By Ife J. Ibitayo
I flew back to Los Angeles just in time for New Year’s. I’d expected my week to be a fun-filled opportunity to celebrate the coming of 2025. Instead, it was eerily quiet. Los Angeles empties out in December with flocks of transplants flying home for the holidays. As I drove through the deserted streets of Los Angeles on New Year’s Eve, 2025 seemed to approach with barely a whisper, as if it was stuck under the thumb of a 2024 that was determined to overstay its welcome.
Or maybe that impression was just a reflection of my own heart. As others rang in new opportunities, I stared at the same old losses. 2024 was the year I lost my company, my health, and my confidence. As I grappled with how to reframe my last year and look forward to the next, the story of Moses came to mind.
Into the Wilderness
When I think of Moses, the images that come to my mind are the man who defeated Pharaoh, parted the Red Sea, and led the Israelites to the edge of the Promised Land. But Moses’s journey did not begin with leadership and victory but murder and retreat.
Moses grew up in the lavish splendor of Pharaoh’s household, while the rest of the Israelites lived under the Egyptians’ thumb in harsh slavery. But after several years, the sight of one of Moses’ brethren being abused by an Egyptian taskmaster triggered his indignation, and he could no longer turn a blind eye to their suffering. That same day he assassinated the Egyptian and literally buried the evidence (Exodus 2:11-12). But his actions earned him no goodwill with his blood family and destroyed his relationship with his adopted father. With nowhere left to turn, Moses fled into the wilderness.
Where is the Wilderness?
The wilderness is the place many of us will find ourselves after we make a mistake. It is the place we flee to when we’ve lost our sense of identity, which in Moses’ case was his status as son of the Egyptian king. This truth is exemplified by Moses naming his first son Gershom—meaning foreigner in Hebrew—and lamenting that he was a “foreigner in a foreign land” (Exodus 2:22).
The wilderness takes many forms. It can be a new environment—such as a new city, company, or commitment—that robs us of our sense of competence. Or it can be a new difficulty in the same place, like an unexpected bill or illness. The common thread is that the wilderness destabilizes us and reveals the core of the identity that we’ve built up over the years.
How Long Will We Remain in the Wilderness?
Secondly, the wilderness tends to be a place that we remain in for a while—a long, long while. Returning to Moses, he tended sheep for forty years in the wilderness. He got married and had children in the wilderness. He thought he was going to die in the wilderness.
One important reason why the wilderness tends to linger is that it is most frequently where God develops our character, and character takes a significant amount of time to inculcate.
Joseph was a slave in Egypt for thirteen years before he finally became prime minister. David was an outlaw for over a decade before he became king. God’s slow and steady work on our hearts is usually measured over the course of years rather than weeks.
What Will Bring Us Out of the Wilderness?
The last and probably most peculiar aspect of the wilderness is that God never intends for it to be a dead end but always a fresh start. It was in the wilderness that God appeared to Moses in a burning bush and commanded him to set the Israelites free.
Moses replied, “Who am I that should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt” (Exodus 3:11)? He responded this way because he believed that his journey was already over. The die had been cast. The race had already been forfeited. And nothing else remained except to let the ravaging desert wind take its course on his dying body.
But God said, “I will be with you” (Exodus 3:12). Having deconstructed his identity and reforged his character, God was now ready to empower Moses to accomplish the impossible. The goal that Moses had attempted to accomplish forty years ago was now in reach. But it required one final act—saying, “Yes.”
Conclusion
2024 may have been your wilderness. It may have been the year you hit rock bottom, then the floor gave out. It may have been where you reached the end of yourself. But where our strength fails is where God’s begins. God has a plan for each and every one of us in 2025, but we too must be willing to say, “Yes.”
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
(Isaiah 43:19)