But forget all that— it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. Isaiah 43:18-19 NLT
There are seasons in life when the calendar turns, yet the burden remains. The year may change, but the weight of what was endured lingers on—unresolved, unfinished, and often unseen by those around us. Such seasons test not only our strength, but our faith. They challenge our assumptions about how God works and when relief should come. This past year has been one of those seasons for my family and me. It has been marked by difficulty, loss, and ongoing consequences that have not simply disappeared with the turning of the page. And yet, in the midst of it all, we remain faithful—not because the road has been easy, but because God has proven Himself trustworthy.
Isaiah 43 speaks directly into moments like these, not with empty optimism, but with divine assurance. God does not deny the hardship His people have faced. He acknowledges the former things—the pain, the struggle, the history that weighs heavily on the heart. Yet He gently calls His people not to live there. “Forget the former things, and do not dwell on the past.” This is not a command to erase memory or suppress grief, but an invitation to release what cannot be changed into the hands of the One who redeems all things. When we dwell too long on what has been lost, we risk missing what God is quietly bringing to life before us.
God then speaks words that are both comforting and challenging: “For I am about to do something new.” Not someday. Not eventually. But now—already in motion, even if unseen. So often we expect God’s work to be loud, immediate, and unmistakable. Yet Scripture reminds us that some of His most profound works begin beneath the surface, where faith must walk before sight follows. There are times when God is moving in ways we cannot yet perceive, shaping outcomes that will only make sense in hindsight. Faith in such moments is not passive resignation; it is active trust.
The imagery God uses is striking. He promises to make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. Wilderness seasons are marked by uncertainty, isolation, and fatigue. Deserts are places where life feels scarce and hope feels dry. God does not promise to eliminate these landscapes immediately, but He does promise His presence within them. He does not always remove the wilderness—but He creates a path through it. He does not always take us out of the desert—but He provides sustaining water right where we are. Provision may not come in the form we expect, but it will come in the form we need.
What makes this promise so powerful is that it is spoken to people who were still waiting for deliverance. The resolution had not yet arrived. The struggle was ongoing. And yet God assured them that He was already at work. That truth resonates deeply for anyone walking through prolonged hardship. Some prayers are answered quickly; others unfold slowly, over time, through endurance and trust. Remaining faithful in the middle of uncertainty is not weakness—it is obedience. It is worship. It is a declaration that our hope rests not in circumstances improving overnight, but in the unchanging character of God.
When all seems lost, God has not finished writing the story. When the way forward is unclear, He is still making a path. When strength feels depleted, He is still the source of renewal. Our calling in such seasons is not to understand everything, but to trust the One who does. God’s faithfulness does not depend on our circumstances, and His promises are not canceled by our pain. Even now, He is doing something new. The question is not whether God is working, but whether we will trust Him enough to keep walking forward, one faithful step at a time.
So, I say to you, “May the Lord strengthen your faith and use it for His glory, as you walk humbly in His presence.”
