The calendar has turned. The celebrations are over. The confetti has been swept away. Christmas decorations back in storage. Ordinary mornings have returned—muted light, familiar routines, the quiet resumption of responsibility and routine. And somewhere beneath all that normalcy, a lot of us find ourselves revisiting what we hoped would change.
Some wrote resolutions. Others simply carried intentions—deeper prayer, higher boundaries, clearer focus, less noise, more family, more God. Yet almost immediately, a subtle tension sets in. The yr is recent, however the soul continues to be catching up.
It is in moments like this that I’m reminded of a small modern-day parable I recently published called JoJo the Shark—an easy story about what happens after we outgrow the familiar and find ourselves summoned into deeper waters. Not because old was incorrect, but because growth has quietly made it too tight.
That realization could also be one of the crucial essential spiritual signals we encounter as a recent yr unfolds.
When Discomfort Is a Signal
The Bible says, “To every thing there may be a season, and a time for each purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Yet when seasons shift, our instinct is commonly to query ourselves.
In the parable, when JoJo begins to sense that the pond he has referred to as his short life not suits, his first response isn’t curiosity—it’s doubt. Is something incorrect with me? That query echoes throughout the Church today. Pastors feel strain in once-effective models. Institutions sense pressure from a rapidly changing world. You and I grow restless in practices that after sustained us.
Paul offers a reframing. “When I used to be a baby, I spoke like a baby… but once I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways” (1 Corinthians 13:11).
Maturity doesn’t discredit the past; it completes it. And sometimes the mercy of God shows up as discomfort—refusing to allow us to remain in spaces that not fit what He is forming. What looks like agitation will not be revolt in any respect. It could also be an invite, maybe even revelation.
The Narrow Passage We Would Rather Avoid
In JoJo the Shark, growth doesn’t lead immediately to freedom. It results in a tunnel—dark, constricting, disorienting. A passage between what was and what shall be. At first, JoJo turns back.
So will we.
Change rarely broadcasts itself as healthful. More often, it looks like instability. Scripture doesn’t sanitize this reality. Israel’s journey to vow ran through wilderness. Jesus Himself was “led by the Spirit into the wilderness” (Matthew 4:1) before he launched his transformative ministry.
For us, the tunnel may seem like vocational uncertainty, theological re-examination, or the unraveling of once-clear identities. For churches, it might seem like institutional pruning, diminished influence, or the lack of familiar metrics.
But our tunnels shouldn’t be perceived as diversions. But transitions. The Lord declares, “See, I’m doing a recent thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19).
The danger is just not uncertainty. It is the temptation to retreat into what’s familiar just because it’s familiar—to confuse stability with progress or becoming.
When You Can No Longer Go Back
One of essentially the most sobering moments within the parable comes when JoJo attempts to return to the pond, only to find that he not suits. He has outgrown it.
This is a truth many believers miss: some doors close not because we failed, but because we’ve modified. Jesus plainly says: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and appears back is fit for the dominion of God” (Luke 9:62). This is just not condemnation; it’s orientation. God’s kingdom moves forward. Some roles, identities, and expectations cannot accompany us into what He is forming next.
For the Church, the parallel temptation is subtle but serious: the instinct to be measured, not by instinct alone. Often, it’s measured by the courage to release forms which have fulfilled their purpose.
Recently, I spoke with a young couple laboring to guide a congregation into what’s next. Their struggle is just not a scarcity of vision, however the resistance of an overseeing body determined to carry the church in yesterday’s shape. What began as caution has hardened into control and manipulation, and what was meant to preserve order has as an alternative broken trust and caused harm which will prove difficult to repair. For this young couple, the invitation now’s a sober one: to think about that what looks like loss may, in truth, be realignment.
The Call of the Deep
On the far side of the tunnel, JoJo finds a lake—vast and alive. Paul gives language to this moment: “No eye has seen, nor ear heard… what God has prepared for many who love Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). This is just not a promise of ease. The lake requires maturity. It requires recent strength and courage. It requires the willingness to live without the securities of the pond.
Here is a word on my heart for us straight away: the best danger is just not uncertainty, but settling. Settling for patterns that keep us secure but shallow. Calling avoidance “peace.” Calling fear “wisdom.” Calling maintenance “faithfulness.”
The author of Hebrews reminds us, “Here we’ve no lasting city, but we seek town that’s to come back” (Hebrews 13:14). That looking for is just not abstract. It is embodied—in decisions, departures, and obedience that can’t be postponed indefinitely.
Many of you might be already sensing it: the narrowing of old spaces, the strain of old assumptions, the quiet insistence that life cannot proceed on the identical terms.
This is just not restlessness. It is summons.
The Lake Is Calling
As you gaze upon one other yr with all its uncertainties, hear this clearly: God is just not merely calling you to enhance. He is looking you to emerge.
Some of what has felt like frustration is the Spirit refusing to let you agree for spiritual convenience. Some of what has felt like closed doors is just not rejection—it’s direction. Some of what looks like loss is just evidence that you may have grown.
And for the Church of Jesus Christ, the decision is just as searching: We cannot disciple people into depth while clinging to the shallow. We cannot announce a recent day while protecting yesterday’s comforts. We cannot pray for revival while resisting the change renewal requires. The Holy Spirit is just not only comforting the Church on this hour; He is inviting her into the deep—because He intends to make use of her. We must not misinterpret the squeeze as abandonment; the tunnel as punishment; the lack of old or traditions as failure. It may simply mean this: you may have grown. Paul’s admonition to us: “He who began work in you’ll carry it on to completion” (Philippians 1:6).
The pond has served its purpose. And the lake is looking.
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