#SoHomesick

There’s no clever punchline today. No spicy headline or zinger to tie it all together.

Just this: I am so homesick.

Not for any zip code or familiar skyline. Not for old family haunts or the comfort food from my hometown. No, this ache is deeper, heavier. It doesn’t come from what I miss. It comes from what I see.

War. Epstein. Momdani. Pain. Cancer. Death. Overdoses. Expulsion. Trafficking. Rape. Anger. Hate. Deceptions. False identity. Agenda. Murder. Cover up. Denial. Abandonment. Absence. Exploitation. Poverty. Abortion. Addiction. Apathy. Acquiescence. Mockery. Expediency. Violence. Abuse. Disaster...

That’s not an editorial outline. That’s just my mental inbox from the past week. The stories we write, the headlines we see, the conversations we have — they are flooded with this kind of darkness. It smacked me in the face this week: this is all there is outside of the Creator. Outside of His purpose, His plan, and His place.

We live in a world that is dying. And the dying is loud. It’s dramatic. It’s violent. It’s televised, livestreamed, re-tweeted, clipped for TikTok, and debated on cable news. But none of it — none of it — is filling the ache. None of it makes us whole.

We search for justice. We demand goodness. We want things to be fair. But here’s the hard truth: they never will be. At least not fully. Not here.

That isn’t cynical. It’s simply honest.

It’s not supposed to be here. We weren’t made for this world. That’s why there’s a homesickness in me — maybe in you too — that can’t be shaken no matter how good the meal, how perfect the vacation, how strong the stock market, or even how stirring the Sunday morning sermon.

Phil Wickham sings it this way:

“I’ll run as fast as I can
Into Your arms,
‘Cause I was created
To be where You are,
There’s an ache in my heart…
I’m homesick for Heaven!”

That lyric stopped me cold when I heard it this week. Because it’s exactly right. The ache I feel isn’t because I want to escape my responsibilities, or that I don’t love the blessings God’s given me. It’s that this world is never going to deliver what my heart longs for most.

Every news cycle reminds me: this isn’t home.

Justice here is partial. Goodness here is temporary. Leaders here disappoint. The broken things here stay broken.

Think about it: for every murderer brought to justice, there’s another crime no one solves. For every trafficker arrested, a hundred more victims remain in chains. For every addict who finds recovery, another young life is lost to fentanyl.

That’s not negativity. That’s reality.

I ache for justice. I ache for goodness. But this world isn’t where those things live in fullness.

And that ache — it’s not a flaw in me. It’s not depression or discontent. It’s something holy.

The Apostle Paul said it straight in his letter to the Philippians: “But our citizenship is in Heaven.” Not will be. Is.

We’re here for a time. But we don’t belong here.

When I see the insanity on the news — cities burning, children mutilated in the name of ideology, unborn lives discarded like garbage, the very image of God mocked, desecrated, or forgotten — my first instinct is to ask: “Lord, how long?”

How long until things are set right?

But maybe that’s the wrong prayer. Maybe the better one is: “Lord, keep my heart fixed on where I belong.”

Don’t get me wrong: I believe in fighting for good. I’ll keep writing, broadcasting, and standing up for truth as long as I’m able. But I no longer expect this world to fully reflect the justice and peace I long for.

That kind of ache isn’t supposed to be solved by politicians, policies, or even pastors. It’s only solved by God Himself.

We’re homesick because we were made for Heaven.

That ache is proof of our true citizenship. It’s not just a longing for peace. It’s a longing for the presence of the One who is peace.

The song says, “I’ll run as fast as I can into Your arms...” — that’s the posture we need in days like these.

Run to Him. Not to headlines. Not to heroes. Not even to causes. Causes matter, yes. But Christ matters more.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting justice in this life. But let’s be honest: we’re not going to find it in full here. And maybe that’s the whole point.

Maybe the ache is meant to keep us from settling for this world as our final home. Maybe it’s meant to keep us running, homesick, but not hopeless.

Because we know where home really is.

That ache is a compass. It points us beyond the fog of this broken place and toward a better country. As Hebrews 11 puts it, “a heavenly one.”

That’s why today, I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I’m not snarky.

I’m just #SoHomesick!

And I’m betting, deep down, you might be too.