Finding Home
“Tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord, and His might, and the wonders that He has done.”
Home is often imagined as a place of rest and safety—a place where we belong, are known, and can trust the people around us. But that isn’t everyone’s story. I grew up in a broken home, marked by pain, longing for repaired relationships, and moments of fear mixed with the goodness that still existed. My longing for home back then was a longing for wholeness where things had been fractured.
Today, that longing looks different. We’ve been blessed to live in a wonderful home, paying rent far below the Seattle norm—so far below that it allowed us to remain a one-income family for seven years. My wife was able to be home with our children, lead MOPS, volunteer at school, and pour encouragement and hope into our community. She’s kind of a rock star. This home has been a refuge for us, a gathering place for others, and a space where community has taken root.
And now, we feel a fresh kind of longing—the longing to stay. The family who lived here before us built a legacy of hospitality over more than forty years, and they have graciously offered us the chance to buy this home and continue that legacy. We want it. We long for it. And we feel the weight of all the fears that accompany such a decision: the cost, the instability of the world, and the reality of making such a significant purchase on a teacher’s and a counselor’s income.
Not long ago, I watched the house across the street hit the market after a beautiful renovation. People streamed in and out, phones in hand, calling, planning, offering—longing for stability, belonging, and home. It reminded me how universal this ache really is. We want a place to rest, to lay our heads, to trust. Often we confuse that longing with the longing for the physical place that is a home. In this we wall ourselves off from others, close the world out, and live independent of the intent we find in creation.
Israel knew this longing well. God promised Abraham a people, a land, and a blessing (Gen. 12), and generations held onto that promise through uncertainty, wandering, and waiting. Their longing—and the fear that came with it—echoes into this first Sunday of Advent.
So what are you longing for today?
What fear, anxiety, or uncertainty sits beneath that longing?
Isaiah speaks directly into that ache. Israel was tired of waiting, tired of wandering, tired of hoping for what they had not yet seen. Their forefathers—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob—passed down a legacy of waiting on God, listening for His voice, and trusting His timing.
It is easy to tell someone, “Don’t be afraid.” As a counselor, it would be far easier to take a “just get over it” approach than to sit with someone in the dark, waiting for even a flicker of light. Isaiah doesn’t offer shallow reassurance. Between chapters 41 and 43, he offers more than fifteen “Do not fear” declarations—but every one of them is anchored in the character and presence of God.
Here is the truth we cling to:
“I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name;
you are Mine.”
“When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and through the rivers,
they shall not overwhelm you.
When you walk through fire
you shall not be burned.”
“For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”
—Isaiah 43:1–3
Why can we trust this? Why can we rest in it, even in uncertainty?
Because God wants us. Isaiah says it plainly:
“You are precious in My sight, and I love you.”
Today, let your longing lead you toward the only rest that is truly secure—Christ Himself. Step into the week ahead knowing that you are held, even as you walk through the waters and fires of life. Carry this present light into your workplace, your home, your relationships, your struggles.
Whether your “fire” today is an unaffordable home, exhaustion at work, family tension, loneliness—whatever it may be—remember:
You are redeemed.
You are known.
You are precious.
You are loved.
And when your strength fails, when fear overwhelms, when you cannot hold on—let the community of Christ hold you. Let us walk with you toward the true home we are all longing for.
“Come, ye weary, heavy laden,lost and ruined by the fall;if you tarry till you’re better,you will never come at all.
Lo! th’incarnate God, ascended,pleads the merit of His blood;venture on Him, venture wholly;let no other trust intrude.”