The calendar has turned. The celebrations are over. The confetti has been swept away. Christmas decorations are back in storage. Ordinary mornings have returned—muted light, familiar routines, the quiet resumption of responsibility and routine. And somewhere beneath all that normalcy, many of us find ourselves revisiting what we hoped would change.
Some wrote resolutions. Others simply carried intentions—deeper prayer, better boundaries, clearer focus, less noise, more family, more God. Yet almost immediately, a subtle tension sets in. The year is new, but the soul is still 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—a simple story about what happens when we outgrow the familiar and find ourselves summoned into deeper waters. Not because old was wrong, but because growth has quietly made it too tight.
That realization may be one of the most important spiritual signals we encounter as a new year unfolds.
When Discomfort Is a Signal
The Bible says, “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Yet when seasons shift, our instinct is often to question ourselves.
In the parable, when JoJo begins to sense that the pond he has known as his short life no longer fits, his first response isn’t curiosity—it’s doubt. Is something wrong with me? That question 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 once sustained us.
Paul offers a reframing. “When I was a child, I spoke like a child… but when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways” (1 Corinthians 13:11).
Maturity does not discredit the past; it completes it. And sometimes the mercy of God shows up as discomfort—refusing to let us remain in spaces that no longer fit what He is forming. What feels like agitation may not be rebellion at all. It may be an invitation, perhaps even a revelation.
The Narrow Passage We Would Rather Avoid
In JoJo the Shark, growth does not lead immediately to freedom. It leads to a tunnel—dark, constricting, disorienting. A passage between what was and what will be. At first, JoJo turns back.
So do we.
Change rarely announces itself as wholesome. More often, it feels like instability. Scripture does not sanitize this reality. Israel’s journey to promise ran through the 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 look like vocational uncertainty, theological re-examination, or the unraveling of once-clear identities. For churches, it may look like institutional pruning, diminished influence, or the loss of familiar metrics.
But our tunnels should not be perceived as diversions. But transitions. The Lord declares, “See, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19).
The danger is not uncertainty. It is the temptation to retreat into what is familiar simply because it is familiar—to confuse stability with progress or becoming.
When You Can No Longer Go Back
One of the most sobering moments in the parable comes when JoJo attempts to return to the pond, only to discover that he no longer fits. He has outgrown it.
This is a truth many believers miss: some doors close not because we failed, but because we have changed. Jesus plainly says: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). This is not condemnation; it is 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 is measured by the courage to release forms that have fulfilled their purpose.
Recently, I spoke with a young couple laboring to lead a congregation into what is next. Their struggle is not a lack of vision, but the resistance of an overseeing body determined to hold the church in yesterday’s shape. What began as caution has hardened into control and manipulation, and what was meant to preserve order has instead broken trust and caused harm that may prove difficult to repair. For this young couple, the invitation now is a sober one: to consider that what looks like loss may, in fact, 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 those who love Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). This is not a promise of ease. The lake requires maturity. It requires new strength and courage. It requires the willingness to live without the securities of the pond.
Here is a word on my heart for us right now: the greatest danger is not uncertainty, but settling. Settling for patterns that keep us safe but shallow. Calling avoidance “peace.” Calling fear “wisdom.” Calling maintenance “faithfulness.”
The writer of Hebrews reminds us, “Here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come” (Hebrews 13:14). That seeking is not abstract. It is embodied in decisions, departures, and obedience that cannot be postponed indefinitely.
Many of you are already sensing it: the narrowing of old spaces, the strain of old assumptions, the quiet insistence that life cannot continue on the same terms.
This is not restlessness. It is a summons.
The Lake Is Calling
As you gaze upon another year with all its uncertainties, hear this clearly: God is not merely calling you to improve. He is calling you to emerge.
Some of what has felt like frustration is the Spirit refusing to let you settle for spiritual convenience. Some of what has felt like closed doors is not rejection—it is direction. Some of what feels like loss is simply evidence that you have grown.
And for the Church of Jesus Christ, the call is just as searching: We cannot disciple people in depth while clinging to the shallow. We cannot announce a new day while protecting yesterday’s comforts. We cannot pray for revival while resisting the change renewal requires. The Holy Spirit is not only comforting the Church in this hour; He is inviting her into the deep—because He intends to use her. We must not misinterpret the squeeze as abandonment; the tunnel as punishment; the loss of old traditions as failure. It may simply mean this: you have grown. Paul’s admonition to us: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion” (Philippians 1:6).
The pond has served its purpose. And the lake is calling.
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