Phil Strong
Watching the recent NASA liftoff stirred something familiar. Not space travel, but the thrill of going somewhere new and the question of what it will be like when you finally arrive.
Phil Strong
A few months earlier, Kathy and I watched a reality show where contestants travelled across Europe trying to guess their final destination. The tension wasn’t just in the journey—it was in not knowing where they were headed.
That feels uncomfortably close to real life right now. Global tensions are rising. Conflict fills the news.
The price of fuel climbs. Travel tightens. Even sport—my great escape—gets disrupted. Life isn’t exactly inspiring confidence.
And yet, it’s engrained in human nature to want to stay hopeful. But hopeful in what, exactly? If your hope is anchored in comfort, stability, or the idea that the world will eventually calm down, you may find yourself constantly unsettled. Because history and the current news cycle suggest otherwise.
Here’s the tension: we all want peace now, but we’re living in a world that can’t seem to hold onto it.
The traveller of faith approaches this differently. Not with denial, and not with panic, but with clarity. Because the destination is already settled.
Like astronauts who launch with a flight path already mapped, Christians don’t see this life as the final stop.
The journey matters, of course—but it’s not the end point. And that changes how you travel.
Am I concerned about rising costs and global instability? Of course.
These things affect how we live, how we care for others, and how we respond in the moment. But they don’t define where this is all heading.
That’s the difference.
Hope that depends on circumstances will rise and fall with every headline. But hope anchored beyond this world holds steady. Even when everything else shakes.
This is why Easter still matters. It’s not just a tradition or a long weekend. Jesus Christ stepped into human history, faced its worst, and overcame it – not by avoiding suffering, but by going through it. The cross wasn’t the end.
The tomb didn’t hold Him. And in that, hope of a destination for us was opened.
The Bible describes it as a living hope; an inheritance that doesn’t spoil, fade, or disappear with time. Not fragile. Not temporary. Not dependent on global stability. Secure.
That kind of hope doesn’t ignore the present. It steadies you within it. It moves you toward compassion, generosity, and courage.
The alternative is to spend life scrambling to preserve something that was never guaranteed in the first place.
We may not be heading to the moon anytime soon. But every one of us is heading somewhere.
The question isn’t whether you’re on a journey.
It’s whether you’ve considered the destination your life choices have confirmed. Because once that’s settled, everything else starts to make a lot more sense.
