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Do you ever see a bible verse so often, printed on mugs, plastered on peoples instagram feeds or posted on Facebook, it almost loses its power?
Jeremiah 29:11 was one of those for me.
It’s one of the few bible verses where I remember the first time it really spoke to me. I was probably 15, and it was the word I needed at that exact moment in time. But that was years ago. And honestly, I’d become desensitized to it.
I think God looks for those moments.
Those places in our hearts were a truth from His word has become something we’ve begun to overlook. Maybe it’s overuse or misuse of the verse, or because the life you’ve lived seems to disagree with the promise in His word. Whatever the reason I think He looks for those opportunities to shine a new light on a verse we’ve known for years.
For I know the plans I have for you… It’s a great promise, but after a year of incredible change in our lives, it seemed, distant.
Almost one year ago exactly my wife and I went on a walk and uttered words, only weeks prior, we would never have dreamt would come out of our mouths. After 8 years in St. Louis, and without any lead-up, we both felt very strongly that we were being called to a new city, a new state, to move closer to her family. To pickup our lives, say goodbye to a church that was home, to friends that were closer than family, and a life-group that absolutely gave us life.
Only weeks before this early-July conversation, we’d said goodbye to two very good friends who were embarking on their own relocation journey. And on the way home from sending them off, I can distinctly remember telling my wife how grateful I was that we had no plans to move anywhere. We had no plans.
For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and give you hope… in the following 8 weeks, all that changed. A walk through the neighborhood quickly became conversations with our pastors, trips to Lowes for moving supplies, and 3 months later we said our own goodbyes.
For nearly the last year, we’ve lived in a new city, a new state, a new place we’re leaning to call home.
I’d be lying if I said it had been easy.
It’s not.
We’ve been here almost 10 months and we’ve still not found our circle. We’ve been praying for the place we fit, the place we’ll call home, and the new friends we’ll make…. but it hasn’t happened yet.
Yes, the Lord has been incredibly faithful, but we’ve felt… alone.
It wasn’t until last week, in my bible-reading, that I realized something about Jeremiah 29:11.
Something I’ve missed for decades.
Jeremiah 29:11 isn’t written for just anyone. That chapter is a letter written to a specific people group. The prophet Jeremiah wrote to the children of Israel who had been carried into exile.
Merriam Webster defines exile as the state or a period of forced absence from one’s country or home. We found ourselves strangers in a strange land, alone, exiles. And suddenly this entire portion of scripture made so much more sense.
v4: Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile…. The Lord Himself, the God of Angel Armies, says to those WHOM HE SENT into exile.
Are you feeling alone? Have the last 6 months or a year completely rocked your world? Is everything different this year? If you look back at July 2025, did you know you’d be where you’re currently at? Or has everything shifted?
Maybe, just maybe, He’s sent you on this path.
v5: Build houses, settle down, live in them, plant gardens and enjoy their fruit. Get married, have babies, multiply, and do not decrease. Did we want to move to Oklahoma? No. But we were called to do so. So we’re not just moving here, we’re leaning in. We’re learning what it looks like to make this new place, home.
v7: Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. Seek the welfare, the goodness, the betterment of the city that He has carried us into. Our prayers look different now. We’re praying for Oklahoma. We’re looking for small businesses to support. We’re praying for the education system, the industry, its churches and leaders and government. We’re actively seeking the goodness of the place the Lord sent us to. Because He tells us to. And because when the city prospers, we prosper.
And while all those things are good, and worthwhile, and beautiful in their own way, it was the simple reality that this verse was written originally to a people who were far from home, far from what they knew, and were clinging to the goodness of the God who had sent them there, that has had the biggest impact.
No one wants to talk about moving to a place they never wanted to go. No one wants to think that one of the greatest promises in the bible wasn’t originally written for graduation cards, but to those in exile. But that’s the reality of this promise.
Is Oklahoma our home?
Not yet. But it’s getting there.
v11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”
The promise in chapter 29 covers a period of 70 years. His promise to bring his children back from exile isn’t instant, there is a long timeline attached, but He didn’t leave His children without a plan, a purpose, and a promise. And while we still find ourselves in Oklahoma, and while we don’t know what the timeline looks like or what the future holds, He hasn’t left us alone either. He’s given us:
The plan: Build houses, move in, live where He has planted us.
The purpose: Pursue the betterment of our new community. Pray for it. Seek its blessing for its blessing is our blessing.
The promise: He still has plans for us. And He still has plans for you.
It may not look like what you thought, but that’s ok. Because it is His plan. And He is trustworthy.
We went for a walk this evening. My wife, our dogs (Maple and Olive) and I, in our new neighborhood, in our new city, in our new state.
And we were charged by a dog. A large, black dog. On a dark, black night.
Scared the absolute poop out of us.
Thankfully, Maple and Olive are non-reactive so they honestly were just excited to meet this strange, aggressive, dark-as-night demogorgon dog. And thankfully, this interloper was more afraid of me than we were of him. So after I stopped screaming like a girl, I stood my ground and chased the dog back home. (Just kidding, I didn’t scream like a girl… I would never do that.)
All that to say, we cut our walk short. Went home. Brewed some hot tea and told our nervous systems to calm down.
You’d think it was just a minor hiccup in our day. But honestly, it felt like more than that. It wasn’t just about the dog, it was about feeling unprotected, alone, like interlopers in a place that hasn’t become home yet.
Walking in faith and obedience is a weird thing.
You find yourself resting in the peace of knowing you’re where you’re supposed to be even if you don’t truly understand the reason behind it, while simultaneously mourning pieces of the life you had before.
I am in pain. That is a factual statement. It’s honest. It’s my reality.
When I slow down, when I put my phone down, in the quiet of the evening or the silence of early morning, in the glow of Christmas lights, I feel it.
We moved a number of weeks ago. Away from friends who became family. Away from a church that brought so much healing. Away from everything we knew and everyone we trusted.
And now, things aren’t where they were. They aren’t what they were. I’m not where I was—or who I was. And it feels different.
It hurts knowing that we had to say goodbye. It hurts because we left the first place where I felt whole in my entire adult life.
The double-edged sword of growth, of working on yourself, of pursuing and finding healing—is that you realize pain and grief are not enemies. They’re invitations.
Invitations to sit quietly and face the things that we did not expect: the loss of a loved one, the breakup, the unexpected move. Grieving invites us into the hurt, into the ache. Into what we so often try to numb.
There’s still part of me that wants to numb the pain—to self-medicate, to chase distractions that make me feel better, or feel nothing at all. But that’s like taking Tylenol for a toothache. It may soothe the symptoms, but it will never solve the problem. And much like a toothache, grief left unaddressed only gets worse.
I think what I’m learning now is that while grief feels like a very dark night, its call is an invitation to find beauty through the pain. An invitation to keep walking, even when it hurts. To trust that the light isn’t gone—just waiting to be seen through the dark.
And maybe, in time, I’ll realize the pain was never the enemy. It was the reminder that I’m still alive, still growing, still being made whole.
So for now, I’ll accept the invitation as best I can. I’ll sit with it—the ache, the stillness, the questions. I’ll let grief be my teacher, and grace be my anchor.
And maybe, somewhere in the middle of it all, I’ll start to see the northern lights, the colors of healing, begin to glow.
FindingTheCourageToDream.com 