Ill Suited Longings

Resisting the Longings that Lead Us Home

Rejecting the World’s Embrace for the Kingdom’s Call

“Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”

— 1 John 2:15 (ESV)

We read this and agree. We may even underline it, quote it, teach it. But the world is persuasive. Its rhythms are familiar, its rewards immediate. The longing it stirs feels natural, even necessary. We build, we strive, we align—often unaware that our affections are being discipled by the very system Scripture warns against.

The warning feels almost antiquated in our sophisticated age of Christian entrepreneurship, kingdom-minded business ventures, and ministry platforms that span the globe. We have learned to baptize worldly ambition with spiritual language, to sanctify material pursuit with missional purpose. Yet John’s words cut through our theological sophistication with uncomfortable precision. The apostle who leaned against Jesus’ chest, who witnessed the transfiguration, who received the Revelation on Patmos—this same John warns us that love for the world and love for the Father cannot coexist.

What if our embrace of this world is not just misdirected desire—but spiritual misalignment? What if the longing we feel is meant for something far more eternal, far more holy?

Longing as Allegiance

This article contends that the longing many believers practice—for success, belonging, comfort, and affirmation—is often wrongly aimed, creating a spiritual crisis that extends beyond individual temptation into the realm of cosmic allegiance. Enticed by the ways of this world, we risk endorsing its prince (John 12:31) and aligning with his agenda, often while maintaining the external appearance of faithful Christianity. But Scripture offers a better longing: one that yearns for God, His Son, His Spirit, His Kingdom, and His eternity. This longing is not escapist—it is formation-driven, covenantal, and holy.

To long rightly is to live rightly. And to live rightly is to reject the world’s embrace in favor of the Kingdom’s call. The stakes of this realignment extend into eternity itself.

The World’s Enticement: A False Fulfillment

“For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world.”

— 1 John 2:16

The world offers immediacy with the persistence of a skilled merchant: gratification without waiting, applause without suffering, relevance without the narrow gate of truth-telling. It promises identity through achievement, belonging through compromise, and peace through distraction. But these are sophisticated counterfeits—shadows of true fulfillment that bear enough resemblance to genuine spiritual satisfaction to deceive even the spiritually mature.

John’s threefold categorization penetrates to the heart of human longing. The “desires of the flesh” (ἐπιθυμία τῆς σαρκός) encompasses not merely sensual indulgence but our craving for comfort, ease, and immediate satisfaction—the restless pursuit of whatever promises to make us feel better now. The “desires of the eyes” (ἐπιθυμία τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν) includes not only covetousness but our hunger for experiences, possessions, and visual stimulation that promise fulfillment—the endless scroll through others’ curated lives that leaves us wanting. The “pride of life” (ἀλαζονεία τοῦ βίου) touches our deepest need for significance, recognition, and the assurance that our existence matters—the drive to build something that will outlast us, to be remembered, to matter.

These are not random temptations but carefully orchestrated appeals to legitimate human needs that have been misdirected. We want comfort—but we were made for the comfort that comes from abiding in Christ. We seek beauty and stimulation—but we were designed to find ultimate satisfaction in the beauty of holiness. We desire significance—but our significance (Galations 2:20) was always meant to flow from our identity as children of God rather than our achievements or accumulations.

The prince of this world (John 14:30) traffics in imitation—offering kingdoms without a cross, crowns without submission, platforms without the patient work of character formation. Unlike his crude, hamfisted mechanism that offered Jesus “all the kingdoms of the world” in an obvious moment of temptation (Matthew 4:8-9), today and to use the enemy operates with surgical precision. He doesn’t require obvious rebellion; he is satisfied with gradual drift. He doesn’t need our worship; he only needs our distraction, our slow reorientation away from eternal realities toward temporal concerns.

Consider how modern Christian culture has embraced metrics that mirror secular definitions of success. Church growth is measured by numbers rather than spiritual maturity. Ministry effectiveness is evaluated by platform size rather than transformed lives. Personal blessing is calculated by material increase or discomfort’s decrease rather than spiritual fruit. We have inadvertently allowed the world’s measuring stick to become our own, creating a form of Christianity that looks successful by worldly standards while remaining spiritually malnourished.

The danger is not in participating in the world’s systems—Jesus clearly called His followers to be “in the world” while not being “of the world” (John 17:15-16). The danger lies in loving it, in longing for its affirmation more than the Father’s approval, in shaping our lives around its metrics, its timelines, its hollow promises of significance. When worldly success becomes the measure of God’s favor, when comfort becomes confused with spiritual blessing, when recognition becomes more satisfying than obedience, we have begun to bow the knee to a prince of a kingdom that is passing away.

The Danger of Alignment: Endorsing the Wrong Kingdom

“You cannot serve God and money.”

— Matthew 6:24

Alignment is not neutral territory in the cosmic conflict between kingdoms. Jesus’ stark declaration about serving God and mammon (wealth, material possessions) reveals the impossibility of divided loyalty. The Greek word for “serve” (δουλεύω) implies not casual employment but complete bondage—the total dedication of one’s life and energies to a master. Jesus is not warning against having money but against being owned by it, not against engaging in commerce but against allowing commercial success to become the organizing principle of our existence.

Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.

— James 4:4

James pushes the stakes even higher with his declaration about friendship with the world (James 4:4). The Greek word for “enmity” (ἔχθρα) denotes active hostility, not passive neutrality. James is not merely warning against worldliness but declaring that affectionate alignment with worldly systems places us in active opposition to God’s purposes. The word for “friendship” (φιλία) suggests intimate companionship, the kind of relationship that shapes identity and influences decision-making.

This is spiritual treason of the highest order—not the obvious rebellion of the irreligious but the subtle betrayal of those who claim allegiance to God while pursuing the approval and rewards of His enemy. To chase worldly success—even with Christian justification—is to risk endorsing its architect. The enemy’s strategy has evolved from overt rebellion to subtle allegiance, from dramatic temptation to gradual drift.

When our desires are shaped by the world’s promises rather than God’s Word, our discipleship becomes compromised at its foundation. We begin to justify what Scripture condemns, to call compromise “wisdom” and delay “discernment.” We develop sophisticated theological frameworks to sanctify our pursuit of worldly success, our hunger for recognition, our need for financial security that eliminates dependence on God’s daily provision.

The apostle Paul understood this danger intimately. Despite his extraordinary calling and obvious anointing, he deliberately chose to support himself through tentmaking rather than depending entirely on the generosity of the churches he planted (Acts 18:3, 1 Corinthians 9:3-18). His reasoning reveals profound spiritual wisdom: he refused to allow even legitimate ministry funding to create the appearance that he was preaching for personal gain. Paul recognized that alignment with worldly systems—even seemingly innocent ones—could compromise the purity of his message and motives.

Consider the modern pastor who builds his ministry strategy around church growth principles borrowed from corporate America, who measures success by attendance figures and budget increases, who adopts marketing techniques that promise to “reach more people for Jesus.” The motives may be pure, the methods may be effective, but when worldly metrics become the measure of spiritual success, something essential is lost. The kingdom of God operates by different principles—the last shall be first, the greatest must be servant of all, God’s strength is perfected in weakness.

Longing is inherently formative. What we desire shapes what we become, what we prioritize, whom we trust, how we define success and failure. The human heart cannot remain neutral; it will be discipled by something. Either our longings are being shaped by Scripture and the Spirit, or they are being formed by the world’s relentless catechesis through media, culture, advertising, and the expectations of our peer groups.

The stakes are eternal because misaligned longing leads inevitably to misaligned living. And misaligned living, no matter how successful it appears externally, results in spiritual erosion—the gradual weakening of our connection to Christ, the subtle hardening of our hearts toward God’s voice, the increasing difficulty of distinguishing between His will and our desires.

The Biblical Longing: God, Christ, Spirit, Kingdom, Eternity

Scripture does not merely warn against worldly longing—it offers a superior alternative. A longing that is holy, covenantal, and eternally satisfying. The Bible presents five primary objects of righteous desire that, when properly ordered, create the foundation for spiritual stability and unshakeable joy.

Longing for God

“Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.” — Psalm 73:25

“My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?” — Psalm 42:2

This is not poetic hyperbole—it is spiritual diagnosis of the highest order. The soul rightly ordered desires God above all else, not as an abstract concept but as a personal, relational reality that encompasses every aspect of existence. Asaph’s declaration in Psalm 73 emerges from a season of profound spiritual struggle where he “envied the arrogant” and questioned whether righteousness was worth its cost (Psalm 73:3, 13). His realignment came through corporate worship: “When I went into the sanctuary of God, then I understood their end” (Psalm 73:17).

The Hebrew word for “desire” (חפץ) in Psalm 73:25 carries the connotation of delight, pleasure, and passionate pursuit. Asaph is not making a grudging religious confession but declaring that God has become his supreme joy, his ultimate satisfaction, his deepest longing. This transformation of desire didn’t occur through religious duty but through encounter—seeing God’s glory in the sanctuary reoriented his entire value system.

David’s midnight cry in Psalm 42 reveals longing as both ache and anticipation. The Hebrew word for “thirst” (צמא) describes the desperate need of a parched throat, the physical urgency that drives every other consideration from the mind. David’s soul doesn’t merely acknowledge God’s existence but pants for His presence with the intensity of a deer seeking water in a drought-stricken wilderness.

This longing for God is comprehensive—”in heaven” and “on earth,” encompassing both eternal hope and present satisfaction. When God becomes our supreme desire, earthly goods find their proper place as gifts rather than goals, as expressions of His goodness rather than sources of security. The believer who truly longs for God above all else is liberated from the desperate pursuit of temporal fulfillment. They can enjoy earthly blessings without being enslaved to them, pursue earthly goals without being crushed by failure, love earthly relationships without making them ultimate.

Longing for Christ

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” — John 6:35

Christ is not merely Savior—He is sustenance. To long for Christ is to long for life itself, to reject the world’s empty promises and embrace the One who alone can satisfy the deepest hungers of the human heart. Jesus’ invitations are comprehensive, addressing not just spiritual need but the full spectrum of human longing—for rest, for meaning, for satisfaction, for eternal security.

The Greek word for “rest” (ἀνάπαυσις) in Matthew 11:28 implies not mere cessation of activity but restoration, refreshment, and relief from burden. Jesus is offering not escape from responsibility but transformation of it—the exchange of the crushing weight of performance-based religion for the easy yoke of grace-empowered discipleship. This is rest for souls weary from trying to earn what can only be received, exhausted from building what can only be given.

Jesus’ self-designation as “bread of life” employs imagery that every hearer would understand viscerally. Bread is not luxury but necessity, not occasional treat but daily requirement. In claiming to be bread, Jesus is asserting that He is essential for spiritual survival, that apart from Him we are spiritually starving no matter how full our lives may appear externally.

Paul’s testimony demonstrates the totalizing nature of this longing: “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). The apostle had discovered that Christ was not merely the most important aspect of his existence but the meaning of existence itself. This was not religious fanaticism but spiritual clarity—the recognition that all of life finds its purpose and satisfaction in relationship with Jesus.

This longing for Christ naturally produces conformity to His character. When we genuinely desire Jesus above all else, we begin to desire what He desires, to love what He loves, to pursue what He pursues. Our ambitions are gradually transformed from self-advancement to kingdom advancement, from personal glory to God’s glory, from temporal success to eternal significance.

Longing for the Spirit

“The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God.” — Romans 8:16

“We ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.” — Romans 8:23

The Holy Spirit both creates longing within us and becomes the object of our longing. He is the divine presence who stirs dissatisfaction with spiritual mediocrity while pointing us toward the fullness we crave. Paul’s language of groaning (στενάζω) captures the tension of Spirit-filled living—we have tasted enough of God’s goodness to know what we’re missing, yet we live in the “already but not yet” of kingdom reality.

The Spirit’s witness with our spirit creates an internal confirmation that transcends external circumstances. When the world offers alternative identities based on achievement, appearance, or approval, the Spirit whispers the deeper truth—we are children of God, beloved, accepted, secure in Christ. This divine testimony becomes the foundation for spiritual stability that external validation cannot provide.

The “groaning” Paul describes is not complaint but anticipation, not dissatisfaction with God but longing for the fullness of what He has promised. Believers filled with the Spirit become beautifully dissatisfied with anything less than God’s best, anything temporary when they were made for eternity, anything worldly when they are citizens of heaven.

Longing for the Spirit means hungering for His presence, His guidance, His conviction, His comfort. It means preferring His illumination of Scripture over human wisdom, His peace over worldly security, His joy over temporary pleasures. It means inviting His sanctifying work even when it disrupts our plans or challenges our assumptions.

The church that has lost its longing for the Spirit inevitably becomes either dead orthodoxy or therapeutic moralism. Without the Spirit’s presence and power, we are left with either lifeless tradition or self-help philosophy dressed in Christian language. But when believers genuinely long for the Spirit’s movement, they become willing vessels for God’s transforming work in their lives and communities.

Longing for the Kingdom

“Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” — Matthew 6:33

“One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple.” — Psalm 27:4

Kingdom longing reorders every priority, purifies every motive, and clarifies every identity question. It is not escapist but incarnational—the deep desire to see God’s will done “on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10). This longing encompasses both personal transformation and cosmic renewal, both individual sanctification and societal flourishing under God’s righteous rule.

Jesus’ imperative to “seek first” (ζητέω πρῶτον) the kingdom employs language of active, persistent pursuit. The verb tense suggests continuous action—not a one-time decision but an ongoing orientation of life. When the kingdom becomes our primary pursuit, other concerns—financial security, social acceptance, professional advancement—find their proper place as secondary matters that God promises to address according to His wisdom and timing.

David’s “one thing” in Psalm 27:4 demonstrates the focusing power of kingdom longing. Despite his royal responsibilities, military campaigns, and family complexities, David’s ultimate desire was elegantly simple: to dwell in God’s presence, to gaze upon His beauty, to seek His wisdom. This singular focus gave coherence to his multifaceted life and provided stability during seasons of overwhelming difficulty.

The Hebrew word for “beauty” (נעם) in Psalm 27:4 suggests not merely aesthetic appeal but the attractiveness of God’s character—His goodness, His faithfulness, His perfect justice and mercy. To long for the kingdom is to be captivated by the beauty of God’s reign, to prefer His rule over any earthly alternative, to find His ways more attractive than the world’s options.

Kingdom longing naturally produces kingdom citizens—people whose values, priorities, and behaviors reflect their ultimate allegiance to God’s reign rather than earthly powers. These believers become salt and light in their communities not through political activism or cultural crusades but through the magnetic power of transformed lives that demonstrate the reality of God’s alternative kingdom.

Longing for Eternity

“To live is Christ, and to die is gain.” — Philippians 1:21

“And he said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.’” — Revelation 21:6

Eternity is not merely a destination—it is the consummation of all righteous longing. Heaven is not simply a place but the presence of God unfiltered by sin, unmediated by faith, unhindered by the limitations of mortal flesh. When we long for eternity, we are longing for the state where every spiritual hunger will be satisfied, every righteous desire fulfilled, every broken relationship restored.

Paul’s perspective on death as “gain” (κέρδος) flows from his eternal orientation. The word suggests not merely benefit but profit, advantage, positive return on investment. Paul was not suicidal or world-hating but had come to understand that this present life, no matter how blessed, is merely the shadow of the reality that awaits those who belong to Christ. This eternal perspective liberated him to suffer for the gospel, to sacrifice for others’ benefit, to invest in kingdom work that might not produce visible results in his lifetime.

The promise in Revelation 21:6 of free access to “the spring of the water of life” addresses the deepest human longing—for satisfaction that lasts, for joy that cannot be stolen, for peace that surpasses understanding. The Greek word for “without payment” (δωρεάν) emphasizes the gracious nature of eternal satisfaction—it cannot be earned, purchased, or achieved but only received as gift.

When believers develop genuine longing for eternity, they experience profound liberation from the desperate pursuit of temporal fulfillment. They can enjoy earthly goods without being enslaved to them, pursue earthly goals without being crushed by failure, love earthly relationships without making them ultimate sources of security.

This longing for eternity also produces holy dissatisfaction with the status quo. Believers who truly hunger for the new heaven and new earth cannot be content with injustice, suffering, and brokenness in the present age. They become agents of renewal, working for transformation while maintaining realistic expectations about what can be accomplished this side of Christ’s return.

Formation Through Longing: Living Toward What We Desire

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” — Colossians 3:2

“But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 3:20

Longing is inherently formative. What we desire shapes how we live, what we build, whom we trust, and who we ultimately become. The Church must learn to disciple longing, not merely doctrine. We must teach believers to desire rightly, to ache for holiness, to hunger for communion with God above all earthly satisfaction.

Paul’s command to “set your minds” employs the Greek verb φρονέω, which implies not merely occasional spiritual thoughts but fundamental reorientation of perspective. This is about the basic framework through which we interpret reality, the lens through which we evaluate opportunities, relationships, and circumstances. When our minds are truly set on “things above,” earthly concerns are viewed through an eternal lens rather than determining our emotional and spiritual stability.

The metaphor of citizenship (πολίτευμα) that Paul employs in Philippians 3:20 carries profound implications for daily living. Roman citizenship in Paul’s day conveyed both privileges and responsibilities—protection under Roman law but also allegiance to Roman authority, access to Roman courts but also obligation to Roman values. Similarly, citizens of heaven live as resident aliens on earth—participating in earthly systems without being defined by them, contributing to earthly communities while maintaining ultimate loyalty to a heavenly kingdom, enjoying earthly relationships while avoiding ultimate dependence on them for identity or security.

This formation through longing requires intentional spiritual disciplines that gradually realign our affections. Regular Scripture meditation doesn’t merely provide information but shapes desire by revealing God’s character and promises. Corporate worship doesn’t just express praise but reorders priorities by focusing attention on eternal realities rather than temporal concerns. Prayer doesn’t merely request divine intervention but transforms the heart by bringing our will into alignment with God’s purposes.

The transformation is rarely dramatic but almost always gradual. Like a river that slowly changes course over time, redirected longing gradually reshapes the entire landscape of our lives. Relationships, career decisions, financial priorities, entertainment choices, and time allocation all begin to reflect our reordered desires. The external changes flow naturally from internal transformation rather than being imposed through willpower or religious obligation.

Right longing produces several distinctive characteristics in the mature believer. Holy living flows from genuine desire for God’s approval rather than external pressure or fear of consequences. When we long for God’s presence above all else, sin becomes not merely forbidden but genuinely unappealing—a barrier to what we most want rather than an attractive alternative. Joyful endurance emerges when our ultimate satisfaction comes from God rather than circumstances. Believers with properly ordered longing can experience genuine contentment even in difficult seasons because their deepest needs are being met through their relationship with Christ. Kingdom allegiance becomes natural when we truly desire God’s glory above our own advancement. Decisions are evaluated based on their eternal significance rather than their immediate benefit, and opportunities are assessed for their kingdom potential rather than their personal advantage.

Rejecting the World’s Embrace: A Convictional Call

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

— Romans 12:2

This is not passive resistance—it is active rejection. To reject the world’s embrace is to embrace the cross, the Kingdom, and the coming King. It requires both decisive initial commitment and ongoing daily renewal, both dramatic moments of consecration and ordinary acts of faithfulness.

Paul’s language of non-conformity and transformation reveals the comprehensive nature of this rejection. The Greek word for “conformed” (συσχηματίζω) refers to adopting an external shape or pattern that originates from outside pressure, while “transformed” (μεταμορφόω) describes an internal change that manifests externally—like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly through metamorphosis. Rejecting the world’s embrace involves refusing to let worldly systems shape our external behavior while allowing God’s Spirit to produce internal transformation that naturally results in kingdom living.

The “renewal of your mind” (ἀνακαίνωσις τοῦ νοός) is not a one-time event but an ongoing process of having our thought patterns, value systems, and fundamental assumptions replaced by God’s perspective. This happens primarily through regular engagement with Scripture, prayer, and Christian community, but it also requires conscious rejection of the world’s constant attempts to disciple our desires through media, advertising, cultural pressure, and peer expectations.

Discernment (δοκιμάζω) becomes crucial in this process because the world’s embrace often comes disguised as good and necessary things. The Greek word suggests the testing of metals to determine their purity—a careful examination that can distinguish between what appears valuable and what actually is valuable. Career opportunities, financial investments, social relationships, and even ministry activities can become worldly when they are pursued for worldly reasons or when they displace God from the center of our affections.

The rejection must be both personal and corporate. Individual believers must examine their own hearts and lives for areas of compromise, but the church must also corporately resist the temptation to measure success by worldly standards or to adopt worldly methods to achieve spiritual goals. When churches become obsessed with numerical growth, financial prosperity, or cultural relevance at the expense of spiritual depth and biblical fidelity, they have embraced the world’s values even while maintaining Christian terminology.

This rejection often involves significant cost. Choosing kingdom priorities over worldly success may result in lower income, reduced social status, or limited career advancement. Refusing to compromise biblical convictions may strain relationships, limit opportunities, or invite criticism and misunderstanding. Jesus clearly warned that following Him would require such sacrifice: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24).

Yet the cost of not rejecting the world’s embrace is infinitely higher. Spiritual compromise leads to gradual hardening of heart, increasing difficulty in hearing God’s voice, and eventual ineffectiveness in kingdom service. Believers who embrace worldly systems may achieve external success but lose their spiritual authority and authenticity. They may gain the whole world but forfeit their souls (Mark 8:36).

The call to rejection is simultaneously a call to positive embrace. We reject the world’s embrace in order to embrace something infinitely better—the cross that leads to resurrection, the narrow gate that leads to life, the kingdom that will never pass away. This is not life-denying asceticism but life-affirming prioritization, not world-hating withdrawal but world-transcending engagement motivated by love for God and neighbor.

It is to say no to the prince of this world, and yes to the Lord of glory. It is to live as citizens of heaven, even while walking faithfully on the soil of earth. It is to choose the eternal over the temporal, the substantial over the shadow, the King over the pretender.

Fulfilled Longing

“Do not love the world or the things in the world…”

— 1 John 2:15 (ESV)

Now we understand why. Not because the world is merely bad—but because it is insufficient. Because its prince is not our King. Because its promises are not eternal. Because its embrace, no matter how warm and welcoming it may feel, cannot satisfy the deep longing that God has placed within every human heart—the longing for Himself.

John’s prohibition is not arbitrary divine restriction but loving paternal protection. Like a father warning his child away from poison that looks like candy, God warns us away from loves that promise satisfaction but deliver only emptiness. The world offers many good gifts—beauty, pleasure, achievement, relationships—but when these gifts become gods, when longing for them supersedes longing for the Giver, they become spiritual poison that slowly kills the soul.

The fulfilled longing is not found in the elimination of desire but in its proper ordering. When God becomes our supreme love, all other loves find their rightful place. When Christ becomes our deepest satisfaction, temporal pleasures become expressions of His goodness rather than substitutes for His presence. When the Spirit becomes our constant companion, earthly relationships are enhanced rather than threatened. When the Kingdom becomes our ultimate allegiance, earthly responsibilities become acts of worship rather than sources of anxiety. When eternity becomes our true home, the present becomes a pilgrimage filled with meaning and purpose.

To love the world is to misplace our longing, to invest our hearts in stocks that will inevitably crash, to build our identity on foundations that will eventually crumble.

To long for God is to find our home—not a place we achieve but a Person we encounter, not a destination we reach but a relationship we enter, not a reward we earn but a gift we receive.

The longing that leads us home is the longing that has been calling us all along.