ is not far.
He’s already walking toward you.
You don’t need a plan. Just a step.
One quiet prayer.
One honest moment.
One return to Scripture—not to analyze, but to listen.
One whisper:
“I’m here, Lord. Can You still take me?”
His answer? Always.
Every time.
Before you even ask.
The world’s getting darker. But you? You’re not alone in the night.
You were made for light.
Not artificial brightness. Not social spotlight.
But eternal light. Healing light. Resurrection light.
It’s not behind you. It’s not locked away in a better version of yourself.
It’s ahead.
And you’re already on the way.
Let that be enough for today.
