I've been thinking a lot lately about how god does a new thing right when you think everything has finally settled into a predictable, maybe even boring, routine. It's funny how we spend so much of our lives craving stability, yet the moment we actually get it, something shifts. We start feeling that itch, that slight restlessness in our spirits that suggests the season we're in is starting to wrap up.
Change is a weird thing. Most of us say we want it, but when it actually shows up at the front door, we're tempted to keep the deadbolt locked. We like the idea of "new" as long as it looks like a shiny upgrade to our current life. But when the Bible talks about God doing something new, it usually involves some level of "out with the old" that can feel a little uncomfortable, if we're being honest.
The Discomfort of the Shift
Have you ever noticed that before something big happens, things usually get a little messy? It's like when you're remodeling a kitchen. Before you get the beautiful granite countertops and the fancy new sink, you have to deal with the dust, the noise, and the fact that you're eating cereal out of a plastic bowl in the living room for three weeks.
When god does a new thing, the transition period is often the hardest part to navigate. We want to skip the demolition and go straight to the reveal. But the demolition is where the real work happens. It's where our old habits, our outdated ways of thinking, and our reliance on our own strength get stripped away. It's not just about the new destination; it's about the person you become while you're trying to get there.
I think we often mistake the discomfort of a transition for a sign that something is wrong. We feel the tension and assume we've stepped out of line. But often, that tension is just the stretching required to hold what's coming next. You can't pour new wine into old wineskins, right? The old skin is brittle; it can't expand. If you want the new stuff, you've got to be willing to let your heart be stretched and made flexible again.
Letting Go of the "Good Old Days"
One of the biggest hurdles we face when god does a new thing is our own nostalgia. We have this habit of looking back at previous seasons with rose-colored glasses. We remember the miracles of the past—the way God provided back then, the friendships we had, the successes we enjoyed—and we try to recreate them in the present.
There's a famous passage in Isaiah where God tells the people not to dwell on the past. He basically says, "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!" It's almost like He's saying, "Stop looking in the rearview mirror! You're going to miss what's right in front of you."
The problem with dwelling on the past is that it keeps us from being present. If you're constantly trying to get back to "the way things were," you'll never see the "way things are becoming." God isn't a God of reruns. He doesn't just play the greatest hits over and over again. He's a Creator, and creators are always making something fresh. If you're stuck mourning the end of a previous chapter, you're going to have a hard time reading the first lines of the next one.
The Mystery of the Wilderness
Usually, when we hear the phrase god does a new thing, we imagine a promotion, a new house, or a sudden burst of clarity. And sure, it can be those things. But more often than not, the "new thing" starts in the wilderness.
The verse in Isaiah goes on to say that God will make a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. That's a bit of a paradox, isn't it? If He's doing a new, wonderful thing, why are we in a wasteland?
The wilderness is where we learn to hear His voice without all the background noise of our busy lives. It's where we realize that the "streams" He provides are enough to sustain us, even if the landscape looks barren. When God does a new thing, He often starts by changing our internal environment before He ever touches our external circumstances. He builds a river in our hearts before He builds a road in our lives.
If you feel like you're in a desert right now, don't panic. It might just be the staging ground for your next move. The wasteland isn't a punishment; it's a preparation. It's where you get rid of the baggage you don't need so you can travel light into the next season.
Learning to Recognize the "Now"
The verse says, "Now it springs forth; do you not perceive it?" That's a stinging question. Do you not perceive it? It implies that God can be doing something brand new right under our noses, and we could completely miss it because we're looking for the wrong signs.
We usually look for the "new thing" in the big, flashy moments. We look for the burning bushes and the parted seas. But a lot of times, the new thing "springs forth" like a tiny green shoot coming up through the dirt. It's small. It's fragile. It requires attention and care.
Maybe the new thing is a shift in your perspective. Maybe it's a new sense of peace in a situation that used to make you spiral. Maybe it's a random conversation with a stranger that sparks an idea you can't shake. If we're only looking for the finished product, we'll overlook the seed. And you can't have the harvest without the seed.
Perceiving the new thing requires a certain kind of spiritual sensitivity. It means slowing down enough to notice the subtle ways God is moving. It means being okay with not having the full blueprint and just trusting the Architect for the next step.
Why the Wait Feels So Long
I don't know about you, but I'm not great at waiting. I'm the person who stands in front of the microwave and yells at it to hurry up. So, when I feel like god does a new thing but I'm still stuck in the "waiting room," I get frustrated.
But here's the thing: timing is everything. If the new thing came too early, we might not be ready to handle it. Think about it—if you give a five-year-old a brand-new car, it's not a blessing; it's a disaster. They don't have the maturity or the skill to handle that kind of power.
Sometimes the delay isn't a "no," it's a "not yet." The waiting period is where our character is built. It's where we develop the muscles we'll need for the responsibilities that come with the new season. If you're in that middle space right now, try to stop asking "when?" and start asking "who?" As in, "Who are you turning me into while I wait?"
Embracing the Unknown
At the end of the day, when god does a new thing, it requires a massive amount of trust. It's a call to step out of the familiar and into the unknown. It's scary because the old way—even if it was dysfunctional—was predictable. We knew what to expect. The new way is unmapped territory.
But that's exactly where faith grows. You don't need faith for the things you can control. You need faith for the parts of your life where you have to take God at His word.
If you feel like the ground is shifting under your feet, don't try to find the old solid ground. Look up. The shift is just a sign that you're being repositioned. God is moving pieces around on the board, and while it might look like chaos to us, there's a pattern and a purpose to it all.
Trust that if He's ending one thing, it's only because He has something better, or at least something more necessary for your growth, waiting on the other side. Don't be afraid of the "new." It's where the life is. It's where the growth happens. It's where you'll see God in ways you never have before. So, keep your eyes open. It's springing forth right now—can you see it?