The One Where I Had to Pivot

January 1st isn’t really the beginning of the new year. Ok, it is… but when it falls on a Thursday, it’s really more like the warning shot over the bow of the real beginning of the year which we all know is actually the first Monday. That’s when we really get going, right? That’s when the starting block gets set down in the lane. The calories start counting again. The resolutions kick in. Life moves forward.

But what happens when, in the days leading up to that starting block, the block gets moved—and you hear, “Pivot”? What happens then?

That happened to me on January 1st.

This is my post about that kind of pivot—and about what it looks like, in real time, to listen for God’s voice and respond when He redirects, whether I saw it coming or not.

And my prayer is that as you read, you’ll recognize yourself somewhere in it. That you’ll pause and reflect, and maybe even strengthen your resolve for the year ahead—not just in the ways that feel productive or measurable, but in the ways that truly matter. Because resolutions about weight, habits, or even reading the Bible in a year don’t mean much if what’s most important isn’t rightly set at the starting line.

Most of us have had at least one moment in life that felt a little like that scene from Friends—the one where Ross is halfway up a narrow staircase, wedged between walls and railings, shouting “Pivot! Pivot!” while everyone else is straining to keep the couch from getting stuck. It’s funny because it’s familiar. We’ve all been there in one way or another—trying to maneuver something good, heavy, and worth carrying through a space that suddenly feels tighter than we expected.

Life has a way of calling for pivots like that. Sometimes they’re forced on us. Sometimes they come quietly, without much warning. And sometimes, if we’re paying attention, they come as a nudge, the sense that the way forward isn’t straight ahead after all, but sideways, slower, or momentarily still. Pivoting is part of being human. We all do it in different seasons, for different reasons.

What has become increasingly clear to me, though, is why I pivot and at Whose voice. Over time, I’ve learned that the grounding factor in moments like these isn’t flexibility for its own sake or resilience powered by grit. It’s obedience. My life has been shaped by a settled commitment to listen carefully when the Lord redirects me, even when the pivot costs momentum, clarity, or the comfort of sticking with a plan I’d already mapped out.

Hebrews 2:8–9 has long framed how I live in those in-between spaces: “At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. But we see him…” There are seasons when the path forward isn’t fully visible, when the logistics feel awkward and the timing unclear. In those moments, I don’t need a full blueprint. I need my eyes fixed in the right place. That focus—on Him—has become the steadying center from which every pivot takes its cue.

I didn’t expect this season to ask me to slow down.

I had plans that felt good and right—plans shaped by prayer, affirmed by wise voices, and marked by a sense of momentum that felt like gift rather than striving. I was looking ahead, making notes, sketching out next steps, and feeling grateful for the community God continues to gather around His Word. I had momentum and enthusiasm and buy-in! All good!

And then, quietly and unmistakably, the Lord asked me to pause.

It wasn’t a slammed door but an unmistakable kind of pause that settles into your spirit and won’t leave you alone—the kind that invites listening rather than explaining. The kind that makes you ask not, “Is this good?” but “Is this ordered rightly?”

Proverbs 16:9 has been close at hand for me lately: “The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.” I’ve long believed that verse. Living it has reminded me that God’s establishing often feels slower and far more personal than I expect.

Faithfulness doesn’t always look like forward motion. Sometimes it looks like staying close to what God has already entrusted to us. Sometimes it means tending what is nearest before reaching for what is next. And sometimes it requires a willingness to let obedience interrupt even the most well-intentioned, really solid, and truly good plans.

I care deeply about the work I do. I love teaching Scripture. I love gathering people around the Word and watching it take root and bear fruit in real lives. But Scripture itself insists on an order I don’t get to rearrange. “Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1). Ministry, no matter how beautiful, cannot flourish if peace and faithfulness at home are neglected.

That conviction traces back to the Shema to the words first spoken at Sinai as the ordering center of God’s covenant with His people: “Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one.” Before there were instructions for worship, leadership, or life in the land, there was this call to listen in a way that included hearing and responding to who God is. The Shema has always been foundational because it establishes reality: God alone is God, and therefore He alone gets our ultimate allegiance. That call didn’t end in Deuteronomy; it presses forward into every generation and, eventually, into my own heart. I don’t treat it as a theme verse or a spiritual ideal. It is the filter through which everything else passes. If I say I love God, then I must listen when He speaks. If I hear Him, then obedience isn’t optional, right? I take it literally and seriously. It’s the only honest response. That is why the Shema shapes how I make decisions, how I measure faithfulness, and how I respond when God redirects me, even when that redirection costs me clarity or forward momentum.

To love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength is not an abstract idea for me. It presses into real life into relationships, conversations, timing, and priorities. It means living with a settled hierarchy of obedience: God first, then my marriage and family, and then everything else. That order is not theoretical. I’ve lived it out in simple, easy moments, and in really dark and difficult ones and this past week I tested and lived it yet again. That pivot moment.

This all goes along with what I’d say has been my strengthening, centering passage of 2025…

“At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to Him. But we see Him…” Hebrews 2:8–9. I’ve preached these words, lived these words, found great comfort in these words. These words have shaped how I walk through seasons where clarity feels partial: There are moments when I don’t see the full picture, don’t know how long a pause will last, and don’t have neat answers to offer. But I know where my eyes belong. And I’m learning, again, to keep them there.

So, the pivot. That pause request from the Lord…

It didn’t come from fear or hesitation. It came from a growing sense of accountability before the Lord which was and is a desire to respond faithfully to what He is asking of me now, rather than pushing ahead simply because momentum makes forward motion easier. I am far less concerned with how this decision might be perceived than with whether I am living in step with the One who leads me.

There’s also a quieter reckoning that comes with moments like this, one I don’t love admitting but can’t ignore. When plans pause and expectations shift, all sorts of fears surface like my fear of disappointing people, fear of letting others down, fear of looking inconsistent or unreliable, even fear of disappointing myself. Scripture warns us plainly that “the fear of man lays a snare” (Proverbs 29:25), and I’ve learned more than once that the snare is subtle. It rarely looks like outright people-pleasing. More often, it disguises itself as responsibility, momentum, or the pressure to follow through simply because something has already been announced. Ugh. So emotional.

And this is where the Shema presses in with uncomfortable clarity. To say I love the Lord with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength is easy enough to affirm in theory. Living it means I don’t get to stop at intention. Hearing without obeying is still disobedience. If I claim to be fiercely committed to following God, yet hesitate when obedience costs me approval, clarity, or progress, then my devotion is thinner than I want to admit. I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that it is only when God becomes my greatest fear, in the biblical sense of reverence and awe, that He also becomes my safest place. I choose to let Him be my fear, my dread, the One I honor as holy above all else. And in that choice, something steady has taken root. What once unsettled me no longer has the same power.

This kind of focus and commitment means that obedience comes more quickly, pivoting feels less frightening, and peace settles sooner. He has become my sanctuary because I dared to trust that fearing Him is where true stability actually lies.

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Practicing Faithful Pivots

If this post has stirred something in you and you’re sensing a pivot of your own, or feeling the tension between momentum and obedience, let me offer a few gentle, Scripture-shaped ways to live this out. These aren’t steps to rush through. They’re practices to return to:

1. Start by Listening Before You Decide

The Shema begins with a command we often rush past: hear. Before plans are adjusted or next steps are taken, pause long enough to listen. Ask the Lord plainly, What are You asking of me right now? Not what feels efficient. Not what feels expected. What He is asking.

“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one.” — Deuteronomy 6:4

Consider setting aside ten quiet minutes—no planning, no problem-solving—simply to listen and sit before God.

2. Name the Fears That Surface When Plans Change

When pivots come, fears often rise quickly: fear of disappointing others, fear of appearing inconsistent, fear of letting ourselves down. Scripture is honest about this tension, and so we can be too.

“The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is safe.” — Proverbs 29:25

Write down what you’re afraid of losing if you obey God fully in this season. Then, one by one, place those fears before Him in prayer.

3. Re-order What Matters Most

Pivots often reveal whether our priorities are truly settled or quietly negotiable. Scripture reminds us that fruitfulness flows from God-established order, not our best intentions.

“Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” — Psalms 127:1

Ask yourself: Is anything in my life being built ahead of what God has clearly entrusted to me? Let Him gently realign what’s out of order.

4. Fix Your Eyes When You Don’t See the Whole Picture

You may not see how this pause resolves, or what comes next. That’s not failure—it’s part of faithful walking.

“At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. But we see him…” Hebrews 2:8–9

When clarity feels incomplete, return your focus to Christ Himself. He is steady even when circumstances are not.

5. Trust That Obedience Is Never Wasted

Quiet obedience rarely draws attention, but it always bears fruit. God works deeply in seasons that feel slow, hidden, or unresolved.

If you’re pivoting right now, take heart: God is not hurried. He is attentive. And He honors those who listen and obey.

May we be a people who hear His voice, trust His leading, and follow Him faithfully—even when that faithfulness looks like a pause.

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