Remembering Whose We Are

“I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord; they are plans for peace, not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope. When you call me and come and pray to me, I will listen to you. When you search for me, yes, search with all your heart, you will find me.” —Jeremiah 29:11–13 (CEB)

Reading this passage today, I think of how often we, like Israel, find ourselves in a kind of exile. Those seasons when our plans fall apart, when we don’t quite know how we ended up where we are, and when we can’t yet see how we’re going to find our way out of those uncomfortable, unfamiliar places. 

Israel’s exile in Babylon was a deep disorientation. They had gone from a once‑united nation to a people torn apart by civil war and then scattered by foreign invaders. Many were taken far from home, far from what was familiar, and—at least in their hearts—far from God. They had forgotten whose they were. Yet even there—especially there—God spoke a word of hope. Not a quick fix. Not an escape hatch. But a reminder: You are still mine. And I still have plans for you. 

That is the heart of these verses. Not simply that God has a plan, but that God’s heart is turned toward us even in the places we never meant to end up. The exiles we face today may not look like Babylon, but they carry the same ache. A diagnosis. A broken relationship. A season of loneliness. A job that drains more than it gives. A grief that lingers longer than we expected. These are the landscapes where we wonder if God still sees us, still hears us, still desires good for us. 

And into those very moments, verses 12 and 13 lean forward with tenderness and invitation. When you call… I will listen. When you search… you will find me. Not because we have the right words. Not because we have the right plan. But because we belong to a God of grace who refuses to abandon us in any exile, ancient or modern.

God’s desire has never been for us to remain stuck, lost, or forgotten. His desire is always life, always hope, always a future shaped by his presence. And when we turn toward him—even with trembling hands or tired hearts—we discover again whose we are. We discover that exile is never the end of the story.

God, you know the places where we feel far from home. You know the plans we tried to make, the ones that unraveled, and the ones we cling to out of fear. Thank you that your plans for us are rooted in peace and hope. Thank you that when we call, you listen, and when we search, you draw near. Help us remember once more whose we are. Help us trust your heart more than our own plans. Help us to see beyond this temporary time of exile. Lead us toward the future you desire for us, one step, one prayer, one moment of courage at a time. In the name of Jesus, we pray. Amen.

Grace & Peace,

Pastor Tim