The Old Is Dead: How Good Can It Get? 🕊️Living Aligned in the New, One Step of Faith at a Time

I started praying a prayer that sounded simple.

“Father God, please show me how good it can get, in Jesus’ Name.”

And honey… He started answering.

But not the way I thought.

I thought maybe He would begin by changing what was around me.

More money.
More open doors.
More visible increase.
More answers.
More ease.
More signs that things were finally shifting.

And please hear me clearly — God Almighty is able to do all of that. He is not limited. He is not lacking. He is not struggling to provide.

But before He began showing me more around me, He began changing something within me.

He started changing how I think.
How I see.
How I perceive.
How I interpret.
How I respond.
How I live.

He started renewing my mind.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, the Holy Ghost reminded me of something I should have known, but had not been fully seeing:

“You have a good life.”

Not because everything is perfect.

Not because there are no challenges.

Not because I am not still believing God for provision, healing, direction, restoration, and answers.

But because God is good.

And if God is good, and He is present in my life, then my life is good because He is good.

That was my Selah.

That was the pause.

That was the moment God corrected the lens.

But here is what I am learning now:

Once God corrects how I see my life, He begins correcting how I live in it.

And that is where things started getting uncomfortable.

Because once the Holy Ghost reminded me that my life is good, He also began showing me the places where I was still living like it was not.

I was saying, “God is good,” but still bracing like something bad was always about to happen.

I was saying, “God is my Keeper,” but still trying to keep myself safe through control, distance, silence, and suspicion.

I was saying, “My life is good because God is good,” but still looking back at old seasons like something behind me had more life than what God was doing in front of me.

And that is when the correction came.

Not harsh.

But clear.

Quit looking back.

Not because the past did not matter.

Not because grief was not real.

Not because there were not good moments behind me.

But because I cannot live aligned while emotionally facing backward.

Jesus said:

“Remember Lot’s wife.”
Luke 17:32 KJV

That is a short verse, but it carries weight.

Lot’s wife was not just looking at a location. She was looking back at what God was bringing her out of. Her body may have been moving forward, but her heart was still turned backward.

And if we are not careful, we can do the same thing.

We can leave Egypt physically, but still miss it mentally.

We can be free, but still romanticize bondage.

We can step into the new, but still keep comparing it to the old.

And let’s be honest.

Sometimes the old looks better in memory than it actually was in reality.

The children of Israel did that too.

They remembered the food in Egypt, but forgot the slavery.

They remembered what they ate, but forgot what it cost them.

They remembered the flesh pots, but forgot the chains.

And sometimes, that is exactly what survival does.

Survival edits the past.

It says, “At least back then, I knew what to expect.”

“At least back then, I knew how to handle it.”

“At least back then, I had a system.”

“At least back then, I had skills for that kind of life.”

But familiarity is not always freedom.

And just because I know how to handle something does not mean I am assigned to stay in it.

That one right there had to sit with me.

Because if we have lived in survival long enough, survival becomes a skillset.

We learn how to brace.

How to scan.

How to do without.

How to keep moving while hurting.

How to expect disappointment.

How to protect ourselves.

How to read a room.

How to stay guarded.

How to keep from needing too much, asking too much, saying too much, feeling too much, or being seen too much.

And those skills may have helped us survive a former season.

But what helped me survive the old cannot govern me in the new.

Because the old is dead.

And I cannot live a resurrected life with a survival mindset.

And that is the part we do not always want to talk about.

We want new life.

But we do not always want death.

We want transformation.

But we still want to keep a few old responses nearby, just in case.

We want freedom.

But we still want access to the survival tools that made us feel safe.

But God did not design new life to come without death.

Jesus said:

“Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”
John 12:24 KJV

There it is.

Death before fruit.

Burial before increase.

Surrender before multiplication.

The seed cannot stay in its original form and become what it was created to produce.

It has to fall.

It has to be buried.

It has to die.

And if that is true in creation, why would it not also be true in us?

There are some mindsets that have to die.

Some reactions that have to die.

Some patterns that have to die.

Some attachments that have to die.

Some fears that have to die.

Some versions of us that have to die.

Not because we were worthless.

Not because that version of us did not survive real things.

Not because we should be ashamed of what we had to do to make it through.

But because that version was built for survival, not assignment.

And where God is taking us, survival cannot be the governor.

The old me knew how to survive.

But the new me must learn how to live.

That is why the mindset has to die.

Because if the old mindset stays alive, it will keep trying to interpret the new life through old language.

It will call peace suspicious.

It will call rest laziness.

It will call love unsafe.

It will call visibility danger.

It will call obedience risk.

It will call freedom unfamiliar.

It will call Egypt better.

But the old is dead.

And if the old is dead, there is nothing left for me to go back to.

I cannot go back to how I used to think.

I cannot go back to how I used to respond.

I cannot go back to how I used to speak.

I cannot go back to how I used to hide.

I cannot go back to how I used to protect myself from everything and everyone.

I cannot go back to living like the grave still has permission to give me instructions.

Because in Christ, the old has already been judged.

The old has already passed away.

The Word says:

“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
2 Corinthians 5:17 KJV

Old things are passed away.

Not put on pause.

Not saved for later.

Not waiting in the background in case the new gets uncomfortable.

Passed away.

Dead.

Gone.

Finished.

And now, God is teaching me how to live in what He has made new.

But living in the new can feel strange, when all your skills came from the version of you that died.

That is not something we always know how to explain.

We know God has made us new.

We know old things are passed away.

We know we cannot go back.

But sometimes, even after we know the old is dead, we realize something uncomfortable:

We still learned how to live from the old version.

We learned how to survive from her.

We learned how to protect ourselves from her.

We learned how to respond from her.

We learned how to prepare for disappointment from her.

We learned how to stay guarded from her.

We learned how to function while hurting from her.

So now, when God brings us into the new, there can be moments where we do not know what to think.

We do not know what to do.

We do not know what to say.

We do not even know how to be.

Because the version of us who knew how to handle the old life cannot come forward and govern the new one.

And that can feel unsettling.

Not because God is not working.

But because He is.

He is not just changing our circumstances.

He is changing our operating system.

He is renewing our mind.

The Word says:

“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind...”
Romans 12:2 KJV

That word “transformed” matters.

God is not teaching us how to decorate the old.

He is not helping us manage bondage better.

He is not giving us a prettier version of survival.

He is transforming us.

And transformation means the old way of thinking cannot remain in charge.

So yes, it may feel strange when peace no longer requires panic.

It may feel strange when rest no longer has to be earned.

It may feel strange when you do not have to explain yourself to everyone.

It may feel strange when you can speak truth without attacking.

It may feel strange when you can be seen without shrinking.

It may feel strange when you can love people without carrying what belongs to them.

It may feel strange when you mess up and instead of hiding from God, you run back to Him.

It may feel strange because the new life requires skills the old version of you did not have.

But that does not mean something is wrong.

It means God is training you.

The old me knew how to survive.

But the new me must learn how to live.

And I am learning that living in the new does not mean I always know exactly what to do next.

Sometimes living in the new simply means refusing to let the dead version of me give instructions to the woman God is raising up.

That reminds me of Peter in the boat.

The wind was contrary.
The waves were moving.
The disciples were troubled.
And Jesus came walking unto them on the sea.

The Word says:

“And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.”
Matthew 14:25 KJV

Now, Peter was a fisherman.

He knew boats.

He knew water.

He knew storms.

He knew what it was to be out there when the wind started acting up and the waves were no longer calm.

The boat was familiar to him.

It may have been uncomfortable, but it was familiar.

It may have been rocking, but it was still something he understood.

And sometimes, that is exactly how survival works.

It may not be peaceful.

It may not be healthy.

It may not even be what God has for us.

But at least we know how to function there.

At least we know how to brace there.

At least we know what role to play there.

At least we know what to expect there.

But just because we know how to handle something does not mean we are assigned to stay in it.

Peter knew the boat.

But Jesus was outside of it.

And when Peter said, “Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water,” Jesus answered with one word:

“Come.”
Matthew 14:29 KJV

One word.

No long explanation.

No five-step plan.

No promise that the wind would stop first.

No detailed instructions about where to place his feet.

Just:

Come.

And Peter had to decide whether he was going to stay with what he knew, or step toward Who he knew.

Because there is a difference.

The boat was what Peter knew.

Jesus was Who Peter knew.

And when Jesus said, “Come,” Peter stepped out of the boat.

He stepped out of the familiar.

He stepped out of the place where his natural skills made sense.

He stepped out of what had always helped him survive the water.

And he stepped onto a word.

Not just water.

A word.

Because the Word says:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
John 1:1 KJV

Jesus is the Word.

So when Jesus said, “Come,” Peter was not stepping out on empty sound.

He was stepping out on the authority of the One who spoke.

He could not naturally stand on water.

He could not stand on his experience.

He could not stand on the boat.

He could not stand on the storm becoming calm.

But he could stand on the Word.

And if Jesus says, “Come,” then our faith in Him transforms that word into a solid substance we can stand on.

The Word says:

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Hebrews 11:1 KJV

That is what faith does.

Faith gives substance to what God said before we can see how it will hold us.

The boat may be familiar.

But familiar is not always faith.

The boat may feel safer.

But safer is not always obedience.

And sometimes, living aligned in the new means stepping out of what we know, so we can walk toward Who we know.

One step.

One word.

One act of obedience.

One moment of faith at a time.

And if I am honest, this does not only apply to Peter.

It applies to me.

Because there are places where God has been saying, “Come,” and the boat still feels easier.

The boat may be quiet.

The boat may be hidden.

The boat may be familiar.

The boat may feel safer.

But if Jesus is calling me out of it, then staying in the boat is not wisdom.

It is resistance dressed like safety.

That one hurt a little bit.

Because sometimes we call it discernment when it is really fear.

Sometimes we call it timing when it is really hesitation.

Sometimes we call it wisdom when it is really self-protection.

Sometimes we say, “I am just waiting on the Lord,” when the truth is, the Lord has already spoken and we are waiting on courage.

Whew.

And no, this is not condemnation.

This is conviction.

There is a difference.

Condemnation pushes us away from God.

Conviction calls us back into alignment with God.

The Word says:

“There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus...”
Romans 8:1 KJV

So when the Holy Ghost convicts us, He is not trying to bury us under shame.

He is inviting us into agreement.

He is saying, “Daughter, this is not aligned. Come up from there. Come out of that boat. Come back into obedience.”

And sometimes, the Word we are called to release will feed us first.

That is how I know this is not just something I am writing for someone else.

This is something God is walking me through too.

Because I can write the devotional.

I can share the graphic.

I can post the quote.

I can encourage someone else to obey.

But when the Holy Ghost says, “Now read it aloud. Now speak the Word. Now let them hear what I placed in you,” suddenly I can feel the boat under my feet.

I can feel the old hesitation.

The old hiding.

The old fear of being seen.

The old concern about being misunderstood.

The old survival rule that says, “Stay quiet. Do not make too much noise. Do not be too visible. Do not step too far out.”

But the old is dead.

And I cannot keep letting a dead version of me give instructions to the woman God is raising up.

If Jesus says, “Come,” then my next step is not to negotiate with the boat.

My next step is to obey.

Not perfectly.

Not performatively.

Not trying to become someone I am not.

But faithfully.

One step of faith at a time.

So now, this is where I am.

The old is dead.

The old mindset is dead.

The old way of seeing is dead.

The old way of responding is dead.

The old way of hiding is dead.

The old way of running from God after failure is dead.

The old way of calling bondage better just because it was familiar is dead.

And no, I do not always know exactly how to live in this new version of my life.

There are still moments when I do not know what to think.

There are still moments when I do not know what to do.

There are still moments when I do not know what to say.

But I am learning that I do not need the dead version of me to teach me how to live.

I need God.

I need His Word.

I need the Holy Ghost.

I need the renewed mind.

I need the grace to obey one step at a time.

Because the old me knew how to survive.

But the new me must learn how to live.

And this is the good news: God does not make us new and then leave us to figure out the new life by ourselves.

He teaches us.

He corrects us.

He convicts us.

He restores us.

He trains us.

He brings us back into alignment.

And little by little, step by step, faith by faith, He teaches us how to live in what He has already made new.

So I am done romanticizing Egypt.

I am done staring at what God told me to leave.

I am done letting survival call the shots.

I am done letting fear dress itself up like wisdom.

I am done letting condemnation send me into hiding.

I am done letting the boat convince me that familiar is safer than obedience.

If Jesus says, “Come,” then my faith in Him can transform that word into a solid substance I can stand on.

And I may not know every step after that.

But I know Who called me.

I know Who keeps me.

I know Who walks with me.

I know Who makes all things new.

And because the old is dead, I do not have to keep living like it is still alive.

So yes, Father God —

Show me how good it can get.

Not just around me.

Within me.

Through me.

Before me.

And in every place where You are teaching me to live aligned in the new.

One step of faith at a time.

Spoken Prayer

Father God, in the Name of Jesus,

Thank You for making me new in Christ.

Thank You for opening my eyes and correcting how I see my life.

Thank You for reminding me that my life is good because You are good.

Now, Father, teach me how to live in what You have made new, in Jesus’ Name.

Let every old mindset die.

Let every old reaction die.

Let every old fear die.

Let every old attachment die.

Let every old survival pattern die.

Let every old way of hiding, striving, bracing, and looking back die.

I do not want to keep reaching for tools from a version of me that no longer lives.

I do not want to be governed by what You have already brought me out of.

I do not want to romanticize Egypt.

I do not want to stare at what You told me to leave.

I do not want to stay in the boat when Jesus is calling me to come.

Holy Ghost, renew my mind, in Jesus’ Name.

Correct my perception.

Sharpen my discernment.

Cleanse my motives.

Govern my mouth.

Restore my rest.

Teach me how to step out on faith.

Teach me how to move, speak, love, repent, obey, and live in alignment with You.

When I fall short, help me run to You and not away from You.

When conviction comes, help me receive it without condemnation.

When fear speaks, help me remember that You have not given me the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

When the old version of me tries to give instructions, remind me that the old is dead, and I belong to You.

Father, teach me how to live in the new, in Jesus’ Name.

Not performatively.

Not fearfully.

Not perfectly.

But faithfully.

One step of faith at a time.

And if Jesus says, “Come,” help me trust Him enough to step.

Because my faith is not in the water.

My faith is not in the boat.

My faith is not in my own ability.

My faith is in Jesus Christ, who spoke.

Thank You for bringing me back into alignment.

Thank You for not leaving me in survival.

Thank You for teaching me how to live.

Now Father God, please show me how good it can get.

Within me.

Through me.

Around me.

And in every place where You are making all things new.

In Jesus’ Name,

Amen.