Hello friend, and welcome. I am so glad you’ve chosen to spend a few moments with me today, to pause from the rush and simply be still. Perhaps you clicked on this because you feel stuck in a long and winding season, wondering if this is all there is. Stay with me, because I believe the timeless words we’ll explore today hold a profound and living promise for you, a promise that God is not finished and that your future is brimming with a hope you may not yet see.
Let me draw your attention to a powerful portion of Scripture, one that has been a wellspring of hope for God’s people for centuries. The prophet Isaiah, speaking the very words of God, declares this in chapter 43, verses 18 and 19. He says, “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?”
What a stunning and almost paradoxical command from the Lord of heaven and earth. He tells a people steeped in history and tradition to forget the things that have defined them. He is not simply suggesting a change of pace but a radical shift in perspective, from the rearview mirror to the open road ahead. It’s a call to lift our eyes from the dust of yesterday and fix them on the dawn of His tomorrow.
Let’s be honest with one another; that is much easier said than done. The past has a heavy gravity, pulling us back with its familiar regrets and its comfortable glories. We can become so defined by our history, by the wounds we’ve suffered or the victories we’ve won, that we can’t imagine a future that looks any different. It’s a heavy cloak we wear, woven with threads of yesterday’s sorrows and successes, and we often forget we even have it on.
Maybe for you, the “former things” are a deep hurt, a betrayal that still stings with fresh pain every morning. Perhaps it’s a failure that has branded your soul with shame, whispering that you’ll never be good enough. Or, maybe, it’s the opposite; perhaps you are dwelling on a past success, a spiritual high point, and you’ve been trying to relive that moment ever since, finding that today always falls short.
Whatever it is, God’s Word comes crashing into our nostalgia and our pain with a gentle but firm command to let it go. This isn’t a call for amnesia or a denial of what has happened to you, for God knows every detail and every tear. It is, instead, an invitation to release your grip, to stop letting the past dictate the possibilities of the present and the promises of the future. He is freeing you from the tyranny of what was, so you can fully embrace the wonder of what will be.
And then comes that thrilling, hope-filled declaration: “See, I am doing a new thing!” Notice the tense here; it is not “I will do” or “I might do,” but “I am doing,” present tense, active and alive. Right now, in the middle of your weariness, in the quiet of your uncertainty, in the landscape that looks utterly unchanged, God is at work. He is weaving a new tapestry, painting a new masterpiece, composing a new song, and He is doing it with the threads of your life.
The difficulty for us is captured in the question that follows: “Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” The new thing is not hidden in some far-off future, but it is springing up right under our feet, like a persistent desert flower breaking through cracked, dry ground. The problem is rarely with God’s activity; the problem is almost always with our perception. We are so busy looking for a mighty oak that we miss the miracle of the tiny sprout.
This reminds me of a story I heard about an old woodworker who lived in a small village, a man known for creating the most beautiful and intricate carvings. People would bring him pieces of wood they considered worthless—gnarled, knotted, seemingly useless logs. One day, a man brought him a piece of old olive wood, salvaged from a tree that had been struck by lightning years ago; it was charred on one side and twisted into an awkward shape. “There’s nothing to be made of this,” the man said, “but I thought of you before throwing it on the fire.”
The old woodworker took the piece, turning it over and over in his gnarled hands, his eyes seeing something no one else could. He didn’t see the char or the ugly twists; he saw the grain hidden deep inside, the strength forged by years of wind and weather, the story the wood had to tell. For weeks, he worked on it in his shop, and the sounds of sawing, sanding, and carving could be heard, but he let no one see his progress, protecting the work from prying eyes.
Finally, he called the man back to his shop. There on the workbench, bathed in sunlight, was not a twisted piece of firewood, but a magnificent sculpture of an eagle in mid-flight. The charred sections had been carved away or integrated to become the dark, dramatic shadows of the wings, and the knots and twists now formed the powerful muscles of the bird’s body. The woodworker had not ignored the flaws; he had incorporated them into a design of breathtaking beauty, redeeming what was thought to be ruined.
Isn’t that just like our God? He takes the discarded pieces of our lives, the parts that have been burned by tragedy, twisted by sin, or left for dead by disappointment. He doesn’t throw them away; He sees a hidden potential, a future beauty that we cannot begin to imagine. He is the master craftsman, and He is right now, at this very moment, working on you, carving and sanding and shaping you into something new and glorious.
The promise continues with an image of radical provision: “I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Think about that. A desert is, by definition, a place without a path, and a wasteland is a place without water. God is not saying He will help you find a pre-existing path or an undiscovered oasis; He says He will make them.
He creates a way where there is no way. He brings forth life-giving water where there is only barrenness and death. This is the very nature of our creative, redemptive God. He doesn’t just improve our circumstances; He transforms them from the inside out, defying the natural order of things.
So, the new thing He is doing in your life may not look like the removal of your desert. It may look like a pathway suddenly appearing right through the middle of it. The new thing may not be an escape from your wasteland, but the miraculous appearance of a life-giving stream of His presence and peace right in the midst of your thirst.
This is the great reassurance for our weary souls. We do not serve a distant deity who simply sets things in motion and hopes for the best. We serve an active, immanent, and intimately involved Creator who is personally invested in the project of our renewal. His hands are on your life, and His work is always good.
With this truth firmly in our hearts, how then shall we live? This powerful scripture is not just for our admiration; it is an invitation to transformation. It beckons us to participate with God in this process of new creation. It is a call to change the way we see, the way we think, and ultimately, the way we live each day.
The first step in this transformation is to consciously practice what the prophet commands: to “forget the former things.” This week, I want to challenge you to identify one “former thing” you have been dwelling on. Take a piece of paper and write it down, then in a moment of prayer, tell God that you are choosing to release your grip on it, not by your own strength, but by the power of His Spirit. You are handing that charred piece of wood over to the Master Craftsman.
The second step is to actively cultivate a spirit of perception. If God is doing a new thing and it is “springing up now,” then our task is to look for it. We must become spiritual detectives, searching for clues of His activity in the ordinary moments of our lives. This means looking beyond the headlines of our anxieties and reading the fine print of His grace.
Perhaps the new thing is a small shift in your attitude toward a difficult person. Maybe it’s a newfound patience in a frustrating situation, or a flicker of hope where there was only despair. It could be a conversation that brings a little light, an unexpected kindness from a stranger, or a scripture that suddenly comes alive to your heart. Don’t dismiss these as insignificant; they are the sprouts of God’s new work.
This is an invitation to leave the wasteland of what you can control and step onto the pathway of what He can create. It is a call to stop trying to dig your own well in the dust and instead drink deeply from the streams He is making for you. This transformation is a daily choice to trust His craftsmanship more than your own assessment of the raw materials.
Now, I want to invite you into a quiet moment of reflective meditation. Find a comfortable position, uncross your arms and legs, and gently close your eyes if you feel comfortable doing so. Let’s quiet our hearts before the Lord, the great I AM who is doing a new thing. Take a slow, deep breath in, and as you exhale, consciously release the tension in your shoulders, your jaw, and your hands.
Let the words of Isaiah wash over you again: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.” In the quiet of your mind, picture yourself standing before the Lord. In your hands, you are holding those former things—the hurts, the failures, the old successes you cling to. Feel their weight. Acknowledge their place in your story. Now, with an act of your will, open your hands and release them, watching as they fall at the feet of the one who makes all things new.
Now, bring to mind the next part of the promise: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up.” Ask the Holy Spirit to open the eyes of your heart. “Lord, help me to perceive it.” What tiny sprout of newness might be breaking ground in your life right now, something you have overlooked? It might be a new sense of peace, a desire to pray, a feeling of gratitude, or a fresh perspective on an old problem.
Picture that sprout in the soil of your soul. See it, not as small and insignificant, but as a sign of the mighty work God has begun. Imagine the Lord Himself watering it, tending to it, causing it to grow. This is His project, His promise, His work in you.
Finally, meditate on these words: “I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” See the landscape of your greatest challenge, your personal desert. And now, see a path appearing, laid by the hand of God, leading you forward. See a stream of crystal-clear water, His living water, flowing where there was only dryness. Rest in this image. Drink from this stream. Know that He is your provider, your guide, and your hope.
Friend, this message cannot remain just a good idea or a pleasant feeling. It must become the foundation of our actions. So here is my call to you, my encouragement for the week ahead. I want you to take this journey of perception seriously.
Find a small notebook or a spot in your phone’s notes app. This week, I challenge you to become a “new thing” journalist. Each day, intentionally look for and write down at least one piece of evidence, no matter how small, that God is at work, that something new is springing up in your life or in the world around you.
Did you feel a moment of unexplainable peace? Write it down. Did you have a gentle or encouraging thought about someone you struggle with? Write it down. Did a Bible verse speak to you in a fresh way? Write it down. At the end of the week, I want you to look back at your list and see the pattern of God’s faithfulness.
And don’t do this alone. Share this video with a trusted friend or family member and invite them to take the challenge with you. Call each other halfway through the week and ask, “What new things have you perceived?” This shared journey will multiply your encouragement and strengthen your faith as you see God at work not just in your own life, but in the lives of those you care about. This is how we build a culture of hope, by pointing each other to the evidence of God’s goodness.
As we prepare to part ways, I want to leave you with a blessing. May you go from this time together with a renewed sense of God’s active presence in your life. May you have the courage to loosen your grip on the past, releasing both its pain and its fading glories into the loving hands of your Father. May the Holy Spirit anoint your eyes to see the tender sprouts of His new work springing up in the most unexpected places.
May you walk with confidence, knowing that He is making a way for you through your wilderness. May you drink deeply from the streams of grace He is providing in your wasteland. And may you live each day, not in fear of the unknown, but in joyful anticipation of the new and beautiful thing God is creating in you and for you, for His glory and for your eternal good.
Go in peace, and be watchful. Something new is coming. Amen.
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