It’s 2 a.m. And now, somehow, it’s 3:08. This last week sleep seems like an old friend I haven’t seen in ages, and I’m here, staring at the ceiling. I think it’s because so many areas of my life is changing and I don’t like change. The funny thing is… if I’m honest, this blog only seems to come alive when things are shifting. It’s not lost on me that I tend to write when something’s changing—when I’m in a new place, experiencing a change of heart, a change in a relationship, a shift in my thoughts or beliefs. As much as I hate change, it’s still the only time I seem to have the words.
I’m a creature of habit—a homebody who’s excellent at socialising, so much so that people often forget I’m a homebody at heart. From spring through to winter, I struggle with the letting go, with the subtle shifts that sneak up on you before you’ve even realised the seasons have changed. I guess, I always want it to be spring—the time when you see the first signs of everything you’ve worked for. There’s comfort in that, in seeing the buds on the flowers, those early glimpses of life bursting through again. It’s beautiful. It’s familiar. But then it changes.
Change is everywhere, whether we like it or not. It’s in the leaves falling to the ground, in the setting sun, in the ticking of the clock. Even when life changes for the better, it still keeps me up at night. Even when it’s the answer to my own prayer—when I know it’s time to leave, but the letting go seems harder than the holding on. Even when I’m gripping onto something so tightly that it is hurting me, I still take my time to release my grip. Why is it that I love consistency so much? I love my routine—from my 6:45 a.m. Pilates class to the same things on my Lidl shopping list. There’s something soothing about familiarity.
But we can’t stay the same forever. It’s only dead things that don’t grow. So, we change. We evolve. We let go. We learn. And as we do, we shed those unhealthy patterns, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy routines. We let go of the places that don’t feed our souls anymore.
But, I’ll be honest, it doesn’t feel freeing; it feels overwhelming. The kind of overwhelming that weighs you down, even when the change is exactly what you asked for. The adrenaline rush of excitement can feel too much for someone who prefers the mundane, the quiet, the familiar.
And yet, I know that God is in the midst of it all. God is there in the transition, in the not-yet, in the unknown. Even when we pray, “God, open the right doors and close the wrong ones,” and He does—why do we still feel that pang of loss? When we ask Him to take away friendships or relationships that aren’t from Him, and He does—why do we still struggle to let go? Maybe it’s because we’ve become too comfortable in the things that aren’t for us. We’ve made a home there, in places God never intended us to stay.
One minute we’re waiting on God to move, and the next, we’re saying, “Wait, God! I wasn’t ready.” Maybe that readiness is something we only think we have. My mom always tells me, prepare for what I’m waiting for in the midst of waiting and that “failing to prepare is preparing to fail”. It’s that idea of dressing for the job you want. It’s about mentally preparing for the things you desire, getting ready to catch what’s coming your way. Because if someone suddenly throws a ball at you and you weren’t expecting it, you’re more likely to drop it. But if you know that ball is coming, if you’re already poised and ready, you can catch it with confidence.
And yet, even when I know the ball is coming—even when I ask God to throw it—the speed at which it’s flying towards me makes me feel unprepared, as if I’m about to fumble what I’ve been waiting for. But now, at 3:42 a.m., I realise that the same God who throws opportunities, who places good things in our path, is also the God who helps us catch them. He equips us to hold on, to navigate the change, to rise to the challenge. He doesn’t just watch from a distance; He’s right there, guiding our hands, steadying our hearts.
“For I am the Lord, I do not change.”
– Malachi 3:6
Oh, how I love that my God does not change. Friendships change, workplaces change, relationships change, churches change, leaders change, but my God does not change. He is constant in a world that never stops moving, the unchanging hand in all our transitions. And maybe that’s where the real comfort lies—not in resisting the change or dreading the next season, but in trusting that the same God who brings us to new places will also see us through them. So even if I can’t sleep tonight, every fibre of my being knows that He’s there, in every shift, in every leap of faith, in every answered prayer that comes quicker than expected.
The Harmony Edit 