Can I be honest with you about something?
I know you’re here.
You’ve been reading my blog for [months/years]. Maybe you subscribed a long time ago. Maybe you stumbled here recently.
But I know something about you that you might not have said out loud yet:
You’re not as close to Jesus as you used to be.
Maybe you drifted slowly, over time. It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t storm out of church angry or make some declaration. You just… wandered away.
Quietly. Gradually. One missed Sunday became two. One skipped prayer time became a week. One ignored prompting became a habit of silence.
And now you’re here. Still reading Christian content. Still spiritually curious. Still searching.
But feeling so far from where you used to be.
I See You
You don’t have to tell me your story for me to know it hurts.
Maybe you feel guilty. You know better, after all. You were the one who led Bible studies. Who prayed with friends. Who genuinely loved Jesus once upon a time.
Or maybe you feel angry. At the church that hurt you. At the Christians who disappointed you. At God Himself for not showing up the way you needed Him to.
Or maybe you just feel… empty. Like you’re going through the motions of life without the presence that once made everything meaningful.
You miss Him.
Even if you can’t quite articulate it. Even if you’re not sure you have the right to miss Him after walking away. Even if you’ve convinced yourself it’s too late to go back.
You miss Jesus.
And here’s what I need you to hear today:
He misses you too.
The Story You Need to Remember
Do you remember the parable of the prodigal son?
I know, I know. You’ve heard it a hundred times. It’s the cliché answer to every “I’ve wandered away from God” conversation.
But hear me out. Because I think we miss something crucial in that story.
The father didn’t wait for the son to clean up. Didn’t wait for him to get his life together. Didn’t wait for the perfect apology or the right amount of penance.
The father saw him while he was still a long way off.
That means the father was watching. Waiting. Looking down the road, day after day, hoping to see his son coming home.
And when he finally saw him—dirty, ashamed, rehearsing his “I’m not worthy” speech—the father ran to him.
Ran.
Fathers in that culture didn’t run. It was undignified. Beneath them. But this father didn’t care about dignity. He cared about his son.
He interrupted the apology. Covered the shame with a robe. Put a ring on the finger. Called for a celebration.
That’s your Father.
That’s how He feels about you coming home.
But What If…
I know what you’re thinking. I know the “what ifs” that keep you from taking that first step back:
“What if I’ve gone too far?”
You haven’t. The cross covered all of it. Not just the acceptable sins. Not just the ones you committed before you knew better. All of it.
“What if I can’t stay committed this time either?”
That’s not the question. The question is: will you take one step today? Tomorrow’s faithfulness is tomorrow’s concern.
“What if the church rejects me?”
Some might. People disappoint. But Jesus doesn’t. And there ARE communities that will welcome you with open arms. We can find them together.
“What if I don’t feel anything when I pray?”
Feelings follow obedience. They don’t lead it. Come back because it’s true, not because it feels good. The feelings will come.
“What if I’m not sure I even believe anymore?”
Tell Him that. Jesus can handle your doubts. He’d rather have your honest questions than your polite silence.
“What if I mess up again?”
You will. That’s what grace is for. This isn’t about perfection. It’s about direction.
What Coming Back Actually Looks Like
Here’s what I want you to know: coming back to Jesus doesn’t require a dramatic moment.
You don’t need to:
- Have a crisis experience
- Cry through an entire worship service
- Make public declarations
- Overhaul your entire life overnight
- Understand all your doubts before returning
Coming back is simpler than that.
Coming back looks like this:
One prayer. Even if it’s just “Jesus, I’m here. I don’t know what else to say. But I’m here.”
One verse. Open your Bible—yes, that dusty one on the shelf—and read anything. Start with John 3:16 if you don’t know where else to go.
One choice. Say no to something that’s pulling you away from Him. Say yes to something that draws you closer.
One honest conversation. Tell someone you trust: “I’ve drifted and I want to come back. Will you pray for me?”
One Sunday. Show up at church. Even if you feel like a hypocrite. Even if you’re not sure you believe everything they’re saying. Just show up.
That’s it. That’s enough for today.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
I’ve been where you are.
Not in the exact circumstances—our stories are different. But in the feeling. The distance. The “I’ve drifted too far” shame.
And here’s what I wish someone had told me then:
The gap between you and Jesus isn’t as wide as it feels.
You think you’re miles away. But the reality is: He never moved. You took a few steps away. It feels like miles because you’re looking at it through shame and guilt.
But it’s not miles. It’s steps. A few simple steps back.
And He’s already running toward you to close the distance.
You don’t have to have it all figured out to come back.
You can come back confused. Doubting. Broken. Angry. Tired. Unsure.
Come as you are. Figure it out as you go. He’s not looking for perfection. He’s looking for willingness.
The enemy wants you to believe it’s too late.
That voice telling you you’ve gone too far? That’s not Jesus. That’s the enemy trying to keep you from coming home.
Jesus’s voice sounds like: “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)
There’s no fine print. No expiration date. No “except if you’ve…” clause.
Come. Rest. Be restored.
Your Next Step
So here’s what I want you to do, right now, before you close this browser tab:
Pray this prayer with me:
“Jesus, I’ve been far away. I don’t have all the words. I don’t have all the answers. I’m not even sure what I believe right now. But I’m here. I’m tired of wandering. I’m ready to come home. Help me take the next step. Show me what that looks like. I’m listening. Amen.”
That’s it. You just prayed. You just took a step toward home.
Now take one more:
Tell someone.
Reply to this blog post. Email me at wanda@wanda-ball.com. Message me. Comment below.
Just say: “I prayed that prayer.”
That’s all. I’ll pray for you. I’ll encourage you. I’ll walk this with you if you want.
You don’t have to walk back alone.
The Truth I Keep Coming Back To
After 20 years of following Jesus (and wandering away more times than I’d like to admit), here’s what I know for certain:
God’s not surprised by your wandering.
He knew you’d drift. He saw it coming. And He still chose you. Still loves you. Still wants you.
The journey back is shorter than you think.
One prayer. One choice. One step. That’s all it takes to change direction.
You’re not disqualified.
Whatever you’ve done. However far you’ve gone. Whoever you’ve become. You’re not disqualified from God’s love. From His grace. From His purpose for your life.
He’s been waiting for you.
Like the father watching the road. Like the shepherd searching for the lost sheep. Like the woman turning the house upside down for the lost coin.
He’s been looking for you. Hoping for you. Waiting for you.
And today—right now—you can come home.
Let’s Walk This Together
I don’t know what made you drift away.
But I know Who’s calling you back.
And I know that if you’re reading this right now, feeling that pull in your chest, that whisper in your spirit saying “maybe it’s time”—
That’s not random. That’s Him. Reaching for you. Inviting you. Welcoming you.
Will you take His hand?
Comment below, email me, or just sit quietly and tell Jesus you’re ready to come home.
He’s already running toward you.
Welcome back, friend.
P.S. If you took that first step today—if you prayed that prayer—I want to hear from you. Reply to this post or email me at wanda@wanda-ball.com. Let me pray for you. Let me encourage you. You don’t have to walk this alone.
P.P.S. Next week, I’ll write about what to do AFTER you come back. How to stay. How to grow. How to rebuild. But for today? Just come home. That’s enough.
