everything i built stopped working, almost like… it was a divine plan

it took escaping to a cabin in the woods to really understand what was happening

i don’t know if you’ve ever been in a season where everything stops working the way it used to—your strategies, your momentum, your identity, your plans. but i have. and let me tell you, it’s not cute.

the summer of 2024 was filled with disruption. everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

life, relationships, friendships, work, dreams—

it’s like all at once, everything decided to break down and leave me stuck and stranded on the side of the road with no AAA to call and rescue me.

the breakdown led to depression— the kind of depression that makes you wonder, “what is the point of all this?” and, “why is this the human experience? because it sucks.”

when the breakdown became a revolution

after weeks of crying in bed with a box of kleenex and nothing but my thoughts,
i decided: enough was enough.

the depression led to a revolution— the kind of revolution where i was no longer okay being depressed, content, or settling. if God promised life would be better than i imagined, i wanted to experience that.

so, i did the only thing i knew to do: i crawled out of bed and started walking around my neighborhood—getting some vitamin D, and taking my problems, aches, frustrations, and disappointment to Jesus—knowing He’s the only one who could fix it.

by the time october rolled around, i was in a better headspace.

but i knew: things were never going to go back to how they were.
they couldn’t.

a revolution had just happened. meaning: the old ways of thinking, coping, striving, and surviving had been overthrown. the version of me that once ran the show was no longer in power. a quiet but undeniable coup had taken place in my soul—and even though the world around me looked the same, i wasn’t the same. i couldn’t be.

a cabin, a conversation, and the truth i didn’t want to face

at the end of the month, i found myself in a cabin in the woods with three of my best friends.

it had been a year since we were all together—and that first night, we shared our gps: where we were in life, where we felt we were going.

we were all in sync.

which made sense—when we met, we found each other in a similar season. and here we were, a decade later, experiencing synchronicity again.

as one of the girls shared, she admitted she didn’t feel connected to her work anymore.
everything that used to work for her had stopped working. we sat across from each other, candles flickering in the cabin. and i looked at her and said: “you can’t bring an old thing into the new thing God is wanting to do in and through you. it’s time to let go so you can receive what’s next. it’s going to require courage—but you’re fully equipped to do it.”

moments later, she turned and asked me:
“what about you? don’t you think it’s time to let go of old things?”

in my spirit, i knew the truth: it was time to let go. time to evolve. time to release old ideas, efforts, and identities to make room for what was coming next.

but instead, i said:
“i think i just need to rework how i’m doing things.”

and i knew exactly what was happening—
i was calling her higher, while allowing myself to stay in old places out of comfort.

i had spent the last decade building my identity as an entrepreneur.
i had just launched a new brand that was bringing in passive income.

i wasn’t ready to shift.
it felt scary.
i hadn’t done it in over a decade.

and in that moment, i felt so called out.

i knew the words i spoke to her were also true for me—but everything in me resisted.

not again. please don’t make me shift again. haven’t i already reinvented myself enough?

why we resist the shift

looking back, i can see it so clearly now:
it wasn’t just fear.
it was resistance.

not because i didn’t trust God—but because i was tired.
tired of fighting for something. tired of starting over. tired of surrendering.
tired of becoming someone new when i’d finally gotten comfortable with who i was.

and isn’t that the tension with transition?

we know the old thing isn’t working.
we know something new is trying to break through.

but letting go of what’s familiar—even if it’s no longer fruitful—still feels like loss.

we don’t just fear the unknown.

we fear what it’ll cost us.

we fear becoming new again when we finally got good at being who we were.

most of us don’t resist transition because we hate change. we resist it because we’ve built our identity around who we’ve been. and when God invites us to become someone new, it feels like death.

because in some ways, it is.

transition is a humbling experience.
we have to give up comfort for the unknown.
safety for unpredictability.
clarity for trust.

we have to become beginners again.

we have to face the quiet fears:
“what will people think of me?”
“will they think i failed because i moved on?”

we have to confront truth with action—
and stop hiding behind the excuse of “waiting for the right timing.”

it’s one thing to feel called forward.
it’s another thing entirely to release what got you here.

and in that cabin, with the flicker of candlelight and the quiet conviction of my own words boomeranging back at me, i realized: i was still gripping the past version of me like a lifeline—even though God was nudging me forward, gently but firmly, like, “hey… it’s time.”

the death before the clarity

but here’s what i’m learning:
the death of one thing is always the seed for another.
the end is never just an ending.
it’s a beginning in disguise.

when the path doesn’t make sense

i’ll be honest—
while i trust God and what He’s doing,
it’s sometimes hard to understand how He’s doing it.

this transition hasn’t felt linear. it’s felt scattered. disconnected. a little all over the place.

He’s asking me to release an identity i’ve spent a decade building (designer),
step into one i’ve quietly carried for years (author),
and simultaneously—go back to something i thought i left behind (real estate).

and i keep asking:
how do these things connect?
how is this movement?
is this a pivot… or just whiplash?

but maybe it’s not chaos.
maybe it’s choreography.

a few weeks ago, while i was in tulsa, i hopped on a zoom call with my dear friend barbara—she’s older and wiser, and carries the presence of God so tangibly, you can feel it through a computer screen. when i was 22, she gave me a word i’ve held onto ever since.

that day, christa and i sat upstairs in her art room, soaking in her words.
and as barbara spoke, tears welled up in my eyes.

she said,
“sometimes when God is moving in your life, it feels like He’s taking you all over the place—
point A to point B to point C. nothing feels linear, nothing seems to connect.

but when those points finally come together,
they form angles.
they form shapes.
they form light.”

and then she said,
“when you step back, you see it.
it’s a star.”

christa and i immediately grabbed each other’s hands with tears in our eyes.
stars had already been significant on this trip.

and in that moment, it felt divine.

the beautiful thing about stars is—
they aren’t just decoration.

they’re symbols of brilliance, guidance, and divine promise.

biblically, stars have always marked covenant and calling:
– abraham was shown the stars as a picture of legacy and destiny
– the wise men followed a star to find Jesus—the fulfillment of hope
– daniel said those who lead many to righteousness will “shine like stars forever”

but before the shining comes the shaping.
before the clarity comes the constellation.

maybe this isn’t chaos—maybe it’s choreography

what i keep learning is: the transitions we walk through aren’t usually linear.

in fact, they rarely are.

most transitions feel like chaos while they’re happening.
they’re foggy. nonlinear. full of mixed signals and conflicting emotions.

even when you’re walking with God, it rarely feels like a clean, upward trajectory.

transitions loop. they stall. they stretch.
they ask you to let go before you understand what’s next.

and maybe…
you’re in the middle of a season like this too.
where nothing makes sense anymore.
where what used to work doesn’t.
where it feels like God is pulling you in a thousand directions—or even, backwards.
where you’re trying to obey, but the map is missing.

if that’s you, i just want to say:
you’re not crazy.
and you’re not off track.

most transitions feel like chaos while they’re happening.

it’s not that God is disorganized—
it’s that He’s doing something deeper than efficiency.

He’s forming you, not just forwarding you.

when you look at your life,
it might not look like a straight path.
but it’s not random.
it’s a constellation.

every seemingly disjointed step,
every thread God brings back into focus,
every open door that doesn’t “fit” the version of you people expect—
it’s part of something bigger He’s drawing.

because stars aren’t made with straight lines.
they’re made with points that seem unrelated—until you zoom out.

and suddenly, it’s not chaos anymore.
it’s alignment.

this is what alignment feels like

so if you’re in a season where everything feels blurry—
where your prayers feel quiet, and your progress feels invisible,
where nothing connects and everything feels out of order—

don’t rush through it.
don’t shame yourself for it.

you’re not lost.

you’re just in the middle of a star being formed.

transitions are not signs that something’s wrong.
they’re signs that something’s unfolding.

they’re normal. they’re healthy. they’re holy.

we were created to grow.
to evolve.
to become new conduits for what God is doing in the world.

and even when your spirit, mind, and body are craving security—
remember: God has your back.
He’s your source. your stability. your safety.

your job isn’t to cling to what feels safe.
your job is to become a vessel.
a living, breathing yes.

because you’re not just becoming a star for your own story—
you’re becoming a constellation in someone else’s.

a guiding light.
a glimpse of what it looks like to trust God through the unknown.

so keep walking.
keep listening.
keep surrendering.

and when it feels tempting to hold onto the old version of yourself—
the identity that used to work, the system that used to sustain you—

be brave enough to let go.
be brave enough to become.

because you were never meant to stay the same.

let God shape you.

trust Him in the unraveling.

walk by faith, not by sight. and step into the open invitation to experience the “immeasurably more” than all you could ask or imagine.

He’s not just building your future.
He’s building you.

you are being drawn into alignment.

and when you finally step back,
you’ll see it—

the light, the alignment, the constellation of it all.

and you’ll realize:
it was never chaos.
it was a calling all along.

xx lindsey eryn

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