Dear friends,

For many, August has marked a a moment of longing. Many kids are longing to get back to school and be with their friends. Parents who have spent the summer trying to keep their kids occupied are longing for school to take up that task. Others who have enjoyed summer vacations are perhaps marking the time until the next one.

But these are longings that mask a deeper yearning. 

In a recent episode of our Good Faith podcast with author and psychiatrist Dr. Curt Thompson, we spoke about the spiritual dynamics behind this kind of longing. Curt reminded me of a crucial truth: our desire for goodness, beauty, and connection. And underneath this desire is evidence of the divine within us. As Ecclesiastes 3:11 puts it, God has “set eternity in the human heart.” But this same world, infused with eternal longing, is also one that “groans inwardly” (Romans 8:23). In other words, the world groans — and so do we.

It’s tempting to treat suffering as a problem that frustrates our longings. But what if, as Curt puts it, suffering is actually fertile ground for spiritual formation? What if our desire for beauty is inseparable from our willingness to drink the same cup that Jesus drank (Mark 10:38)? If we are going to do the work of bearing God’s image in this world, then we need to understand that suffering is not incidental. It is central to the human experience.

That’s not an easy truth to accept. But it can also be a comforting one, because it means our pain is not without purpose. We are not abandoned in it. One of the most striking things Curt said in our conversation was his reminder that part of the grand Biblical arc is the God who says “I am with you, looking at you, looking at me, and my gaze upon you is one of loving kindness, even in the face of this horrible thing that is happening.”

This is not just the language of a therapist. Rather, it’s profoundly biblical. In Romans 5, Paul writes, “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5) This hope does not arise by bypassing suffering but rather it is formed through it. It is a hope that anchors us not in wishful thinking, but in the presence of a God who stays.

Curt put it this way: “We ultimately have God who has said He won’t leave the room with us.” That’s not just good psychology. It’s good theology.

So as we return to the more structured rhythms of the fall, the question is not simply how we get back to our normal routines. The deeper question is how we will respond to the suffering — large or small — that accompanies life in this world. Will we numb ourselves to it? Avoid it? Or will we allow ourselves to honor it and to name it as part of the formation of our hope?

This is what makes hope such a unique virtue. It is, as Hebrews says, “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Hope is not certainty. But neither is it fantasy. It is confidence in a God who is already at work, even in what feels most broken.

This is our comfort as we walk through August: not that everything will go according to plan, but that God’s presence is already here. He is not leaving the room. And neither should we.

Onward,

Curtis