Shifting Directions

At the beginning of this year, I was determined to publish a new book—a devotional written for every single day of the year. Three hundred and sixty-five reflections, each one designed to gently draw readers closer to God in steady, practical ways. I envisioned something consistent and accessible. Not deeply personal. Not layered with my own unfinished processing. Just faithful encouragement – Scripture, reflection, application. Something people could open each morning with their coffee and feel grounded.

I approached it with discipline. I created outlines, monthly themes, and writing goals. I calculated how many devotionals I needed to complete each week in order to finish on time. There was something deeply satisfying about the structure of it. The format felt contained. Predictable. Safe. I was building something good – something that would serve others.

Month after month, I wrote. Some entries came easily, flowing from familiar passages and long-held truths. Others required more effort, but the rhythm carried me forward. As the manuscript grew, so did my anticipation. I could see the finish line ahead. With only two months left to write, I felt the quiet confidence of nearing completion. The goal I had set at the start of the year was within reach.

And that’s when something began to shift.

It wasn’t dramatic or disruptive. It was subtle, almost inconvenient. As I worked on the final sections of the devotional, my thoughts kept drifting back to a different project – one I had outlined two years ago. A sequel to the book I had already published. A continuation of a message that felt unfinished. I had shelved it at the time because it felt heavier. It would require more than theological reflection or encouragement. It would require depth. It would require me.

The daily devotional felt steady and outward facing. The sequel felt personal and inward.

I tried to dismiss the thought at first. After all, I was nearly finished with the devotional. It made sense to complete what I had started. It felt responsible. Efficient. But the more I pressed forward, the stronger the internal nudge became. The outline from two years ago resurfaced in my mind with surprising clarity. Themes I had written down back then felt more relevant now than they did at the time. It was as if God was quietly bringing me back to something I had postponed.

What unsettled me most was not the change in direction, it was the depth the sequel would demand. The devotional allowed me to speak truth in measured portions. The sequel would require me to explore truth in layers. It would ask me to revisit experiences I have lived through, not just studied. It would require vulnerability. Honesty. Growth that is still unfolding.

And that is precisely why I had avoided it.

There is safety in producing something structured and helpful. There is exposure in writing from places that are still tender. The sequel is not just another book idea; it is a continuation of a journey. It calls me to go deeper personally before inviting others to come along. It requires me to examine motives, wrestle with refinement, and articulate lessons that have not come easily.

As I sat with this redirection, I began to recognize a familiar pattern in how God works in my life. He often allows me to pursue something good, only to gently redirect me toward something necessary. The devotional is good. It serves a purpose. But the sequel feels appointed. Timed. Ready.

I realized that my determination to publish a daily devotional this year may have been rooted partly in measurable accomplishment. It had a clear structure. A clear finish line. The sequel does not offer that same sense of control. It invites surrender instead.

God’s shift did not come with condemnation or urgency. It came with quiet clarity. A persistent sense that I was meant to pause the nearly finished plan and return to the deeper one. Not because the devotional was wrong, but because this is the season for something more layered.

There is humility in changing course when you are almost done. There is discomfort in laying aside something you worked hard to build. But there is also freedom in trusting that God’s timing is more precise than mine.

The devotional may still have its time. It may yet find its season. But right now, I sense God calling me back to the sequel – to the continuation, to the depth, to the work that stretches me before it reaches anyone else.

And I am learning that sometimes the greatest act of faith is not finishing what I started, but following where He leads, even when it takes me somewhere deeper than I planned.

Describe a time when you were pursuing something good, and God seemed to redirect you. What did that experience reveal about your trust in Him? What motivates your current goals—peace and clarity, external expectations, measurable success, or something else? What unfinished idea, dream, or calling continues to resurface in your thoughts, and why do you think it has not gone away? Please share in the comments.