Where Is God When I’m Struggling With Change?

Pastor Dennis Miller | February 8, 2026

Change is one of those things we all say we want—until it actually shows up at our front door.

Over the past year, I’ve had a lot of conversations with people who are navigating change of every kind. Some have moved. Some have started new jobs. Some have retired. Some have gotten married. Some have welcomed a baby. Others have experienced the deep ache of loss—losing a parent, a spouse, a relationship, or even a sense of stability they once had. Change can be exciting. It can be hopeful. But it can also be deeply unsettling.

That’s why, as we continue our journey through the book of Exodus, I keep coming back to this question: Where is God in the midst of change?

The Israelites knew change well. After 400 years of slavery, they longed for it. They prayed for it. They dreamed about it. And then, miraculously, God delivered them. Plagues. A parted Red Sea. Freedom at last. You would think they would be the most grateful people on the planet.

But that’s not what we see.

Instead, once they were in the wilderness, hungry and uncertain, they grumbled. They complained. They resisted. On more than one occasion, they even longed to go back to Egypt. That raises an uncomfortable but honest question: Why do we struggle with change so much—even when it’s the very thing we asked God for?

I think there are at least two reasons.

First, we tend to romanticize the past.

In Exodus 16, we read that the Israelites said to Moses and Aaron, “If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted.” In other words, At least back then we ate well. At least back then life felt predictable.

What they conveniently forgot was the brutality. The oppression. The endless brickmaking without straw. The loss of dignity and freedom. Somehow, in the discomfort of the present, the past started to look better than it really was.

We do the same thing.

We talk about the “good old days,” whether that’s a season of life, a relationship, a decade, or even a version of ourselves we miss. Nostalgia has a way of editing out the pain and highlighting only the pleasant parts. But when we look honestly, every era—every chapter of life—has its joys and its struggles.

I remember reading a book years ago titled The People We Never Were, which challenged the idea that certain decades were some moral or relational golden age. The truth is, every generation wrestles with brokenness, anxiety, and hardship. Life has always been complicated.

Even my own father used to remind us kids of that. He grew up without indoor plumbing. On cold winter mornings like this one, he’d say, “You don’t know how good you’ve got it.” And he was right. Going back wasn’t the answer.

When we romanticize the past, we often do it at the expense of recognizing what God is doing right now.

That leads to the second reason we struggle with change: we overlook the good in the present.

God heard the Israelites’ complaints, and in His mercy, He provided manna—daily bread from heaven. It was enough. It sustained them. It met their needs. And yet, they still complained. In the book of Numbers, they said, “We never see anything but this manna.”

Sound familiar?

We are remarkably good at focusing on what we don’t have instead of what we do. We compare ourselves to others. We assume someone else’s life is easier or more blessed. We tell ourselves, If I just had this job… this relationship… this level of success… then I’d be content.

I’ve lived that cycle myself. When I was 14, I begged my dad for a small motorcycle. I promised him I’d never want anything else again. I got it—and for a while, it felt like everything. Then something bigger and faster caught my eye. And the cycle continued. Contentment, it turns out, isn’t found in the next thing.

That’s why Scripture calls us to something radically different: gratitude.

The apostle Paul, reflecting on Israel’s wilderness experience, gives a clear warning—grumbling is not a harmless habit. And then he gives us a better way. “Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

We often ask, What is God’s will for my life? Here it is, plainly stated. Gratitude doesn’t deny pain. It doesn’t minimize struggle. But it anchors us in the truth that God is still present, still providing, still faithful—even when life feels unsettled.

And that brings me to the second anchor we need in seasons of change: cling to the rock.

Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 10 that the Israelites drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them—and that rock was Christ. Later, when Moses came down from Mount Sinai and saw the people worshiping a golden calf, he called out, “Whoever is for the Lord, come to me.” He was calling them back to their foundation.

Change exposes what we’re really standing on.

When fear rises, when the future feels uncertain, it’s tempting to cling to whatever feels familiar or controllable—money, success, relationships, even good things that slowly become ultimate things. Those are modern-day golden calves. They promise security but can’t deliver it.

Jesus tells a story about two builders. One builds on sand, the other on rock. The same storms hit both houses. The difference isn’t the storm—it’s the foundation.

When change comes—and it always does—we don’t avoid the storm by trusting Christ. But we are sustained through it.

In a world that shifts daily, Jesus remains the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is the unchanging rock beneath our feet.

I love the way Peyton Manning once described his priorities: faith first, then family, then everything else. Football mattered deeply to him, but it was never the foundation. And I love what he said most: “I just want my actions to speak louder.”

That’s my prayer for us—that in seasons of change, our lives would quietly, faithfully testify that we are anchored to something solid.

So wherever you find yourself today—in transition, in loss, in uncertainty—hear this: God has already gone before you into the wilderness. The same God who parts seas, sends manna, and brings water from rocks is with you now.

Let’s resist the pull of nostalgia. Let’s practice gratitude. And above all, let’s cling to the rock—Jesus Christ—because all other ground really is sinking sand.