He never stops working

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” — Isaiah 43:19

Moving from New Jersey to Florida was one of the hardest transitions of my life.

When we made the move, I knew I was leaving behind familiarity—our family, our friends, the places and traditions that had always felt like home. What I didn’t know was how much God would use the unfamiliar to reveal areas of my heart that needed tending.

There’s something about being pulled away from what is comfortable that exposes the things we unknowingly depend on. The routines. The people. The places. The ability to know what comes next.

Florida has become home, but if I’m being truthful, there are still times when my heart aches for the home I left behind.

Fall is one of those times.

There’s something about this season that brings me right back. The crisp air, changing leaves, sweatshirts, apple picking, family gatherings and all the little traditions that made this time of year feel so special. Living in Florida, September doesn’t exactly arrive with that same familiar feeling. And some days, being so far away from the people I love feels heavier than others.

But this morning, I stepped outside and the air was cooler.

Nothing dramatic. No changing leaves. No true Northeast fall morning.

Just enough coolness in the air to make me stop.

And immediately, it felt like a little gift from God.

A tiny piece of something I had been longing for.

It reminded me that God knows the details of our hearts. He knows the things we miss. He knows when a season is difficult, even when we are grateful for where He has brought us.

Over these last few years, God has used this move to work on areas of my life I probably never would have known needed attention. He has strengthened my faith and deepened my walk with Him. He has taught me that surrender isn’t a one-time decision—it’s something I have to choose again and again.

Surrendering my plans.

Surrendering what I thought life would look like.

Surrendering the things I cannot control.

And learning to trust that just because something feels unfamiliar doesn’t mean God isn’t in it.

Maybe that has been one of the greatest lessons of this move: I can miss what was and still be grateful for what is. I can love the life God is building here while still feeling homesick for the people and pieces of life I left behind. Gratitude and grief can exist in the same heart.

God never asked me to pretend the transition was easy. He has simply continued to meet me in it.

And sometimes He meets me in big, unmistakable ways.

Other times, He meets me on an ordinary September morning with a little cool breeze that feels like fall.

Just enough to remind me: I know your heart. I know what you miss. I’m here too.