I’m longing

Apr 26, 2026

I’m longing for simpler times

Running to the ocean’s breakers

Shrieking with delight as I chase the waves

And they, in turn chase me

I’m longing for the mystery

Of a lunar moth

Trapped in a writing spider’s web

Seemingly ended, then suddenly free

I’m longing for the friend

For the teacher

For the mentor

That spoke life into my well-worn days

I’m longing for the peace

For the stillness

For the glory of a sunrise

In the mountains of the blue ridge

I’m longing for the quiet

For the heavy, wet stillness

Of a humid Missouri night

The smell of Marlboro smoke drifting from the lips of my uncle

I’m longing for the things

That held me while I broke

Reliving the pain of a childhood

Scattered between towns and cities, unfamiliar.

I’m longing for the innocence

The safety

The security

Of my grandfather’s lap as he shared melted cheddar fished from the bottom of his extra sweet coffee

And in the longing

I realize

All of that is an ache

For that which I truly long

The heart of the Father

The company of the Son

The fullness of the Spirit

The triune One

Turning Inward

Sit with your own longing for a moment.

Not to fix it. Not to explain it. Just to notice it.

What memories keep resurfacing for you lately?
What do those moments have in common beneath the surface?
Where did you feel most held, even if life wasn’t stable?
What if your longing isn’t asking you to return—but to recognize something present now?

Take a few minutes today to pause.

Let one memory come fully into view.
Stay with it long enough to notice what it’s pointing toward.

What is one memory that carries more weight than it should?