Stop Living in the Rearview Mirror

 

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

Unfold Your Hands

 

Unfold Your Hands

Unfold Your Hands - Audio/Visual 

The fool folds his hands and eats his own flesh. (Ecclesiastes 4:5)

There’s a special kind of confidence that comes from putting something on a list. You write it down, underline it, and immediately feel productive. You haven’t done the thing, but you have purchased a notebook worthy of the thing. Some of us have organized our procrastination so beautifully that it deserves its own ministry. And we laugh because we recognize ourselves. There’s a conversation we keep postponing, an apology we keep rehearsing, a responsibility we keep explaining away. We say we’re waiting for the right moment. Sometimes we are. Sometimes we’re hoping the right moment will arrive carrying tools and do the work for us. Into that familiar struggle comes Ecclesiastes 4:5: “The fool folds his hands and eats his own flesh.”

That’s strong language. It describes the self-destructive consequences of refusing to work. But the surrounding passage matters. The next verse commends a handful with quietness over two handfuls gained through toil and chasing the wind. Wisdom teaches us to live faithfully between restless ambition and destructive neglect. God is not measuring your worth by the length of your calendar. Your body needs sleep. Your mind needs quiet. Grief needs room. Illness may require treatment and a slower pace. Jesus himself invited his disciples to come away and rest in Mark 6:31. The exhausted person who needs restoration is not the target of this rebuke. The question is whether our stillness helps us receive what God gives or avoid what God asks.

A garden doesn’t become healthier because we refuse to enter it. Weeds have never gathered for a meeting and said, “Let’s respect the homeowner’s busy season.” Neglect has momentum. So do neglected relationships. Silence can harden into distance. An unspoken hurt can become settled resentment. A small financial problem can grow while unopened envelopes collect on the counter. In our lives, the self-destruction pictured in this verse can look like peace, trust, opportunity, or strength gradually disappearing. James 4:17 reminds us that knowing the good we ought to do carries responsibility. Sometimes faithfulness means answering the call, keeping the promise, telling the truth, or caring for the person whose need we already know. Disobedience can be quiet. We leave the message unanswered. We postpone the appointment. We promise to address our anger after everybody else becomes easier to live with. That last plan has a remarkably poor success rate.

God brings these patterns into the light so they can change. Conviction identifies a place where obedience can begin. Shame tells us failure is our permanent identity. But Romans 8:1 announces freedom from condemnation for those who belong to Jesus. We can admit what’s wrong without surrendering to despair. And Ephesians 2:8–10 holds grace and responsibility together. Salvation comes through grace, received through faith. Then Paul describes us as God’s workmanship, created in Christ for good works. We don’t work to persuade God to love us; we act because his love has already reached us. We are beloved children learning to walk with our Father. When we stumble, we can receive mercy and keep learning. That grace also allows us to be honest about a favorite hiding place: spiritual language. We say, “I’m praying about it,” when we have already received enough light to act.

Imagine asking God for a healthier marriage while refusing to listen. Imagine praying for reconciliation while guarding an apology like a state secret. Imagine asking for wisdom about money while refusing to open the bank statement. Prayer is essential. And prayer can accompany the very action we’ve been postponing. Philippians 2:13 tells us that God works in his people, shaping both their desire and their action according to his good purpose. We can ask for help while taking the next responsible step.

Nehemiah gives us a picture of this. When opposition threatened the rebuilding of Jerusalem’s wall, the people prayed and posted a guard, as Nehemiah 4:9 records. They trusted God while responding to the danger before them. Your next step may be small. Call the counselor. Schedule the examination. Open the bill. Spend ten attentive minutes with your child. Ask forgiveness without adding a paragraph explaining why the other person was worse. A sincere apology doesn’t need a defense attorney. Much of a faithful life grows through ordinary decisions repeated over time, often without applause.

Perhaps fear has kept your hands folded. You remember what happened the last time you trusted someone, tried something new, or spoke honestly. God knows that history. Courage may involve moving carefully, seeking counsel, and establishing wise boundaries. Psalm 56:3 gives frightened people a place to stand: the psalmist turns toward God in trust when fear arises. You can make the appointment with trembling hands. You can speak the truth with a shaking voice.

Perhaps the obstacle is perfectionism. You’re waiting until your plan has no weakness, your feelings have no hesitation, and your circumstances offer a written guarantee. Ecclesiastes 11:4 warns that the person who waits on ideal conditions may never sow or reap. Your first attempt may be awkward. Growth involves practice, correction, and support. A setback can show you where help is needed without requiring you to put your whole life on hold.

Think of the friends who carried a paralyzed man to Jesus in Mark 2. When the doorway was crowded, they lowered him through the roof. Their faith took the shape of shared effort. The man did not have to carry himself. That matters for anyone whose strength is gone. Sometimes your next faithful action is allowing trustworthy people to carry you toward Christ. Sometimes your calling is to become one of those friends. We pray together, bear burdens together, and help each other take the next step.

Faithful action does not guarantee the outcome we want. Other people make choices. Some circumstances remain painful. Obedience may bring no promotion, immediate healing, or restored relationship. Galatians 6:9 encourages perseverance in doing good even when weariness makes us want to stop. We entrust the harvest to God and remain faithful with what he has given us today.

Sometimes that faithfulness means stopping. Stop making the dishonest excuse. Stop accepting responsibilities you cannot carry. Stop facing a destructive pattern alone and ask for help. A faithful response may include a boundary, a confession, a change of direction, or deliberate rest. We need discernment. Ask God what love requires here. Consider Scripture. Seek wise counsel. Then respond to the responsibility that becomes clear, without demanding certainty about the entire road.

Picture your hands for a moment. Folded hands can express prayer. Open hands can receive mercy. Working hands can serve a neighbor. Reaching hands can ask for help. God can teach us when to be still, when to receive, and when to act.

Where have you been withdrawing from a responsibility you know is yours? Name one place. You do not need to repair your entire life before dinner. Choose one honest, concrete step. Make the call. Write the message. Seek the help. Begin the task. If you need rest, receive it intentionally. Let your response grow from trust in the Savior who gave himself for you and rose to bring you life.

Grace,

Randy

When Forgiveness Still Brings Tears

 

When Forgiveness Still Brings Tears

When Forgiveness Still Brings Tears - Audio/Visual 

So, they sent word to Joseph, saying, “Your father left these instructions before he died: ‘This is what you are to say to Joseph: I ask you to forgive your brothers the sins and the wrongs they committed in treating you so badly.’ Now please forgive the sins of the servants of the God of your father.” When their message came to him, Joseph wept. (Genesis 50:15–21)

Sometimes the hardest part of forgiveness isn't letting go of what someone did; it's learning to live with what happened after you've let it go. Joseph's story seems to have had the perfect ending: the pit becomes a palace, the prisoner becomes Egypt's governor, and the brothers who betrayed him are reunited with him. Cue the music. Roll the credits. Except Genesis gives us one more scene. Their father Jacob has died, and Joseph's brothers are terrified. They send Joseph a message claiming Jacob asked him to forgive them. Genesis 50:17 says, “When their message came to him, Joseph wept.” After all those years, Joseph cries again. Not because they've sold him again, but perhaps because the people he has forgiven still fear him. And that raises a question: What does forgiveness look like when the wounds are old, but the feelings are still fresh?

What Joseph's brothers did was horrible. They resented their father's favoritism, Joseph's dreams, and that famous coat. Jacob practically put a sign on Joseph that read, “I’m Dad’s favorite.” Parents, a little free advice: have a favorite chair, a favorite restaurant, even a favorite football team. But if you have twelve sons, don't give just one of them a designer jacket and expect family harmony. And, of course, Joseph didn't help matters by describing dreams in which his brothers bowed before him. Some things are probably better kept between you and God — especially when your brothers already want to throw you into a well. They stripped off his coat, threw him into a pit, sold him into slavery, and let Jacob believe he was dead. This wasn't just an innocent misunderstanding. It was betrayal.

Years passed. God brought Joseph through slavery, false accusation, prison, and eventually into authority in Egypt. Famine brought his brothers to him for food. They didn't recognize Joseph, but he recognized them. So, imagine the scene. The people who sold him are now asking him for groceries. If this were a movie, Joseph might say, “Well, well, well. Look what the cat drug in. Hungry?” But he eventually revealed himself and extended mercy. Now Jacob is dead and Genesis 50:15 records the brothers' fear: “What if Joseph holds a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrongs we did to him?”

What if? Two words that can steal a night's sleep. What if he hasn't really forgiven us? What if he's been waiting for Dad to die? They were living in Egypt, but in their minds they were still beside that pit. The past does that. A memory, a familiar voice, even a conversation can bring yesterday into today without knocking. We may have moved on geographically while remaining stuck emotionally. The brothers appeal to Jacob's supposed last instructions. Interestingly, Scripture doesn't actually tell us whether Jacob even said those words. Perhaps he did. Perhaps they thought, “Joseph loved Dad; let's mention Dad.” It's the ancient version of “Mom said you have to.” And Joseph weeps. Maybe not simply because he remembers what his brothers did to him, but because his brothers cannot forget what they did to him. Joseph has moved beyond the pit, but his brothers are still living beside it. He’s offered forgiveness, but they’re still waiting for punishment.

Here’s something worth remembering: forgiveness can be offered in a moment, but trust may take years to rebuild. Ephesians 4:32 says, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” It doesn't say that forgiveness erases the event or instantly repairs the relationship. Forgiveness, reconciliation, and trust belong together, but they are not identical. Forgiveness releases our personal claim to revenge. Reconciliation involves both people working toward peace. Trust grows as honesty and dependable conduct return.

You can forgive someone without pretending what happened was harmless. You can forgive and still maintain sensible boundaries. For instance, let’s say a friend borrows your car, wrecks it, and denies doing anything wrong. You may forgive him, but you don't necessarily hand him the keys again next Saturday — especially when he says, “Relax. I'm a much better driver now.” Forgiveness isn't foolishness. Joseph did not call evil good. He chose, instead, not to let his brothers' evil decide who he would become.

Joseph cries several times in Genesis: when he hears his brothers, when he sees Benjamin, when he reveals himself, and when he sees his father. Apparently, being governor of Egypt didn't make him emotionally bulletproof. Somewhere we’ve picked up the idea that mature faith means never crying. But John 11:35 says, “Jesus wept.” Jesus knew He would raise Lazarus, yet He stood with grieving people and cried. Knowing God has a future for us doesn't mean the present cannot hurt. Forgiveness doesn't erase memory, and faith doesn't cancel sorrow. Psalm 34:18 promises, “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted.” God doesn't wait until our eyes are dry to draw near. Sometimes He meets us in the middle of our tears.

Perhaps you've forgiven someone sincerely, but a certain anniversary or conversation still stings. That doesn't automatically mean your forgiveness was false. It may mean the wound was deep. A forgiving heart is not necessarily an unbroken one.

The brothers fall before Joseph and offer themselves as slaves. Joseph answers in Genesis 50:19, “Don't be afraid. Am I in the place of God?” Joseph has power. He could punish them, humiliate them, or make their lives miserable. Instead, he refuses to appoint himself the final judge. Romans 12:19 tells us, “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath.” That sounds wonderful until we're the ones wronged. We’re happy to let God handle justice, provided He works quickly and sends regular progress reports. “Lord, I don't want to interfere. I'm just wondering whether You've read that email.”

But revenge keeps us tied to the offense. We replay arguments, rehearse accusations, and invent brilliant responses we never actually delivered. Have you ever won an argument in the shower? You were magnificent. Unfortunately, your opponent wasn't there. Joseph chooses freedom from that endless courtroom in his mind. He doesn't deny accountability. He simply recognizes that God is God, and Joseph is not. Neither are we. Then comes Joseph's remarkable statement in Genesis 50:20: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”

Notice Joseph's honesty: “You intended to harm me.” He doesn't pretend the betrayal was a blessing in disguise. Their intentions were evil. But God worked through what they did to preserve lives during the famine. Romans 8:28 reminds us that God works in all things for the good of those who love Him. It does not say all things are good. Some things are cruel. Some losses make no sense. Some scars remain. Yet other people's worst choices do not place our lives beyond God's reach.

Joseph could not see the palace from the pit. He could not see the famine relief from his prison cell. But God was working even when Joseph couldn't trace the plan. We should be careful not to tell hurting people, “Everything happens for a reason,” as though that explains away pain. Joseph's testimony is stronger: the wrong was real, and God's redemptive work was real too.

Joseph finishes in Genesis 50:21: “So then, don't be afraid. I will provide for you and your children.” Scripture adds, “He reassured them and spoke kindly to them.” He doesn't merely announce forgiveness; he practices and then models mercy. He speaks gently to people who once treated him cruelly. That doesn't mean every damaged relationship will be restored in the same way, but it shows the kind of heart God had formed in Joseph. Peter once asked Jesus whether forgiving someone seven times would be enough. Jesus answered, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” (Matthew 18:22) Jesus wasn't handing Peter a calculator. He was teaching him a way of life.

Some days forgiveness feels settled. Other days an old memory returns, and we must again surrender the desire to retaliate. Colossians 3:13 says, “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” And that's where Joseph's story points beyond Joseph — to Jesus. We all have a past: words we regret, choices we'd undo, failures we wish no one remembered. Sometimes we're more willing to believe that God can forgive somebody else than that He can forgive us. We believe in grace as a doctrine but struggle to receive it as a gift. We know what Scripture says about forgiveness, but we keep bringing God the same sins, as though He’s somehow misplaced the paperwork. But 1 John 1:9 promises that when we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive. His promise doesn't become unreliable because our feelings fluctuate. Joseph's brothers expected punishment; they received reassurance. They remembered the pit; Joseph remembered what God had done.

Maybe you're struggling to forgive. Maybe you've forgiven, but trust remains fragile. Maybe you're the one carrying guilt long after mercy has been offered. Remember Jesus on the cross praying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34) Forgiveness does not declare the wrong acceptable. It refuses to let the wrong have the final word. Joseph didn't erase his past. He didn't stop being human. He still wept. But he refused to let yesterday's betrayal dictate tomorrow's mercy.

And that brings us back to where we started — with Joseph's brothers standing before a man they had betrayed, wondering whether forgiveness was really possible. Joseph’s brothers thought the past would eventually catch up with them. They expected revenge. Instead, they found mercy. They expected judgment. Instead, they heard, "Don't be afraid." And perhaps that's what God wants us to hear today. The past may explain your tears, but it doesn't have to determine your future. Because when God is writing the story, betrayal doesn't have to be the final chapter. Bitterness doesn't have to be the final chapter. Even our deepest wounds don't have to be the final chapter. Grace still has another chapter.

Grace,

Randy