No Use Crying Over Wet Wood

I was standing on wet ground. Not just a little damp, saturated. I had set up camp there. All the materials, the wood, everything I would need to make a fire had been completely soaked. Rain, water, whatever it was — it didn't matter. Everything was drenched. Every piece of wood was useless.

And then my view shifted. I could see under the earth, as if the soil had been cut open in front of me. Even the ground beneath me was too wet to start a fire. There was no dry foundation anywhere.

I want you to sit with that image for a moment. Because some of you know exactly what that feels like.

You've been standing in the same place for a while now. You've gathered your materials — your plans, your relationships, your routines, your resources. You've done what you thought you were supposed to do. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. The rain came. Maybe it was loss. Maybe it was betrayal. Maybe it was a season that dragged on too long and soaked everything you had. And now you're standing in the middle of your camp, matches in hand, trying to start a fire with wood that can't burn.

Let me tell you what I was trying to do in that vision: I was trying to build an altar.

In the Bible, altars were places of encounter with God. They were where sacrifice was made, where worship happened, where covenants were established. Fire on the altar meant the offering was accepted. It meant God was present. It meant something was happening between heaven and earth. But you can't build an altar on soaked ground with waterlogged wood. The fire won't catch. The offering won't burn. And no amount of effort, tears, or determination is going to change the chemistry of what water has already ruined.

So what did God tell me to do?

Move forward.

Not go back and dry the wood out. Not sit and wait for the sun to fix what the storm broke. Not cry over the pile of wet lumber that used to be my plan. Move forward. Walk away from the camp and find dry ground. Start again.

And that is exactly what I did. I left everything behind. Every soaked piece of wood. Every waterlogged plan. I walked forward until my feet hit solid, dry earth. And there, on new ground, I started over.

The Hardest Part Isn't Starting Over — It's Letting Go

We talk about new beginnings like they're easy. Like it's just a matter of flipping a switch and suddenly you're refreshed and renewed. But the truth is, starting over is painful. Not because the new thing is hard, but because it means admitting that the old thing is done. Really done. Not "on pause." Not "under construction." Done. The wood is wet and it's not drying out.

Some of us are still standing in the rain, blowing on wet kindling, wondering why the fire won't start. And God is not asking you to try harder. He's asking you to walk away from it.

That sounds harsh. But it's actually mercy.

Because God doesn't waste your time. He doesn't leave you standing in a place that can't produce what you need. When He says move, it's because He's already prepared something ahead of you. He wouldn't tell you to leave unless there was somewhere to go. He wouldn't ask you to let go unless He had something better for your hands to hold.

What the Bible Says About Leaving It All Behind

If this idea makes you nervous — this idea of walking away from everything you've invested in — let me remind you that the Bible is full of people who had to do exactly that. And not just calmly and methodically. Some of them had to run.

Lot: Get Out Now — Don't Even Look Back

In Genesis 19, Lot was living in Sodom. He had a home. He had a life. He had accumulated what he thought was security. But God was about to destroy the entire city, and He sent two angels to get Lot and his family out. The instructions were urgent: Get up. Take your wife and daughters. Leave now. Don't stop. Don't look back. (Genesis 19:15–17)

There was no packing. No planning. No time to sell the house or tie up loose ends. Lot left with the clothes on his back and the people willing to walk with him. Everything else was left behind and consumed by fire.

And here's the hard part — his wife looked back. She turned around to glance at what she was leaving, and she became a pillar of salt. Jesus Himself referenced this moment in Luke 17:32 when He said simply, "Remember Lot's wife."

That warning is for you too. When God says move, don't turn around and stare at what He already told you to leave. The wet wood is behind you. Leave it there.

Elijah: Exhausted, Empty, and Fed by God Anyway

Then there's Elijah. This man had just called down fire from heaven — literal fire, on a soaking wet altar no less (1 Kings 18:38). He had experienced one of the greatest demonstrations of God's power recorded in Scripture. And then, within twenty-four hours, he received a death threat from Queen Jezebel, and he ran. He ran so far and so fast that he collapsed under a tree in the wilderness and asked God to let him die (1 Kings 19:4).

He had nothing. No food, no plan, no companion. He was depleted in every way — physically, emotionally, spiritually. He had left everything behind. And what did God do?

He sent an angel with bread and water. Twice. And then He told Elijah to eat, because the journey ahead was long. That meal sustained Elijah for forty days as he traveled to Mount Horeb — the mountain of God (1 Kings 19:7–8).

God didn't scold Elijah for running. He didn't lecture him for being afraid. He fed him. He let him rest. And then He gave him a new assignment.

If you're in the place of exhaustion, emptiness, or wondering if the fire you once carried has gone out — hear this: God is not angry at you for being tired. He's not disappointed that you ran. He's preparing provision ahead of you. You just have to keep walking forward to find it.

Building from Scratch: Two People Who Started with Nothing

Moving forward is one thing. Building something new from the rubble of what was? That takes a different kind of faith. Let me give you two examples.

Nehemiah and the Broken Wall

Nehemiah was living in Susa, serving as cupbearer to King Artaxerxes of Persia, when he received devastating news. The walls of Jerusalem — his ancestral city, the place that represented his identity, his heritage, and his people's covenant with God — were in ruins. The gates had been burned. The people living there were vulnerable, exposed, and ashamed (Nehemiah 1:3).

Nehemiah didn't just feel bad about it. He wept. He fasted. He prayed for four months. And then he did something that took extraordinary courage: he asked the king for permission to leave his comfortable, secure position and go rebuild a wall in a city he hadn't lived in, surrounded by enemies who didn't want it built.

And the king said yes.

When Nehemiah arrived in Jerusalem, he didn't make a big announcement. He didn't throw a rally. He rode out alone, at night, and surveyed the damage for himself (Nehemiah 2:12–16). He wanted to see the full scope of what was broken before he told anyone his plan. He was strategic. Prayerful. And when he was ready, he said to the people, "You see the trouble we are in: Jerusalem lies in ruins, and its gates have been burned with fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, and we will no longer be in disgrace" (Nehemiah 2:17).

The people said, "Let us start rebuilding." And they did.

They faced mockery. Their enemies said a fox could knock down what they were building. They faced threats of violence. They had to work with a tool in one hand and a weapon in the other (Nehemiah 4:17). But they kept building. In just 52 days, the wall was finished.

Brothers, some of you are looking at a wall that's been torn down. Maybe it's your family. Your finances. Your career. Your ministry. Your sense of purpose. And all you can see is rubble. But Nehemiah's story tells you something important: you don't need everything to be perfect to start building. You just need to start. Survey the damage honestly. Pray over it. Then pick up the first stone.

The enemies will talk. They always do. Build anyway.

Ruth and the Empty Field

Ruth was a Moabite woman — a foreigner, a widow, with no children, no income, and no social standing. Her husband was dead. Her brother-in-law was dead. Her father-in-law was dead. By every cultural standard of her time, she had nothing to offer and nowhere to go. Her mother-in-law Naomi told her to go back to Moab, back to her own people, back to her own gods. It was the logical thing to do.

But Ruth refused. She said the words that still echo through Scripture: "Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God" (Ruth 1:16).

She chose unfamiliar ground. She chose the God of Israel over the comfort of what she knew. And when she arrived in Bethlehem, she had absolutely nothing. She and Naomi were so poor that Ruth went out to glean — to pick up the leftover scraps of grain that harvesters dropped behind them. It was humbling, back-breaking, bottom-of-the-barrel survival work.

But God was in the field before Ruth ever got there.

She "happened" to glean in the field of Boaz, a relative of Naomi's late husband — a man of wealth, integrity, and kindness. Boaz noticed her. He protected her. He made sure extra grain was left for her on purpose (Ruth 2:16). And over time, what started as a widow picking up scraps became a love story, a redemption story, and a legacy that changed history. Ruth married Boaz. They had a son named Obed. Obed had a son named Jesse. Jesse had a son named David. And from David's line came Jesus Christ.

A broke, widowed, foreign woman gleaning leftovers in a field she didn't own became the great-grandmother of King David and part of the bloodline of the Messiah. She didn't start with resources. She didn't start with connections. She didn't start with a five-year plan. She started with faith and willingness, and look at her results.

Your starting over might feel like picking up scraps right now. Keep gleaning. God is already in the field ahead of you.

Don't Cry over Wet Wood

Let's come back to where we started. The vision. The soaked ground. The waterlogged wood.

Here's what I need you to understand: the wet wood is not your failure. The rain was not your punishment. Sometimes seasons just end. Sometimes what used to burn bright runs out of fuel. Sometimes God allows the rain to fall on your campsite — not to destroy you, but to redirect you. Because the fire He wants to build next is not supposed to be built there. It's supposed to be built somewhere you haven't walked to yet.

The Apostle Paul wrote, "Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13–14).

The prophet Isaiah recorded God's words: "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. 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 43:18–19).

And in Revelation 21:5, from His throne, God declared: "I am making everything new."

Everything. Not some things. Not just the convenient things. Everything. Including you. Including your altar. Including your fire.

So here is my encouragement to you today: stop blowing on wet wood. Stop trying to reignite what God has already allowed the rain to put out. Don't mourn what can no longer burn. Pick up your feet. Walk forward. The dry ground is ahead of you, and it's closer than you think.

When you get there, build a new altar. Lay down new wood. Strike a new match. And watch God send the fire.

"A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." — Psalm 51:17

• - Worshift

Worshift

Contact

Newsletter

info@worshift.org

813-730-3029

© 2026. All rights reserved.