God Turns Unwanted Changes into Unexpected Gifts

By Darcie Faqua

"This is what the Lord says—he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick; Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." Isaiah 43:16-19 (NIV)

God's gift trough His spectacular handiwork always makes a way for His goodness to shine!

For years, my backyard view consisted of a forest of pines, oaks, and a magnolia tree that I imagined my boys climbing once the branches grew stronger. The chirping birds and squirrels rustling in the leaves made a lovely melody as I sipped coffee, read, and prayed from the worn wicker bench on my porch.

Then one day, I came home to see my lovely sanctuary reduced to stumps and splintered branches. And the next day, it was nothing but a field of dirt that the wind insultingly spread all over my porch and backyard.

That evening, my husband found me slumping against the wall in our pantry. In between heaving sobs, I muttered something about how I had to apologize to a customer service representative because he had indeed sent me several emails I had overlooked. I complained about my stressful workload and the dust from the woods that had been cleared. And then I lamented about the trees again, thinking about how we will have no privacy.

My husband handed me a tissue and bent down in front of me. He offered his help and a hug. We both knew this meltdown was about more than the trees. We were in the middle of a challenging season brought on by significant life changes, grief, and new family dynamics. On top of it all, I felt guilty for clinging to the past when I should have counted some of the changes as blessings.

And now the landscape changed in my place of refuge, where I sat still with God daily. It was all too much, and I was tired of pretending that I was unaltered by the changes. What is it about change that can cause our skin to crawl? Of course, not all change is bad or unwanted, but there are times when new seasons usher in changes that make us uncomfortable and crave what was. Perhaps you can resonate with the overwhelm that unplanned changes can bring.

The Israelites were known for clinging to past comforts, even when their past was in captivity. Change and risk seemed foreign to them as they learned to depend on God in the wilderness. When something new was scary, they quickly reverted to their old ways instead of trusting God to make a way, as He had always faithfully done. I'm guilty of this, too. I often find myself staying frozen and reluctant when God is paving a new way.

In the key passage, God brings hope and comfort to the Israelites who are exiled in Babylon, reminding them He is the God who miraculously delivered their ancestors by parting the Red Sea. When He says to forget these former things, God isn't telling them to erase good memories or suppress the heartache from their current trial. He instructs His children not to pitch a tent in the past, and instead to be expectant of something new and better than anything they can fathom.

I love how God invokes excitement and eager anticipation with the use of an exclamation point in verse 19. "See, I am doing a new thing!" God is affirming that He has better things in store and an eternal home, better than anything we can ever imagine, waiting for us.

We must be expectant. We have to learn to loosen our grip in the tension of the middle ground as we detach ourselves from the familiar and embrace the not yet. Gratefully, we have a loving and ever-patient Father who is with us every step of the way. That evening, after I cried it out on the pantry floor, I opened the door to my back porch and gasped.

The sunset! Oh. You gave me a sunset!

Hidden behind the towering pines was a brilliant canvas of color waiting to be exposed. God revealed an unexpected gift from an unwanted change. And while I still miss the trees and forest critters, I am soaking in every last hue of the fading evenings.