At the end of October, just as the maple in our front yard was beginning to blush the deepest crimson, my husband and I boarded a transatlantic flight to England. We were bound for Cambridge – to celebrate our daughter Lydia’s graduation from a master’s program and to step into a world that felt ancient, slow, and enchanted.

It was only a handful of days – a short trip, but a magical one. We wandered down cobblestone streets, sipped perfectly steeped tea, and found poetry stitched into the landscape, the courtyards, the gentle river. In Cambridge, tradition isn’t something preserved behind glass. It breathes. It lingers in arches and candlelit cathedrals, in worn stone steps, and in the delightful (unofficial) rule that bicycles shall always outnumber cars.

For all the beauty we encountered, there is one morning I won’t forget – graduation morning.

In honor of a centuries-old tradition, a long procession of graduates — draped in black gowns and satin hoods marking their degrees — filed out of Magdalene College. Magdalene is one of Cambridge’s 31 colleges, and a place where C.S. Lewis once taught. I confess, I feel a particular fondness for Magdalene, knowing Lydia had walked the same courtyards and hallways as a man who unknowingly grew my own understanding of God as a younger woman.

The procession stepped onto the street and crossed the arched bridge over the River Cam, where slow, punting boats drifted beneath us with passengers wrapped in blankets against the crisp October air. Then they moved on toward Senate House, where the ceremony unfolded almost entirely in Latin – regal and reverent in every way.

Throughout the morning, a lump rose in my throat — joy and ache braided together. It was as if my heart climbed up into my voice box. There goes my girl, my dreamer, walking ancient ground toward the next chapter of her life.

But what surprised me wasn’t the emotion I felt that day. What mother wouldn’t feel that? It was what happened after we returned home.

Instead of settling back into normal life, something in me ached – beautifully and painfully. A strange longing had imprinted itself on my heart, as if some shimmering thread of beauty had pulled me toward God while leaving me wanting more.

And I recognized it.

Maybe I recognized it so quickly because Lydia’s dissertation explored this very thing – specifically how music can awaken this kind of longing, a longing we can’t name. We’d talked about it through emails, texts, and FaceTime calls, her words full of academic precision and spiritual curiosity. But now I wasn’t just hearing about it.

I was feeling it!

Sehnsucht.

It’s a German word that conveys a nostalgic, wistful yearning – often for something idealized or never fully possessed.

C.S. Lewis adopted Sehnsucht to name a very specific spiritual experience – a longing that earthly things awaken but cannot satisfy. A homesickness for a place we’ve never been but somehow remember. The bittersweet ache of joy that points beyond this world.

Lewis believed, and I find myself agreeing, that this ache is evidence that our souls are wired for eternity.

Cambridge reawakened Sehnsucht in me, with its history, beauty, river, and tolling bells. And maybe most of all, the sight of my grown girl crossing a bridge into her future – a bridge paved with cobblestone and the glorious ache of longing.

The moments in Cambridge felt holy, but also fleeting. I wanted to hold it, yet I could not. The ache seemed to say: there is more than this.

And isn’t that how Sehnsucht works?

An unrepeatable sunrise too lovely to be accidental.
A song that lifts something in us that we can’t explain.
The edge of the ocean.
That moment around a Thanksgiving table, with the ones you love most smiling, laughing, twinkling with the light of faith.

That is Sehnsucht. Have you felt it?

Scripture says it too:

“He has planted eternity in the human heart.” Ecclesiastes 3:11 NLT

“They were longing for a better country – a heavenly one.” Hebrews 11:16 NIV

“Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.” 1 Corinthians 13:12 NLT

Right now, we only catch reflections – glimmers of glory, whispers of beauty, otherworldly moments. And yet, here they are! Right before us! We are offered hints of Home in crimson-dressed trees and punting boats and sunrises and music and forests – and in the eyes of those we love.

This longing isn’t an accident. It’s a compass toward Home. It’s a reminder that the yearning we feel – the homesickness in our hearts – will resolve itself one day, in the presence of God.

Have you ever experienced that bittersweet longing — the kind that feels like joy and homesickness at the same time? What moment awakened it in you? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.

Leave a Comment