The New Thing Doesn’t Look Like the Old One
The well changed her story. The new thing is changing mine.
The woman at the well left more than her jar.
She left the old story.
The old rhythm.
The framework that shaped how she saw herself and her place in the world.
She came for water - like she always did.
But when she met Jesus, she walked away with something different.
Something new.
And it all started with a conversation she wasn’t supposed to have.
Jesus asked her for a drink. And she responded with surprise:
“Why are you, a Jew, asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?”
They weren’t supposed to talk.
Different histories. Different people. Different expectations.
But this moment broke all the rules.
It was radical in its simplicity because Jesus wasn’t just crossing cultural lines.
He was breaking spiritual expectations.
She thought she was unqualified. Overlooked. Bound by her reputation.
But He saw her as chosen. Worthy. Ready.
And Jesus didn’t just see her.
He invited her into something new.
“If you only knew the gift God has for you and who you are speaking to,” He said,
“you would ask me, and I would give you living water.” — John 4:10
She responded from what she knew.
Jacob’s well. Her ancestors. The safety of tradition.
But Jesus was offering her something she couldn’t yet comprehend.
A new thing.
A new way.
A better well.
I’m in a season like that.
Where I have to acknowledge - honestly and painfully - that what was, while beautiful and formative, is no longer where God is asking me to draw from.
Where He’s asking me to draw from now…
It’s not for the girl I used to be.
It’s for the woman I’ve grown into.
Closer to Him.
More honest with myself.
More rooted in truth than performance.
The old thing was good.
It worked.
It comforted.
It held me through a time when I needed it.
But I can feel the shift.
And to be honest?
That shift has scared me.
Because what if the new thing doesn’t feel as rich?
What if it doesn’t carry the same fruit?
What if it doesn't hold me the same way?
Here’s what I’m learning:
Clinging to the old is a quiet way of protecting myself from disappointment.
But it also keeps me from receiving the fullness of what God is doing now.
So I’m letting myself grieve what was - but I won’t idolize it.
I’m honoring the story - but I’m not building a home in it.
And I’m learning to release the need to compare, so I don’t rob the new thing of the attention it deserves.
God says in Isaiah 43:19,
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
But before that, He says:
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.” (v.2)
“You are precious and honored in my sight.” (v.4)
“When I act, who can reverse it?” (v.13)
So this isn’t just about perceiving the new thing.
It’s about trusting it.
Can I trust that God is in the transition?
Can I stop resisting the season He’s ushering in?
Can I trust Him even when it’s unfamiliar?
If I’m honest, this new thing feels like a road not yet striped.
No markers. No shoulder lines. Just open, unpaved ground.
I want guardrails.
I want instructions.
I want a plan I can tweak and optimize.
But instead, I’m being handed:
Faith.
Surrender.
An opportunity to see and experience His redemptive nature up close.
It’s scary.
It’s freeing.
It’s just uncertain enough to make me pay attention.
There are things I’ve had to let go of - things that shaped my identity.
Mistakes I made in exhaustion.
Decisions I’d undo with the clarity I have now.
But God isn’t holding me hostage to my history.
The redemptive nature of His love means I can walk forward without shame.
It means I can enter into the new, not because I earned it, but because He’s faithful.
Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting.
It doesn’t erase the wisdom, the scars, the boundaries I’ve learned to honor.
But it does mean this:
I don’t live there anymore.
So where am I now?
Still learning.
Still holding tension.
Still in the middle of something God is shaping.
I trust the Lord.
I trust His plan.
And I trust that even when it doesn’t look like what I expected - He is always moving me forward.
I’m constantly surrendering what I want to cling to.
And the moment I stop pretending I’ve already let go
is the moment I finally start to receive.
So if you’re walking through something new
If it feels unfamiliar, unsteady, or unclear
If you’re tempted to go back to what you know
Come back to the well.
There’s still water here.
Still living.
Still flowing.
The same Jesus who met you in your last season
is the same Jesus who is calling you into this one.
But He won’t just give you what you came for -
He’ll give you what you didn’t even know you needed.
Let the old thing rest.
Let the new thing rise.
And walk forward - jar-free.