“The world cannot comprehend the light because they live in the darkness.” He came closer and shook his head. “It’s one of the sad parts of this entire faith journey, Ethan. To have a stirring so strong, a belief rooted in reality and in truth, and yet be surrounded by a sea of people who rather live apart from God not just in this life but for all eternity.” Excerpt from “Shores of Redemption” (novel set to release in April 2025)
This little chunk from Shores of Redemption hits me square in the chest every time I read it. It’s not just words on a page—it’s a mirror to something I’ve felt deep down for years.
There’s this ache, you know? Not the loud kind that comes with trials or the world throwing punches—those I can handle. This is quieter, heavier. It’s the sting of walking with a faith so real it’s like breathing, while all around me, folks I love are content to stumble in the dark. And not just now—for forever. That’s the part that gets me.
Seeing What They Don’t
Faith is a funny thing. It’s this fire in your gut, a certainty that God’s real and His truth holds everything together. You feel it, live it, cling to it when the storms hit. But then you look out, and it’s like you’re the only one who sees the sunrise.
Everyone else?
They’re shuffling along in a fog, not because they’re bad, but because the dark’s familiar. Safe, even.
“The world cannot comprehend the light”—man, that’s it. It’s not that they hate it . . . they just don’t get it.
And trying to explain it? It’s like describing color to someone who’s never opened their eyes.
I’ve been there, standing in that gap.
Maybe you have as well.
You want to grab people—friends, family, the guy at the gas station—and say, “Look! There’s more than this!” But they shrug, or smile, or just say something like, “That’s what works for you.” It’s not rejection that stings most—it’s the indifference. The choosing to stay lost when the way out’s right there.
God’s Heart, My Heart
Here’s where it cuts deepest: “apart from God not just in this life but for all eternity.”
That’s not just a throwaway line—it’s a gut punch.
If it tears me up to see people I care about miss out on God’s goodness, how much more does it wreck Him?
Oof.
I think about Jesus, looking over Jerusalem with tears in His eyes, or that father pacing the porch for his runaway kid.
God’s not up there shaking His head in anger.
He’s hurting. He’s brokenhearted.
He wants them home.
And I feel that, too, in my own small way. It’s not about being holier-than-thou; it’s about loving people enough to hate what they’re missing out on not only in this life, but the next.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s the real weight of faith—not the battles we fight outward, but the ones we carry inside.
You’ve got this truth, this light, and it’s everything. But it comes with a cost: seeing what could be for people and knowing they might never grab it.
The Hard Road of Believing
The character in my story nails it—“one of the sad parts of this entire faith journey.”
Yeah, it is.
Faith isn’t all mountaintop moments and victory laps. It’s gritty. It’s holding onto what’s real when the world’s busy chasing shadows.
Persecution? Doubts? I can take those in stride.
But watching people I’d die for settle for less than God’s best—and not just for today, but forever—that’s the stuff that keeps me up at night.
Still, there’s a flip side.
That “stirring so strong,” that belief grounded in truth—it’s not just a burden.
It’s my anchor.
It’s what keeps me steady when the sea of shrugs threatens to knock me over. I’m not better than anyone—God knows I’m a mess half the time—but I’ve got something worth holding onto.
And maybe that’s why the heartbreak doesn’t break me? It’s just part of the deal.
Why It Sticks With Me
So why does this passage stick like glue in my hair?
Because it puts words to something I’ve lived.
It’s the tension of knowing God’s light while living in a world that’s fine without ever seeing it or experiencing it.
It’s the pain of wanting everyone to see what I see, feel what I feel, and knowing the majority will never experience it.
It’s the echo of God’s own heart, beating for people who don’t even hear it.
That breaks me—but it also fuels me.
This faith thing? It’s not about winning or proving a point. It’s about showing up, day after day, with a light that doesn’t dim.
Even when it’s heavy.
Even when it hurts.
Because some people will wake up to the light and to the truth of God’s love, His goodness.