The Kindness That Leads Us Home

Lately you realize how much you have drifted. Perhaps in rebellion. Or maybe not in any grand defiance, but simply in the small, tired ways a heart wanders ... when life overcomes faith with its perplexity, its disappointments, its unending demands. You look up one day and notice the distance, how far you are from your early joy, any deep sense of well-being and the One who guided you in the past.

At first shame arises. A crude questioning of self. The sting of finding yourself lacking. But then you notice a tender connection to an unexpected, steady, almost impossible gentleness.

It is this revelation of kindness that undoes me.

Because I remember the story; you know the one.

Jesus said, “Imagine you’ve got a hundred sheep.”

The crowd around Him nodded ... they knew sheep, knew how skittish and stubborn they could be. Then Jesus leaned in a little and said, “Now picture this: one wanders off. Just one. Most people would shrug and say, ‘Well… ninety-nine isn’t bad.’ But not the shepherd I’m talking about.”

And that’s where His voice softened, like He was letting them see something of His own heart. “He doesn’t just let that one go. He doesn’t say, ‘It’s too far’ or ‘It’s too much trouble.’ No ... he grabs his staff, tightens his sandals, and heads straight into the hills. He climbs rocks, pushes through thorn bushes, calls out into the dark. Because that one sheep matters to him.”

I imagine the crowd quieted down at that ... quiet that happens when truth lands. Jesus smiled a little, the kind of smile that says He knows exactly what it feels like to be that one. “And when he finds it ... because he will find it ... he doesn’t scold or drag it home. He lifts it up, gently, places it on his shoulders, and carries it back. And then he throws a whole celebration because something that was lost is now in his arms again.”

And then Jesus said the line that still gets me every time: “That’s what God is like. That’s how much He cares. He goes after you. He keeps searching. He doesn’t stop until He brings you home.”

Not a God who waits. A God who reaches out. A God who won’t let the dark have the last word. A God who says, “You matter too much to lose.”

So, for all my striving, all my seasons of forgetting, all the ways I thought I needed to “fix” myself before turning back ... He is watching for me; and

He simply sees me. He doesn't care about the polished version. And the bruised explanations. He sees just me, as I am. And His gaze is warm. There is no push, no pressure. Only an invitation so tender it could be missed if your heart is still armored.

Come back. Come rest. Come remember who you are and whose you are.

It turns out the way home is not built on guilt or grit ... but on grace. It is paved with a mercy wide enough for every misstep, every detour, every quiet sorrow we never said aloud. And somehow, mysteriously, His kindness begins to gather the pieces of my weary soul, without force, just love’s slow, patient pull.

I am still a seeker. Still learning the contours of trust, still confused more days than I care to admit. But each time I come ... hesitant, hopeful, undone by my own frailty ... I find the same steady welcome.

He has never once turned His face away.

And that is how the heart begins to heal: not by trying harder, but by allowing the kindness of God to lead us ... again and again ... all the way home.