addicted to slavery

You feel the tension everywhere — at work, at home, in your marriage, in your own heart. One moment you think you’re crushing a project, until your boss walks in and tells you it’s not enough. You believe you’re being a good spouse, until your wife points out what you’re missing. A friend pressures you to do something that doesn’t sit right. The constant tug-of-war is exhausting.

But the deepest tension comes from within. Scripture says all creation groans (Romans 8:22). That ache — loneliness, depression that sinks into your bones — has been with us since the Fall. Saint Paul nailed it: we groan because we are “waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons and daughters, the redemption of our body” (Romans 8:23).

Think back to Eden. Eve bit into the fruit, expecting sweetness. Instead, she tasted bitterness — the kind that sucks the joy and life right out of you. In one moment, death entered the world. The garden’s peace was shattered. Adam and Eve traded abundant life with God for a curse that still echoes today.

I remember a similar pull as a kid. Our school was planning a field trip to a science discovery museum — space shuttles, painted planets, a real spacesuit to try on. I’d seen the flyers and commercials for weeks. But my parents laid down one rule: stay out of a certain neighborhood. That’s where Amber lived — the most beautiful girl in my eight-year-old world.

I obeyed… for three days. Then Amber invited me over. “Who wants to go to some stupid science museum anyway?” she asked. My heart tore in two. I chose the girl. My parents found out, and just like that — no field trip.

To this day, at 31, I still think about that museum. I can still picture the flyers. I wonder what it would’ve felt like to wear that spacesuit. I missed it. And that small regret gives me a tiny glimpse into a much bigger one.

Why do we carry this tension? This loneliness, despair, and restless ache? It’s the echo of Eden — the longing for the life we were made for, before sin and death crashed the party. God gave Adam and Eve an entire garden. “Eat from every tree,” He said. “Just not that one.” They had everything they needed, yet chose the forbidden.

We do the same. We have room to play and thrive in the boundaries God sets, but we chase what we’re told to avoid. Ever since, our hearts have groaned for redemption — for life without death, without the curse.

Unlike my permanent missed field trip, there is hope for us. “If we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it” (Romans 8:25). That hope creates tension because we’re not home yet. But it’s also the anchor. What was lost in the garden was foreshadowed in God’s mercy: He covered Adam and Eve’s nakedness with skins. A sacrifice. A promise.

The tension you feel isn’t pointless. It’s the ache of waiting for full redemption — the day death dies, the garden is restored, and we wear the life we were always meant for. Until then, remember. Repent. Persevere. What was pulled away is being brought back.