"We cannot change the world, but we can change our own hearts and create ripples of peace and joy."
– Unknown
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It
happened like this, I was packing stuff into my car and a carpenter came out
and said, “Look! She never charged me for this.” He showed me a couple of cheap
things amidst a trolley of stuff.
I said, “You will never be happy going through life like that.”
He looked puzzled.
Now, why do I mention this? I will come right out and say it: I deeply loathe some of the culture I’m living in. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but my disdain isn’t for Scotland or its people in itself—far from it. I love this land: its rugged mountains, its misty lochs, the scent of bracken in the highlands, and the call of the curlew, the tap of the woodpecker and sound of the morning cuckoo. Scotland’s natural beauty and rich culture, with its song and poetry, its humour and resilience, remind me daily of what is good and worth loving including the people who are open and friendly for the most part.
But some people—ah, some of the people—that’s where my frustration lies. And it's not just Scotland, it's worldwide.
I’ve been a victim, repeatedly, of dishonesty. Builders who charged for work they never did. Car mechanics who fiddled with repairs only to leave me worse off than before. Internet companies that quietly siphoned money from my account despite repeated cancellations. Each experience chipped away at my trust and fuelled my weariness of the world we inhabit. but it’s not everyone, of course. There are good people—many good people—who brighten this life with kindness and generosity. And yet, there’s no escaping the dark shadow cast by dishonesty, violence, selfishness, and exploitation. Those who dominate their fellow humans for personal gain. Those who wound and take without thought for the injury they leave behind. These are the ones who make me feel displaced, as though I don’t belong here, in this time, in this culture.
Our German friends have a wonderful word for this feeling: Fernweh. It can mean a homesickness for a place you’ve never seen. Can it be a longing for somewhere otherworldly? C.S. Lewis, with his usual eloquence, offered a similar sentiment: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” His words resonate deeply with me.
Perhaps that’s the crux of it. My frustration with this world stems not from its design—because the earth, with its endless beauty, is breath-taking—but from its corruption. We are creatures who long for truth, justice, and love, but we so often fail to uphold them. And in that gap between the world as it is and the world as it could be lies my discontent.
But that discontent isn’t hopeless. Rather, it stirs something within me—a sense of yearning, not just for escape, but for a restoration of what is broken. Maybe this dissatisfaction is itself evidence that we were made for something more, for a place where dishonesty doesn’t exist, where violence is a distant memory, and where selfishness has been replaced by generosity.
Until then, I’ll continue to love what is good in this world while lamenting what is not. I’ll walk the hills of Scotland, soaking in the grandeur of creation, and hold fast to the hope that one day we might find ourselves in that better world Lewis spoke of—the one we were always meant for.
As for the carpenter I spoke of, I don’t think he will forget what I said when I replied, “You will never be happy living like that.”
Hmm! Go ponder.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Matthew 5:5,6 BSB.