When the Waters Rise

We were ready to buy the house. Three times this happened.

We pictured furniture placement, morning coffee on the patio, a new rhythm in a new state. And then we walked away. The details didn’t sit right, and wisdom whispered what excitement didn’t want to hear.

So here we are —searching in a large state, driving and looking at homes for hours each day with hope, wondering when “home” will finally settle into place.

I asked for Him to open doors that only He could open and close doors we should not walk through, and He has been faithful.

It’s a strange feeling, living between decisions.
Between where you were and where you’re going.
Between certainty and calling.

This morning, I read Isaiah 43:2:

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire, you shall not be burned…”

Not if you pass through.
When.

There are waters in every life. Right now, mine look like uncertainty about where we’ll live, restarting freelance work after a pause, and that quiet fear that asks, “What if this doesn’t work?”

Maybe yours look different—health, finances, relationships, a decision you can’t quite make. But we all know what it feels like to be waist-deep in something we didn’t plan.

The promise in this verse is not avoidance.
It is presence.

God doesn’t promise dry ground. He promises to walk with us through rising water. And that changes everything.

Because the waters I’m walking through right now are real.

There’s also the financial question. I’ve set a goal—$5,000 in three months, working about 24 hours a week freelancing around everything else we have going on. I have skills, even a degree and certifications, but starting again always comes with doubt. Will clients come? Will I find the right niche? Will I stay consistent?

There’s the life-decision piece. Looking at houses online, wondering which coast is right, trying to make wise choices without perfect information. Waiting when I’d rather move forward.

And there’s the emotional weight. Decision fatigue. That restless feeling that progress is slower than it should be.

If you’re honest, you know this feeling too.

We want certainty before we act.
God asks us to act in faith instead.

The verse in Isaiah doesn’t say the rivers will be shallow. It says they won’t overwhelm you.
He doesn’t say there will be no fire. He says you won’t be consumed.

That means the hard season might stay hard—but it won’t destroy what God is building in you.

When I look back, that’s always been true in my life. The moments I thought would sink me became turning points. The uncomfortable seasons pushed me toward skills I didn’t know I had, courage I didn’t think I possessed, faith I didn’t know I needed.

So what does this promise look like in real life, today?

It looks like showing up anyway.

It looks like writing on Substack every day, even when the words feel simple. It looks like sending one freelance pitch even when I’m unsure. It looks like researching one more home listing without spiraling into worry.

Faith, for me right now, is consistency.
Not grand gestures. Small steps.

Because obedience in small things builds a life you can stand on.

I’m learning that the waters often rise right before clarity comes. There’s a stretching that happens in the face of uncertainty. We become more honest about what we want, more intentional about how we work, more dependent on God than on our own plans.

Walking away from those homes felt like a loss in the moment. But it was also wisdom. And wisdom is rarely comfortable.

If I truly believe God is with me in this season, then I can act differently.

I can stop waiting for perfect conditions.
I can trust small beginnings.
I can build a business with integrity instead of fear.
I can write honestly instead of trying to sound impressive.
I can keep looking for a home without panicking that we’ll never find one.

Because presence is enough.

That sounds simple. But simple is powerful.

Here are three practices I’m leaning on right now, and maybe they’ll help you too.

First, name your fear. Write it down. Say it out loud in prayer. Fear shrinks when it’s brought into the light.

Second, take one faithful action every day. Send the email. Write the paragraph. Make the call. Progress doesn’t come from waiting—it comes from small, faithful steps.

Third, remember past moments when God showed up. Write them down. Read them when you forget. We all do.

The waters feel deepest when we think we’re alone.
We’re not.

If you’re walking through uncertainty today, you are not abandoned, not forgotten, not unsupported. You are being led through something—not into nothing.

I don’t know where our next home will be. I don’t know which freelance client will come first. I don’t know exactly how this season will unfold.

But I know this: the waters are not my end.
They are my crossing.
And yours are too.

So today, take one step.
Send one pitch.
Write one paragraph.
Pray one honest prayer.
Look at one more house listing.

The waters may rise. The rivers may feel strong. But they will not overwhelm you.

Because you are not walking alone.