Tears are not uncommon in this house. We are six young-adult single women, full-time graduate students, here with just a little bit of faith, longing to be within a secure, long-standing community where we can both know and be known. Tears flow in the faltering patience for hope to be realized. All of the tears are of longing, some of them more intense than others. One roommate and boyfriend ended their relationship today. What was just around the corner slipped through their fingers, leaving them with hurt and confusion over emotions invested and time spent in what was not to be. Bottles of tears were cried by her and for her over her pain. And then tonight another housemate got word from a friend in another country, giving her graphic details of what happened to her friends who were martyred one week ago. Suddenly, the horrible violence found among humans was reality; victims of religious persecution were not foreigners but rather ministry partners and friends. My housemate fell prostrate on the floor, sobbing, crying out to Yahweh, asking why. We were on the floor with her, praying desperate personal prayers for protection of those in danger, prayer that the Gospel would move forward through the persecution, prayers for those left behind without fathers, husbands, and fiances, and prayers that the powers of darkness would be bound and what Satan intended for evil God will make for good. Is this life anything more than longing?