There’s a whisper in the human soul — a yearning that follows us wherever we go. We might name it differently: purpose, belonging, peace, even home. But deep down, it’s a longing for something we’ve never fully known, yet somehow remember. This is the longing for Eden.

In Genesis, we read that humanity was created to walk with their Creator in a lush garden. Man and woman strolled through towering trees and flowering shrubs, hand-in-hand, conversing with God in the cool of the day.

And then…the relationship broke.

Adam and Eve listened to the serpent, decided they could be equal to God, and crunched into the forbidden fruit. They were cast out of the garden, never to return. But something of Eden remained — not in geography, but in the human spirit. Ever since, we’ve carried a homesickness for what was lost.

This universal longing shows up in surprising ways. We crave relationships where we’re fully known and still loved. We strive to make a difference — seeking meaning in our work, creativity, or legacy. We chafe at injustice and ache for healing — in our families, in our world, in ourselves. These yearnings aren’t random. They’re echoes of Eden still resounding in our souls.

Wrong House, Right Lesson

One Christmas, right after college, I was invited to a holiday party by my radio station manager in Oklahoma. I wasn’t familiar with his neighborhood, but when I saw cars lining up outside one particularly festive house, I figured I’d found the place. I walked in confidently, greeted by the sound of laughter, the clink of glasses, and the unmistakable aroma of holiday hors d’oeuvres. I didn’t see any coworkers or the manager, but I assumed I was just early — or that they were in another room. So I did what any underpaid, hungry twenty-something would do: I mingled with strangers and ate my weight in cocktail weenies.

Eventually, a kindly woman leaned in and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met.” I told her my name and asked where Terry — the station manager — was. “Who?” she asked. That’s when a man nearby piped up: “You’re in the wrong house, Chief. Terry’s a few doors down.” I made a polite but speedy exit… though not before grabbing one more cocktail weenie for the road.

Friends, a lot of folks are at the wrong party. They’re dining on despair, dancing to the devil’s beat, and wondering why nothing satisfies. They thought they’d found something real — only to realize they’d wandered into a house that doesn’t know their name. But here’s the good news: God has sent an invitation. A call to come home. A call to return to Eden.

Wired for Another World

Theologians call this the imago Dei — the image of God within us. Even though marred by sin, we bear God’s design. Like a shattered mirror still catching glimpses of sunlight, we reflect what we were made for. Our capacity for love, justice, creativity, and worship are signs that we’re not accidents of biology, but intentional beings made for something more.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” That’s the human condition. We chase fulfillment in careers, relationships, or experiences, only to find that the ache remains. Nothing fully satisfies because we are wired for Eden, programmed to walk with God.

The good news of the gospel isn’t just about forgiveness. It’s about restoration. Jesus didn’t come just to rescue us from sin, but to lead us back toward the wholeness we lost. Through Christ, the story comes full circle. Genesis tells the story of paradise lost. Revelation paints the picture of paradise regained— a garden-city coming down from heaven, where God once again dwells with His people, and all things are made new.

Until that day, the longing remains. But it’s not a hopeless ache. It’s a compass pointing us toward God, in whom we find fulfillment. When we feel out of place in this fallen world, it’s not a failure of faith — it’s confirmation of design. We weren’t made for chaos, injustice, or alienation. We were created for Eden.

So what do we do with that longing? We lean into it. We let it shape our prayers, our choices, our compassion. We let it remind us that this life isn’t the end, and this world isn’t our true home. The ache is real — but so is the hope. Eden may be behind us, but in Christ, it is also ahead.

We’re not lost.

We’re on our way back.