Transitions can feel like standing in a doorway between what was and what will be. They can be filled with excitement and trepidation, joy and grief, a longing for the known and a yearning for the new. In today’s reflection, I find myself in the midst of such a transition, surrounded by boxes, memories, and the tender work of letting go.
Every moment of our lives is a transition, really—a space between what has been and what is yet to come. We stand in the present moment, unable to return to the past or to see the future with perfect clarity. This is especially true during times of change: moving from one job to another, leaving a home, adjusting to new relationships or the absence of old ones. It’s a moment of not yet—and no longer.
In these uncertain spaces, there’s a temptation to rush backward to the safety of what we’ve known or to try to leap forward into what we hope will come. But the invitation is to be here now. To be fully present in the midst of the in-between.
I’ve been reminded of this in the simplest of tasks: sorting through thirty-three years of belongings, discovering books I no longer need, clothes I haven’t worn in decades. Letting go of what no longer serves is an act of release. In the Aramaic language of Jesus, the word for forgiveness—shabokan—means “release.” Letting go of old debts, old burdens, old ways of being. Release.
That’s what these transitions call for. Release of the need for certainty. Release of the weight of the past. And release of the illusion that we can control what is yet to come.
And yet, transitions are never easy. There are moments of deep sadness for what will no longer be, and moments of excitement for what might yet unfold. The rhythms of life I have come to know and love are changing. I don’t yet know what new rhythms will take their place.
But I trust this: that in the practice of letting go, in the choice to be fully present in this liminal space, there is possibility. There is room for growth, for discovery, for the unfolding of something new and beautiful.
My encouragement for you, dear reader, is to recognize where you are. Feel it. Name it. Write about it. Talk to a friend. Take a breath and check in with your heart. Don’t rush to the future or cling to the past. Let yourself be here now.
Set intentions, if that feels right. But don’t judge yourself harshly if you can’t live into them perfectly. Grace is essential in the in-between.
And please, above all else, remember this: you are infinitely precious and unconditionally loved for the gift you already are. Let that truth hold you steady in every season of transition.
A Closing Blessing
May you find courage in the spaces in between—
the thresholds of what was and what will be.
May the uncertainty of this season
become the fertile soil for new growth.
May you trust the wisdom of your own heart,
listening deeply to its quiet invitations.
May you release what no longer serves you
and gently cradle what matters most.
And in every moment—
in the familiar, in the unknown—
may you remember:
you are infinitely precious,
unconditionally loved,
and held in grace
just as you are.
Infinitely Precious 