The Pines and Oaks of Easton
“Hey, do you know anyone who lives in Connecticut?”
This was a question my wife asked me out of the blue in early 2024 as I was getting ready to go speak at a conference in Arizona. My response was, “No. No one knows anybody who lives in Connecticut. I have literally never thought about Connecticut a day in my life. Why do you ask?” She responded, “I think it would be a great place to move to and raise our son.” A year later, we officially became residents of the Nutmeg State.
My wife and I have made three big moves in our almost 17 years of marriage. Orange County to Dallas. Dallas to Austin. Austin to Connecticut. With each move, including our most recent, we anticipated things would get better, even if things weren’t bad. A new house will be homier. A new neighborhood will be more welcoming. New friendships will be deeper. While my wife and I have never said this out loud, there has always been a hope that moving to a new place would fix everything that is broken in our lives.
“I’m coming to discover that this restlessness is not an invitation to a new season of life and ministry in a new location. I am coming to discover that it’s an invitation to stay right where I am”
The first few months of every move always seem promising. This is the one. It’s going to deliver the goods. Moving to a new place is exciting. All the new sights and sounds release dopamine after dopamine hit, especially New England. New England is beautiful and historically rich. We are a short train ride from NYC. Living somewhere with a thing called seasons has been a refreshing change from the perpetual Texas summer. All of these new sights, sounds, and experiences have been wonderful, but after almost a year of being here, guess what? All the broken things in our lives are still broken.
My wife and I knew that moving to Connecticut would not solve the deeper issues that have begun to surface as we enter the long, dry years of middle age. When we were packing up our home in Austin, we literally said to one another, “We know this move won’t fix everything.” We have experienced enough moves, enough change, and enough life to understand that a new house, a new job, and new friendships will not fix what’s broken inside. Yet, we still secretly hoped moving to New England would be the cure to all of life’s problems.
As we approach our one-year anniversary of living in Connecticut, I have been taking long walks every morning through our beautifully wooded neighborhood. I have been leaving my AirPods at home in an attempt to turn these walks into a time of prayer. By prayer, I mean allowing my mind to wander and drift. With each step, I attempt to hold whatever random, anxious, or mundane thought that comes to mind before God. The first 10 minutes or so of each walk is chaotic. I start to wonder if leaving my AirPods at home was a mistake. But with enough time, the breath of God begins to exhale over the chaotic waters of my mind.
A few days ago, as the Spirit hovered over my anxious thoughts and disappointment, St. Augustine’s famous line came to mind, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”1 My first thought was, “That is so cliché!” But as I walked with this well-known saying for the next few miles, I began to realize that my heart needed to journey with these words.
“This restlessness is showing me that my heart will never be fulfilled by the best of God’s good gifts. It will only be satisfied by God alone.”
Each of our moves was preceded by a season of restlessness. My wife and I would spend months, sometimes over a year, trying to discern where the restlessness was coming from. We can say with a clear conscience that we never made a decision to uproot our lives and start over somewhere else lightly. Trusted friends and spiritual advisors have blessed each move. We believe each move was a call to something, not running from something.
After making our way across the country over the course of our marriage, I am tired. I don’t have another move in me. Yet, there is still a restlessness in my soul. I’m coming to discover that this restlessness is not an invitation to a new season of life and ministry in a new location. I am coming to discover that it’s an invitation to stay right where I am, while allowing my heart to continue on a pilgrimage to seek God in this place and in this season.
My long morning walks have now become a pilgrim’s journey for my soul and being. The ancient prayers that faithful pilgrims once prayed as they made their way up toward the Holy City rattle around in my heart and mind. As I make my way up Old Sport Hill Rd., the cedars of Lebanon have been replaced by the pines and oaks of Lower Easton. Each morning, these ancient prayers displace the chaos that continually tries to rule my life:
In my distress I called to the LORD, and he answered me. (Psalm 120:1)
I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?
My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1–2)
I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD!”
Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem! (Psalm 122:1–2)
Year after year, ancient pilgrims would make their way to the Holy City, singing these prayers as they journeyed towards Jerusalem. With each step, they were preparing their hearts for their final destination, the Temple, the dwelling place of God.
Now, day after day, I recite these prayers on my morning walk, opening my heart to see God in my everyday life. My final destination is not Jerusalem. It’s my very ordinary life. It is the very place I am rooted. This is the place God now dwells.
Moving to New England has brought us a lot of what we have been looking for. We feel like we have found a place we can call home. We are all in. We have thrown out all the moving boxes, the modern version of burning the ship. But the beauty of this place, the wonderful people who are filling our lives, the new experiences we are enjoying will never be enough. The restlessness that used to drive me across the country now serves me in a different way. This restlessness is showing me that my heart will never be fulfilled by the best of God’s good gifts. It will only be satisfied by God alone.
We live in a time where most of us are longing for something different, something new, something to settle our restless hearts. Sure, you may need to move across the country to scratch that itch. But I have a feeling you don’t. Maybe the restlessness we are all sensing is actually a gift from the Lord, reawakening our hearts to remember that we were made to rest in him alone.
St. Augustine, Confessions 1.1.1.