Stop Living in the Rearview Mirror
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 43:18-19)
Some of us have excellent memories, especially for things we would be better off simply letting go. We cannot remember why we walked into the kitchen, but we can recall exactly what someone said in 2009, including their tone of voice and the compelling response we thought of three years later. It’s like the past moves into the present, rearranges the furniture, and starts offering opinions about our future. Into that crowded space, God speaks: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.” He invites us to stop giving our history authority over everything that comes next.
Isaiah’s words first addressed God’s people in the shadow of exile. They knew stories of His deliverance, particularly the Exodus, when He made a path through the sea. In fact, the verses immediately before this passage recall that mighty rescue. Then comes the surprising instruction: forget the former things. But why remind them of the past and then tell them not to dwell on it? Because remembering God’s faithfulness is different from assuming He must always work the same way. The God who made a road through water could also bring water into a desert. His character remained faithful; His methods were not confined to their experience.
We often welcome God’s help while quietly handing Him detailed instructions, and we have the preferred outcome, the acceptable timeline, and several suggestions about who needs to change, and usually that’s someone else. But Proverbs 3:5–6 calls us to trust the Lord wholeheartedly instead of relying entirely on our own understanding. Our experience matters, but it does not contain the full measure of His wisdom. Remember what He has done and leave room for what you have never seen Him do.
There’s a difference between acknowledging yesterday and allowing yesterday to introduce you everywhere you go. Perhaps you see yourself primarily as the person who failed, was rejected, or should have known better, but those experiences are not the whole truth about you. In 2 Corinthians 5:17, Paul describes those who belong to Christ as a new creation. Our identity rests in Jesus. Grace does not erase consequences or make apologies unnecessary. It gives us courage to face the truth, accept responsibility, and move forward. Peter knew this kind of grace. He denied Jesus three times and then wept bitterly. Yet his failure did not become his final assignment. In John 21:15–19, Jesus restored him and called him again to care for His people. Jesus was very well aware of Peter’s history when He entrusted him with a future, and He knows yours, too.
Peter’s story concerns failure and restoration but moving forward can also mean recovering from a frightening experience that was never a moral failure. Consider gymnast Simone Biles. At the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, she withdrew from several events after experiencing the “twisties,” a frightening loss of awareness of her position in the air. When your work involves turning upside down above the floor, knowing where you are is kind of important. So, she stepped back, sought help, and worked toward returning. At the Paris Olympics in 2024, she won three gold medals and a silver. She has spoken openly about therapy’s importance in her return. Moving forward included acknowledging difficulty and accepting help. She didn’t have to pretend Tokyo never happened.
Granted, our next chapter will probably not involve an Olympic podium. In fact, some of us consider getting off the couch without sound effects an athletic achievement. But the question still applies: Am I allowing one painful chapter to decide what I am willing to do today? Christian hope does not promise medals. It gives us reason to trust God with another step. We usually think of the past as something painful, but pleasant memories can hold us captive as well. We remember when the family was closer or the church was fuller. Gratitude for those seasons is healthy. Insisting that every future season resemble them can make us resistant to present grace. In Ezra 3:10–13, when the rebuilt temple’s foundation was laid, some shouted with joy while others wept, all of them remembering the former temple. A new beginning can be a gift and still remind us of something we’ve lost. We can thank God for what was good while remaining open to what He is doing now.
Imagine a man who attends his fortieth high school reunion and spends the entire evening describing the touchdown he scored in 1986. His wife has heard the story so often that she could provide the play-by-play and by dessert, she’s quietly rooting for the other team. Now, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying that memory. The problem comes when he becomes so absorbed in who he was at eighteen that he overlooks the husband, father, neighbor, and servant of God he can be today. He has grandchildren who would love him to throw them a ball, but he’s still explaining how far he used to throw one. And we can do something similar spiritually. We remember when we taught that class, served in that ministry, or experienced that wonderful season of faith. Those memories deserve gratitude. But someone needs encouragement today. Someone needs a visit today. There may be a new way to serve that looks vastly different from the old one. So, thank God for the touchdown and then see who needs you in the game today.
“Now it springs up,” God says. We tend to imagine new beginnings arriving with dramatic music and maybe a confirming email. Often, they begin quietly. A conversation opens a possibility; a habit begins to change; we find the courage to ask for help. After months of prayer, bitterness no longer controls every thought. We may be looking for a finished answer while God invites us to notice the beginning. Zechariah 4:10 warns against despising small beginnings, and in Mark 4:30–32, Jesus compares God’s kingdom to a mustard seed that grows beyond its modest appearance. A seed doesn’t look much like shade. Still, beginnings matter. Sometimes the evidence of God’s work is that something is finally ready to be planted.
“Do you not perceive it?” Regret can drown out present opportunities. Comparison can make us overlook progress while admiring someone else’s vacation photograph, without seeing the argument over dinner the night before. Psalm 46:10 calls us to be still and recognize God. Put down the phone. Make room for unhurried prayer, honest reflection, and listening. Give today your attention. It might mean asking, “Lord, where are You calling me to trust You today?” We should also be discerning. Every unexpected opportunity is not necessarily God’s direction. We weigh decisions through Scripture, prayer, wise counsel, and the character of Christ. Spiritual attention combines openness with wisdom.
“I am making a way in the wilderness.” A wilderness is where familiar landmarks have disappeared. You cannot simply return to the old routine, and the next stage is not yet clear. Grief can feel like that. So can unemployment, illness, caregiving, or a major change you never wanted. The Bible doesn’t suggest that these seasons are easy. Israel’s wilderness journey included hunger, fear, dependence, and a lot of complaining. Apparently, discovering that travel makes people cranky is not a modern achievement. Yet God sustained His people there. Deuteronomy 8:2–3 describes the wilderness as a place where Israel learned dependence on Him. The daily provision of manna taught them to receive what they needed from His hand for that day.
We often want a map covering the next ten years, but God may give us just enough light for the next faithful step. Psalm 119:105 describes His word as a lamp for our feet and a light for our path. A lamp helps us walk. It doesn’t necessarily show us the entire countryside, but limited visibility doesn’t mean we’ve been abandoned.
God also promises “streams in the wasteland.” Water in a dry place means life can continue where the surroundings would suggest otherwise. Provision may come through a listening friend, practical help, necessary rest, or strength for something difficult. God’s care often reaches us through ordinary people. In 1 Kings 19, exhausted and afraid, Elijah lay beneath a tree and before his next assignment came food, water, and sleep. That’s reassuring for anyone who’s tried to solve a spiritual crisis while hungry and overtired. Sometimes we need prayer and a meal. Receiving help can itself be an act of trust. The truth is that God’s provision may sustain us within the wilderness before He removes us from it.
None of this requires us to pretend that everything is fine. Scripture gives us language for sorrow. The psalmists ask difficult questions. Jesus weeps at Lazarus’s tomb in John 11:35, even knowing that resurrection is mere moments away. Tears and trust can occupy the same heart. Releasing the past doesn’t mean rushing grief, excusing harm, or returning to an unsafe situation. Forgiveness does not automatically restore trust, and wise boundaries can be part of moving forward.
Nor does Isaiah’s promise give us a guarantee that every loss will soon be replaced by something more comfortable. Christian hope reaches deeper than favorable circumstances. Romans 8:38–39 assures us that nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ. We can be uncertain about tomorrow while being secure in His love today. That’s a sturdy place to stand, even when our feelings are still catching up.
Paul writes in Philippians 3:12–14 about pressing forward toward Christ. He openly acknowledges that he has not already arrived. There’s encouragement in that admission. Progress does not require pretending to be finished. So, what might moving forward look like for you? Perhaps it means making the apology, seeking counsel, returning to prayer, accepting an opportunity, or releasing an expectation that has become a source of bitterness. Perhaps it means doing today’s responsibilities faithfully while waiting for a larger answer. You don’t have to manufacture a dramatic new chapter by Friday. God’s work is not dependent on your ability to make life look inspirational.
This week, bring Him your willingness. Take the step you understand. Ask for wisdom about the next. The past may explain your fears, but it does not exhaust God’s possibilities. He can make a way through places you cannot navigate alone and sustain life where you see only dry ground. Lift your eyes. Pay attention. There may already be a small shoot breaking through the soil. Glance in the rearview mirror to remember His faithfulness. The rearview mirror has its purpose, to be sure, but it was never meant to show you where you're going. Remember what God has done, trust what God is doing, and keep your eyes on the road ahead.
Grace,
Randy
