grace given me

My two college-aged kids got home last week, and I had all the feels of Christmas. That next-level excitement that has you tracking their flight routes like a kid watching the Santa tracker app. As they each made their arrival, there was sheer joy—relief, gratitude, and the unmistakable feeling that the house was alive again. There was a deep contentment in having them back in the nest, so to speak. There was also excitement. Because life is just more exciting when they’re home.

What can feel somewhat monotonous at times with an empty nest suddenly becomes unpredictable and adventuresome. The routine changes. The meals change. Even TV time changes. Sports—something I usually half-watch—become more interesting when my son, the data analytics guy, starts breaking down plays and stats. What might otherwise be background noise becomes meaningful as I watch my husband and son bond, shoulder to shoulder, united by a shared love and conversation. Cheesy holiday movies are my daughter and my jam. We turn on something sweet and heartfelt, spread out the wrapping paper, and talk while we work. Ordinary time and tasks become moments. Moments become memories.

Kids make life more exciting. One of the reasons they do is because they’re in a stage of life where newness is constant. While we’re more settled in our work, our homes, and our routines, they’re being thrust into new situations all the time—new cities, new classes, new apartments, new roommates, new jobs, new experiences. Everything is unfamiliar, and everything is formative.

I’ve come to realize that when I was younger, I longed for things to feel settled. There’s a low-grade anxiety that comes with not knowing where your future is headed—the great unknown. I wanted stability, clarity, answers. Now that I’m settled, I’m deeply grateful. And yet, I’ve also come to realize something surprising: there is an excitement that comes with not having all the answers. There’s a stealth hope that lives underneath the anxiety.

I was reminded that this tension between hope and uncertainty is nothing new when reading Hebrews 11:8: “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out… not knowing where he was going.”

What comes so naturally to the young—the necessity of going out without knowing exactly where they’re headed—tends to fade as we grow older and more comfortable. We build lives, routines, and systems that protect us from uncertainty. But comfort, over time, can be deceiving. 

Lately, I’ve felt inspired to re-tune my ear to God. To ask again: Where are you calling me to go? God created me for good works, and he is not done with me yet. He still has plans for me. Is it at work? Is it through this blog? Is it something I haven’t even considered yet because my vision has dulled as I’ve been lulled into complacency? We crave comfort, and then we grow bored. Antsy. A quiet unease we can’t quite name. The enemy loves us comfortable because comfort rarely inspires change. Comfort doesn’t push us to make things better or to trust God more deeply.

God puts something in us that craves more, but we often think, I have it good—why mess this up? Yet the restlessness doesn’t go away, so we try to placate it. Maybe drinking, shopping, scrolling, binging. Sometimes even with “good” things—overworking, overtraining, overcommitting. But if we are still and ask God, he will place new things on our hearts. He will call us to step out. 

It will be scary, because he rarely gives all the details. He simply asks us to trust. To go, not knowing exactly where we’re going. And yet, he promises to go with us—step by step. God’s goal is not perfection. His goal is relationship. Walking with him. As we trust him, he grows our faith and our character. And somewhere along the way, we begin to feel excited again. Hopeful. Alive. Yes, that low-grade anxiety may return—but we do not fear it. Because God has not given us a spirit of fear. He has given us life. “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)

Lord, thank you for the seasons of life you lead us through—the settled ones and the uncertain ones. Thank you for the holy restlessness that reminds us you are not finished with us yet. Help us quiet the noise, release our grip on comfort, and listen for your voice. Give us the courage to step out in faith, even when we don’t have all the answers. Walk with us, guide us, and restore our sense of wonder and excitement as we trust you anew. Amen.