My thoughts and prayers are with the Iranian people at this time. As I reflect on their situation, I find myself thinking of the Persian word Ghorbat (غربت).
It is a word that speaks of a deep and quiet loneliness. It describes the feeling of being a stranger in the world, even when surrounded by familiar faces. Sometimes it refers to homesickness, yet often it reaches further than that. It is the sense that, in some way, you do not fully belong where you are.
Many people encounter this feeling during their spiritual journey, especially when life becomes difficult and the heart begins to ask deeper questions.
Who is God? Why is there so much suffering? Does God know me? How can I be sure?
There are moments when faith sets a person slightly apart. The questions carried within the heart, and the longing that grows there, are not always easily shared. At times it can feel like walking along a quiet road while the rest of the world rushes somewhere else.
Yet Scripture offers a gentle assurance that another journey is unfolding, one that is guided by the Holy Spirit.
Scripture says in 2 Chronicles 16:9,
“For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him.”
Farsi (Persian) «زیرا چشمان خداوند در تمام زمین گردش میکند تا خود را به نفع کسانی که دلشان نسبت به او کامل است، نیرومند نشان دهد.»
Over the years I have often read accounts emerging from Iran. Many of these stories are shared quietly, sometimes almost in whispers. They speak about dreams. Not ordinary dreams, but dreams in which Jesus appears to people, speaking to them, calling them, comforting them.
Even a simple search reveals many such testimonies.
When the Bible becomes difficult to obtain, something remarkable often seems to happen. Faith finds another way. Similar stories are heard from places such as North Korea, Afghanistan, and other parts of the Middle East. When the written word is hidden, the message still finds its way into the quiet places of the human heart. No regime can limit what God has approved.
Within that spirit of hope there is reassurance.
The Gospel contains a promise that speaks directly to this longing. In the Farsi Bible, Jesus says:
English (Luke 23:43) “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
Farsi (Persian) «بهراستی به تو میگویم، امروز با من در فردوس خواهی بود.»
These words carry a gentle truth. Sometimes the homesickness we feel is not really for a place on this earth.
Perhaps Ghorbat is more than loneliness or homesickness in the ordinary sense. Perhaps it is a longing for another home, a place where love, righteousness, kindness, and peace reign. The paradise that Jesus spoke of.
For now, though, peace can still be found in the midst of a restless world. Hope can still appear in the middle of uncertainty.
For those who search quietly, whether in Iran, Afghanistan, North Korea, or anywhere else, such words can feel like a light in a darkened room.
The feeling of being a stranger may remain for a time. Yet the promise remains also.
And perhaps that quiet longing in the soul, the sense that we do not quite belong here, is not something to fear.
It may simply mean that our hearts are already turning toward another home.
Ghorbat: A Word for the Weary Soul
Ghorbat: A Word for the Weary Soul
My thoughts and prayers are with the Iranian people at this time. As I reflect on their situation, I find myself thinking of the Persian word Ghorbat (غربت).
It is a word that speaks of a deep and quiet loneliness. It describes the feeling of being a stranger in the world, even when surrounded by familiar faces. Sometimes it refers to homesickness, yet often it reaches further than that. It is the sense that, in some way, you do not fully belong where you are.
Many people encounter this feeling during their spiritual journey, especially when life becomes difficult and the heart begins to ask deeper questions.
Who is God?
Why is there so much suffering?
Does God know me?
How can I be sure?
There are moments when faith sets a person slightly apart. The questions carried within the heart, and the longing that grows there, are not always easily shared. At times it can feel like walking along a quiet road while the rest of the world rushes somewhere else.
Yet Scripture offers a gentle assurance that another journey is unfolding, one that is guided by the Holy Spirit.
Scripture says in 2 Chronicles 16:9,
“For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him.”
Farsi (Persian)
«زیرا چشمان خداوند در تمام زمین گردش میکند تا خود را به نفع کسانی که دلشان نسبت به او کامل است، نیرومند نشان دهد.»
Over the years I have often read accounts emerging from Iran. Many of these stories are shared quietly, sometimes almost in whispers. They speak about dreams. Not ordinary dreams, but dreams in which Jesus appears to people, speaking to them, calling them, comforting them.
Even a simple search reveals many such testimonies.
When the Bible becomes difficult to obtain, something remarkable often seems to happen. Faith finds another way. Similar stories are heard from places such as North Korea, Afghanistan, and other parts of the Middle East. When the written word is hidden, the message still finds its way into the quiet places of the human heart. No regime can limit what God has approved.
Within that spirit of hope there is reassurance.
The Gospel contains a promise that speaks directly to this longing. In the Farsi Bible, Jesus says:
English (Luke 23:43)
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
Farsi (Persian)
«بهراستی به تو میگویم، امروز با من در فردوس خواهی بود.»
These words carry a gentle truth. Sometimes the homesickness we feel is not really for a place on this earth.
Perhaps Ghorbat is more than loneliness or homesickness in the ordinary sense. Perhaps it is a longing for another home, a place where love, righteousness, kindness, and peace reign. The paradise that Jesus spoke of.
For now, though, peace can still be found in the midst of a restless world. Hope can still appear in the middle of uncertainty.
For those who search quietly, whether in Iran, Afghanistan, North Korea, or anywhere else, such words can feel like a light in a darkened room.
The feeling of being a stranger may remain for a time. Yet the promise remains also.
And perhaps that quiet longing in the soul, the sense that we do not quite belong here, is not something to fear.
It may simply mean that our hearts are already turning toward another home.