My hands hovered over my laptop keyboard, trembling. I could blame it on the fact that it was past eleven in the morning and I’d only had coffee, but it was more likely due to the fear bubbling inside of me over what I was writing: my resignation letter.

I was quitting my job in journalism and moving onto something else. I just had no idea what that “something else” was going to be. 

My stomach flip-flopped with anxiety — not because I felt like it was the wrong decision, but because the great unknown always makes me feel a little sick. 

I’d been praying about resigning for at least six months. Or maybe a year. Or maybe a year and a half. I’d been praying about this decision for so long, I couldn’t remember when I first started. I was so terrified to make the wrong decision — terrified that if I quit my career, I would never find another. I was scared people would think I was making a mistake. I was scared God would stop providing for me.

I talked to a spiritual director about it. I journaled about it. I sought counsel from wise friends about it. I wanted God to give me a sign in the sky, spelled out with cumulus clouds, saying, “Here’s exactly what I think you should do.” 

The sign never came. Instead, God gave me a brain, good friends, prayer, the Holy Spirit, and a few sessions with a spiritual director. 

I took a deep breath before I sent the email, then clicked send, and listened as my computer made the whooshing sound it makes when an email goes off. Suddenly the career I had worked so hard for was about to change.

To my surprise, the world around me didn’t suddenly crash and burn when I sent off that email. In fact, the world remained quite intact. I remained sitting on my apartment balcony, as the birds kept chirping and the breeze kept blowing. I’d made a massive life change, and nothing fell apart. I felt a little nervous, but I also felt peace settle around me like a warm, freshly washed blanket.

We can change our minds, and God will remain the same. In Scripture, God is often compared to a rock or a fortress — a stunning mental image of steadiness, surety, and constancy. 

Psalm 71:3 says, “Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.”

Or Psalm 94:22, “But the Lord has become my stronghold, and my God the rock of my refuge.”

Or again in Psalm 62:2, “He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall never be shaken.”

Over and over, Scripture reminds us of God’s steadfastness. And in case you’re not into rock or fortress metaphors, here’s the same message even more clearly in the book of Hebrews: “Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever” (Hebrews13:8). 

We have permission to make changes in our lives because we serve a God who never changes. He will always remain faithful. You can change your job, your house, your hairstyle, or your opinion. For some of us, change is a welcome relief. For others, it’s terrifying. But like an unyielding rock in the middle of a storm, God is there through it all. 

When things are changing around us — whether because we chose them or because our circumstances determined those changes for us — we can lean on the Rock who is higher, steadier, and stronger than us. Our hope, reassurance, and strength to keep going is the unchanging promise that Jesus Christ will never change. He will always be the One we can cling to, trust in, and rely on.

Maybe today, you’re at a place where you know something needs to change. You feel it deep in your bones and sense God inviting you into it. But it’s hard to take that first step. I’d love to be a friend to you today and offer permission to take that first step forward. It’s okay to make a change. Permission to make a small change — or a big one — is yours. 

My final day at my job was last week. Even though resigning felt akin to leaping off a cliff, the spot I found myself landing was the Rock who is steady beside me. He had never left me alone.

When everything is changing, God never will.

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