Scripture
Genesis 1:31 — “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.”
There was this moment two summers ago when everything just… clicked.
Tom and I went to visit his brother and sister-in-law at their home at Bass Lake. I barely knew any of them, which usually makes me anxious. Growing up as an only child with no extended family anywhere close (emotionally or physically), big family gatherings have always felt foreign to me.
But from the moment we walked in, something felt… right.
It was completely normal, everyday family stuff. A strange dog had wandered onto their property with no chip, no tags, nothing. One of the daughters desperately wanted to keep it, but it was completely impractical. There were discussions about what to do, gentle negotiations about responsibility, the usual family dynamics around decisions like that.
People were cooking, talking, laughing. Someone was complaining about work. Someone else was telling a story everyone had heard before. Nothing extraordinary was happening.
But I never once felt out of place. Never felt like I shouldn’t be there. Never felt like I had to perform or prove I belonged. I just… belonged.
While none of them would say they were/are “perfect,” it sure comes across that way as a “unit.” Yes, they have their quirks and disagreements like everyone else, but the synergy in that family is amazing.
They most certainly are “whole.”
Connected.
Family – where everyone had a place and everyone mattered.
That’s shalom.
Not perfect — but complete. Not flawless, but whole.
The Hebrew word shalom doesn’t mean flawless. It means complete. It’s the difference between a finished puzzle and a perfect puzzle. A finished puzzle might have a few pieces that are slightly bent or faded, but when you step back, you see the whole picture. Every piece in its right place, creating something beautiful.
Shalom is that “stepping back and seeing the whole picture” feeling.
It’s God’s original vision for creation. When God looked at everything that had been made and declared it “very good,” that wasn’t a quality assessment — it was a shalom assessment. Everything working together. Everything in its right relationship. Everything contributing to the wholeness of the whole.
This is why the Hebrew greeting “Shalom” is so much deeper than “hello.” When you say shalom to someone, you’re blessing them with completeness. You’re saying, “May everything in your life work the way it’s supposed to work. May your relationships flourish. May your work be meaningful. May your soul be at rest.”
It’s a comprehensive blessing for human flourishing.
But here’s what I’ve noticed: we get glimpses of shalom, but we don’t often live there. Those lake house moments are rare. Most of the time, we’re managing brokenness, not experiencing wholeness.
And that’s okay. Because shalom is both God’s gift and God’s goal. It’s what we were made for, but it’s also what we’re moving toward. The prophets understood this. They saw shalom as God’s future breaking into the present — glimpses of what’s coming, foretastes of what will be.
Isaiah painted this picture: “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together” (Isaiah 11:6). That’s not just about animals getting along.
That’s about everything working in harmony. Natural enemies becoming friends. Competition becoming collaboration. Fear becoming trust.
I think about the moments when I’ve experienced this kind of shalom — when racial barriers dissolved in genuine friendship, when bitter family feuds healed over time, when communities pulled together after disaster and found strength they didn’t know they had.
Those moments feel like heaven touching earth. Like God’s future becoming present, even if just for a moment.
Takeaway
Shalom is when everything clicks into place — not perfect, but whole. It’s God’s vision for how life is supposed to work, breaking into our everyday world.
Closing Prayer
God, thank You for the glimpses of shalom You give us — those moments when everything feels like it’s working the way You intended. Help us treasure these experiences and let them fuel our hope for what’s coming. Use us to create more moments when Your wholeness breaks through.
Grace and Peace,
Andrea