It starts as a tug in the heart. A dream, a “what if,” a longing for something you wish you could hold but can’t. I felt it the other night when I dreamed BTS was at a nearby hotel. My bus passed by while others, including someone I knew, were inside with them. I waved through the window, hoping my hand would be seen. In that dream, longing had me outside the glass.
But later that same day, I was walking the streets of Christchurch with my family. We laughed about nothing in particular, shared butter chicken and naan, and wandered the city as the chill of evening wrapped around us. No ARMY crowds, no flashing cameras, just children giggling, shop lights glowing, and conversation spilling across sidewalks. Longing gave way to living. And maybe that’s the invitation we often miss: to let go of the windows that make us feel like outsiders and step into the beauty of where God already has us.
The Pull of Longing
Longing has a way of convincing us we’re almost there but not quite. It whispers, “If only you were inside that room, had that relationship, reached that milestone, then you’d be complete.” It’s a tricky voice because it feeds on truth, we are made for more, but distorts it into comparison. In my dream, longing left me on the wrong side of the glass. Spiritually, it can feel the same: like everyone else is living the life you wish you had while you’re left waving from the outside.
C.S. Lewis once wrote, “The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing, to find the place where all the beauty came from.” Longing, at its best, directs us toward God. At its worst, it traps us in cycles of discontent. Scripture reminds us, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life” (Proverbs 13:12). The question is: are we letting longing stretch our faith roots deeper into God, or are we letting it keep us endlessly circling the window?
The Gift of Presence
Walking with my family through Christchurch reminded me that presence is the antidote to longing. The streets smelled faintly of roasted coffee from cafés closing for the night. The laughter of children blended with the rush of passing cars. We weren’t doing anything spectacular, yet joy bloomed in the ordinariness. Jim Elliot once said, “Wherever you are, be all there.” That evening, presence transformed naan wrapped in a paper bag into a feast of gratitude.
Presence requires surrender. It means choosing to be where your feet are instead of where your fantasies wander. Jesus said, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). If He is with us in the present, then the present is never empty. It may not sparkle like the dream, but it carries something better: the sacred weight of real life.
Grace in Small Things
At first glance, butter chicken, naan, and city sidewalks don’t look like holy moments. Yet holiness often hides in the ordinary. As Ephesians 5:15–16 reminds us, “Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity…” Every day is thick with meaning, whether we recognize it or not. The way we eat, speak, and pay attention shapes the kind of life we’re building. Each step I took through Christchurch’s streets was not filler, but fabric woven threads in the larger tapestry of my story.
Paul reminds us, “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things” (Colossians 3:2). That doesn’t mean we ignore daily life. It means we look for the eternal inside the daily. The sacred isn’t reserved for mountaintop encounters or dreamlike moments with our favorite pop groups like BTS. It’s found in wiping tables after dinner, sharing stories with nieces and nephews, or watching a movie together in a crowded living room. God plants eternity into the soil of the mundane, and our job is to notice the bloom.
Soul Insights
1. Longing is both compass and distraction.
Longing can remind us that our souls are wired for eternity, pointing us toward the God who planted that ache in the first place. It pushes us to hope, to dream, and to move forward instead of settling. But when longing isn’t surrendered, it can also keep us circling in discontent, measuring our lives against others and always coming up short. The same longing that inspires us can also blind us when we use it as a yardstick instead of a compass. The key is not to silence longing, but to let it stretch our faith roots toward God instead of letting it drain us.
2. Presence makes ordinary moments extraordinary.
We underestimate how powerful presence really is until we practice it. A walk with family, laughter at the dinner table, or the smell of fresh naan can become holy ground when we decide to be fully there. Presence dismantles the lies that joy is always somewhere else or tied to something bigger. It teaches us that our lives are already threaded with moments worth savoring, even in their simplicity. Choosing presence is choosing to live abundantly, right where God has us. 
3. The illusion of windows can trick us.
Sometimes life makes us feel like spectators, watching others succeed, connect, or live the dreams we silently nurture. The “window” convinces us we’re outsiders, waving at blessings we’ll never touch. But often, the window is just perception, not reality. God’s presence means we are never excluded, even when our path looks different from what we imagined. Instead of envying what’s on the other side of the glass, we’re invited to notice the grace already shining on our side.
4. Sacredness is hidden in the everyday.
We tend to chase big, mountaintop moments and miss the holiness in the mundane. Yet Jesus did some of His most profound work in kitchens, on roads, and around dinner tables. The sacred is found in how we spend our ordinary days, because those days add up to our entire life. Sweeping a floor, sharing a story, or lingering in conversation with loved ones are not filler; they’re formation. When we look closely, the everyday shimmers with eternity.
5. Living is re-directing desire.
Desire is not the enemy; it’s energy waiting to be given a direction. When left unchecked, it can spiral into rumination or chasing what never satisfies. But when we hand desire back to God, He transforms it into fuel for growth, creativity, and love. Living fully means shifting our gaze from what we lack to what God is already placing in front of us. In that redirection, longing becomes life-giving instead of life-draining, and desire becomes a doorway into deeper joy.
Final Thoughts
My dream left me outside the hotel window, waving at what I couldn’t reach. My evening left me walking the streets of Christchurch, present in laughter and love. Longing isn’t bad but living is better. God is not withholding joy. He is weaving it into the very fabric of our daily lives, waiting for us to notice and savor.
Your Turn
This week, pause when you feel that tug of longing. Instead of staring through the window at what could be, turn your gaze to what already is. Ask yourself: Where is joy already blooming around me? How can I step into presence today? Then take one small step, share a meal, notice the laughter, or simply thank God for what is already enough.
© 2025 Amelie Chambord
Soul Path Insights 
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