Longing for the Familiar

In the tense uncertainty, I find myself groping for the familiar.

Newly married, newly a mom, and newly relocated, I craved familiarity when, for the first time ever, I moved 600 miles away from where I grew up. I baked my sister’s tried-and-true chocolate chip cookies often, because the tantalizing smell would immediately transport me back to her house. I’d throw together taco casserole right before the college football game broadcast because of the strong memories of Saturdays spent this way with my mom. The familiar became my comfort in all that was new and upended, a way to remind myself that the world as I knew it still existed, even if only in my mind (and kitchen).

Similarly, I find myself groping for the familiar now. I thought by this month, so close to the end of 2020, we’d be back to normal, back to the people and places and rhythms we all know and yearn for so deeply. And yet, we’re not. Are we closer to or further from it? Most days, I honestly don’t know.

COVID-19 has fractured our cities, our people, our families, and our plans. In this moment of history that seems to be stretching out endlessly, I’m tired and wearied, like so many of you. If I’m not mindful, I become consumed by the bleakness and harshness I feel all around me. All the loudness and fighting and divisiveness—I listen to it like I’d watch a horrific accident I’m passing, in seeming slow motion, on the interstate.

I seem to be able to peel my eyes away from this chaos only by turning to Jesus. He’s the only respite for my soul.

Ann Voskamp writes:

The way to counter all the madness is to encounter all God’s goodness.

The way to counter all this heartache, is to encounter the heart of God.

The way to counter the fury of a world burning down, is to get down on your knees and light your own heart on fire.

When your heart is breaking, only the sweet balm that comes from breaking open His word can bring healing to your wounds.

Heeding her advice, I turn to the familiar words of John 1, and the first chapter of this Gospel runs over me like cool water on a blazing summer day. Even though it’s familiar, a passage I’ve thumbed to countless times, my spirit is newly refreshed. I’m surprised to see how thirsty my soul is.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it…to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God. The word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:1-5, 12-14 NIV).

In this prologue, John sets the stage by taking us back to the beginning, to establish that eternally, Jesus has been creator, sovereign, and redeemer.

Jesus is God’s divine message, his voice speaking, now heard. To hear and see the Son is to hear and see our heavenly Father. He is the Maker, creatively making all things new, even as the world decays around us. If not for him, all goodness would cease to exist. When life becomes light, it dispels fear and agony by showing us the way. His light is bright enough to scatter a thousand demons. We are made and remade in his image, by faith and for glory. His glory—and our hearts—are full of grace and truth. He is a message utterly compelling and comforting, a voice calling to and calming us amidst chaos.

The Voice renders this version of the prologue:

“His breath filled all things
with a living, breathing light—
A light that thrives in the depths of darkness,
blazes through murky bottoms.
It cannot and will not be quenched.” (John 1:4-5)

What greater comfort than to know that Jesus’ light pierces through chaos, penetrates our hearts, and cannot be extinguished. In a darkness like we have not known before, we see his light more clearly. No matter how loud the chaos roars or how it threatens to undo us, Jesus is eternally ours. Because he breathed his life into all creation, moment by moment, we are filled with him.

The vacancy of the familiar that I long for is intended to be fulfilled in being intimately familiar with Jesus. While nostalgic family memories momentarily satisfy, Jesus is the One who ultimately satisfies all of our hearts in every circumstance. In that holy satisfaction, Megan Fate Marshman reminds us, “instead of using the present to attempt to control an uncertain future, we are free to engage the present. Hope transforms the present.” I think we could all use that kind of hope for today and all the days ahead, however long they may be.

Allison Byxbe is a writer and teacher who lives with her family in South Carolina. When she’s not pondering words, she enjoys hiking, learning about natural health, and drinking the perfect latte. Allison loves to connect with others about family, special needs parenting, mental health, grief, and faith. Her writing has been featured on The Mighty and Her View from Home, and you can find more of it on her blog Writing Is Cheaper Than Therapy.

Photograph © Marty Finney, used with permission