That ache? It’s not your fault.
It’s the homesickness for a world you were built for but never knew.
It’s proof of design, not disfavor.
You’ve been wounded, yes. Left behind, maybe.
But never unseen. Never unloved.
The enemy works hard to convince the orphaned heart that the Father has forgotten her.
He wants you to interpret the silence as absence.
Don’t.
God is the kind of Father who hides, not to avoid you,
But to draw you deeper.
He wants you to seek because He knows in the seeking, your soul awakens.
Your faith becomes yours, not your grandmother’s. Not your Sunday school’s. Yours.
So you go to the woods.
You get dirt on your hands.
You make something with fire and sweat and silence.
And in the stillness, you speak with Him as one heart breaks open to another.
This life will never feel like home.
You will always feel a little lost, a little odd,
Because you are not made for this wounded world.
But you are never alone in it.
Walk with God like a wild daughter of the King.
Ask Him the hard questions.
Pound your fists on His chest if you must—He can take it.
But don’t walk away.
Because that ache in your chest?
It’s not just pain.
It’s the map back to Him.
B🤍
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