Letting Go

Read

Philippians 3:13 “But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead…”

Think

There’s something about this week between Christmas and the New Year that feels suspended—like standing in a hallway between two rooms. One foot in what’s been, one foot in what’s next. And for a lot of us, that space brings questions. What do I need to carry with me? But maybe more importantly—what do I need to leave behind?

The apostle Paul writes in Philippians 3 that he hasn’t “arrived,” but he’s moving forward. And the first step in that process? “Forgetting what is behind…” That doesn’t mean erasing the past. It doesn’t mean pretending things didn’t happen. In Scripture, “forgetting” often means releasing something’s power over you—refusing to let it define your future.

That’s the invitation here: release what’s weighing you down so you can walk freely into what God has next.

Letting go is hard because we’re wired to hold on—especially to things that feel unresolved. The conversation you wish went differently. The year that didn’t meet your expectations. The mistakes you made. The pain someone caused. The fear that’s followed you longer than you expected. We carry these things quietly, thinking we’re managing them. But over time, they start managing us.

Paul wasn’t a stranger to regret. Before following Jesus, he had a past full of pride and violence. He persecuted Christians. He carried memories that could have paralyzed him with shame. But when Paul talks about forgetting what’s behind, he’s saying this: “I know my past, but it doesn’t hold me anymore. Christ does.”

Maybe this is the year you stop letting your worst moments define your story. Maybe it’s time to stop replaying that failure like a loop in your head. Maybe the thing holding you back isn’t your circumstances—it’s what you’re still holding onto in your soul.

Letting go isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s as quiet as a whispered prayer: “God, I give this to you again.” Sometimes it means forgiving someone who never apologized. Sometimes it means releasing a version of your life you thought you’d have by now. Sometimes it’s about surrendering the pressure to figure everything out before January 1st.

Letting go makes room. And when you release what God didn’t ask you to carry, you create space for what he has given: peace that guards your heart. Joy that defies circumstances. Hope that doesn’t depend on perfect conditions. The new thing God is doing often begins with a decision to open your hands.

If you’re not sure where to begin, ask: What’s taking up space in my heart that God never asked me to hold? It might be bitterness. Control. Fear of the unknown. Even good things—like dreams or goals—can become heavy if we grip them too tightly. God’s not asking you to ignore them, but to trust him with them.

There’s freedom in saying, “I don’t have to carry this anymore.” Not because it doesn’t matter—but because you weren’t meant to carry it alone. Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Rest starts when we release.

This isn’t just about relief—it’s about renewal. The more you let go of what’s behind, the more you can strain toward what’s ahead. That’s not striving in your own strength. That’s movement toward Jesus. It’s setting your eyes on what he is doing next instead of what you wish you could have changed.

Paul didn’t say he had it all together. But he had a direction: forward. And sometimes, faith means choosing that direction even when your emotions haven’t caught up yet.

You don’t have to wait for January 1st to walk in freedom. You can start right now. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting the lessons. It means releasing the weight. There’s a difference.

This week, give yourself permission to grieve what didn’t go as planned—but then ask God what he wants to give you instead. His mercies are new every morning. And as you make space, you might be surprised by what he fills it with.

Apply

Write down one thing from this past year you’re ready to release—regret, resentment, fear, control. Then, in prayer, give it to God. If it helps, tear up the paper afterward. Let the physical act remind you of a spiritual reality: you are free to let go.

Pray

Jesus, I don’t want to carry what you’ve already covered. Teach me how to let go of what’s weighing me down. Show me what I’ve been holding that I need to place in your hands. Help me move forward not with pressure, but with peace—trusting that your grace goes before me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.