It’s my fifth winter in Wichita, Kansas. Five years ago, before traveling 1,322 miles (about 20 hours by car and in a different time zone) away from my family and friends, I never saw myself standing in this space for my first call as a pastor. Back then, the world was still reeling from the COVID-19 pandemic, churches were slowly reopening their doors, and unrest prevailed. With a one-way ticket, I hopped on a plane from the East Coast, a place I’ve always known, to Wichita—known as the air capital of the world—to embark on a new beginning with a new community. It was terrifying, exciting, sacred and holy.
We find holy ground when we stand on something new. Our feet sink into possibility, and we step into wonder and adventure, promise and uncertainty. Sometimes that adventure takes us through desolate spaces that are challenging to navigate. Sometimes it offers lush landscapes and scenic views overlooking God’s works of beauty. New beginnings give rise to an array of emotions, ranging from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs. We have left behind what is safe, comfortable and familiar, to move to a place of transition and unknown outcomes.
We often talk about new beginnings as if they’re always fresh and exciting. But they can also be isolating, awkward and messy. New beginnings ask us to trust before we see results, to act before we feel ready, and to believe that growth will come even when we’re teetering on the edge of change. It’s a leap of faith.
Faith discussions of beginnings tend to focus on resurrection, renewal, and how God is making all things new. We’re not as comfortable discussing how messy, brave and vulnerable doing something “new” can feel. Yet whether we’re beginning something big or taking small steps toward change, God meets us not just at the finish line, but at the starting line, the very threshold of what is next.
In the book of Isaiah, God looks upon the people and gives them a promise that is like a blanket, holding comfort and warmth:
Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. (Isaiah 43: 18-19)
This promise is not always revealed in the way we might want, but it can be in the way we need. We can see God in both the goodness and the messiness of the world. God knows that there will be moments when we do not get it. In our lack of vision and chosen ignorance, God offers us this reminder that we are not in this alone. God is bringing us through it.
God acknowledges the reality of the wilderness, the deserts, the disorientation. God is speaking, after all, to people (the Israelites and us today) who have experienced exile, the promise of freedom, and life’s complexity. But God also promises a way through our wilderness. Not a way around, but through, with God equipping us for the road. In the beginning, this can look like a softening of the heart or an opening up to a relationship. Or it might be the expansion of our vision to gain a new perspective or a fuller picture. As we grow older, it may look like entering a new stage of womanhood, not with trepidation, but with anticipation and a grateful embrace of our new wrinkles, rough edges, greying hair, and sense of being.
Maybe you are standing at the edge of a new beginning, such as a new job, a new school, a new community, a new way of being or working to create something new. God is preparing and equipping you for whatever comes your way. God promises that you will not be alone in this new thing. God can and is working with you. It’s okay to grieve what was, but once you wipe away your tears, set your sights on the horizon for hope. Take courage in this moment, and ask:
- How might God be using me and those around me? What is possible, right now?
- How could this change also help me to grow? How might it contribute to the development of my being?
- What are some of the hurdles I face? Can I give myself the grace to stumble?
Remember, God’s assurance is not only for the Israelites, but for you and me today. God’s promise is not that this new thing will be easy. God’s promise is that we do not do this new thing alone. God is leading us to places and spaces that will allow our faith to grow, that will shape us, and that will awaken something new in us.
Ralen Robinson pastors Reformation Lutheran Church in Wichita, Kansas. A homiletics scholar and board member of the Child Advocacy Center of Sedgwick County, she champions justice, preaching and community. She believes faith and a good pair of shoes can take you a long way.
This article appears in the December/January/February 2025-26 issue of Gather. To read more like it, subscribe to Gather.
