There is a moment in the Exodus story that I cannot shake.
Not the miracle.
The seconds before it.
The Israelites stand at the edge of the Red Sea.
Behind them: Pharaoh. His armies. The thunder of hooves. The metallic rhythm of chariots. Dust rising into the air. The vibration of approaching captivity.
They can hear it.
They can feel it.
They know exactly what’s coming.
This is not abstract fear.
This is imminent annihilation.
They have mere seconds before being overtaken.
And I imagine them doing what we all do in moments of terror:
Looking over their shoulder.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Watching the thing they believe will destroy them draw closer.
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The Psychology of Looking Back
Fear trains us to monitor threat.
Our eyes become scanners.
Our nervous system becomes radar.
Our mind becomes a watchtower.
We look backward because danger once lived there.
Trauma, addiction, abuse, shame, failure, loss — these are our Pharaohs.
And even when we leave them, they echo.
So we keep checking.
Is it catching up?
Is this when it collapses?
Is this when everything falls apart?
We live suspended between escape and capture.
And the longer we stare backward, the harder it becomes to walk forward.
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Seconds Before Impact
I imagine the Israelites knowing — with absolute certainty — that they are about to die.
That in moments, swords will meet skin.
Chains will return to wrists.
Children will be ripped from arms.
Hope will be crushed.
Their fear is not irrational.
It is earned.
And yet — the sea opens.
Not gently.
Violently.
With force. With sound. With authority.
Water rips apart. Waves rise into walls. Life inside the ocean freezes mid-motion.
Time itself seems to suspend.
Because God exists outside of time.
And suddenly, the thing they thought would consume them becomes a corridor of deliverance.
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The Fear That Still Brushes Their Ankles
But here’s the part I can’t get over:
As they walk forward, I imagine water splashing against their ankles.
Mist clinging to their skin.
Spray hitting their calves.
The sound of crashing walls of ocean inches from their faces.
The fear isn’t gone.
It’s just restrained.
Held back by grace.
And isn’t that exactly how healing works?
The anxiety still whispers.
The memories still flicker.
The urges still surface.
The doubt still presses in.
But obedience holds it at bay long enough for us to move.
Not without fear — but through it.
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When What Chases You Is Finally Swallowed
Behind them, Pharaoh enters the sea.
And then — the water collapses.
Their greatest terror doesn’t just lose ground.
It disappears.
Swallowed whole.
The thing that defined their captivity is erased in a single, thunderous moment.
But that deliverance only happens because they kept walking.
Had they frozen…
Had they stayed paralyzed…
That same water would have become their grave.
The fear that became their pathway would have consumed them instead.
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The Harder Truth: Moses Never Entered the Promise
And then there’s Moses.
The deliverer.
The leader.
The obedient servant.
He makes it to the shore — but not into the Promised Land.
Because anger overtakes him.
Because frustration overrides obedience.
Because he strikes the rock instead of trusting God’s instruction.
And there’s something heartbreakingly human about that.
Sometimes we are delivered — but we don’t get to see the full promise.
Not because God is cruel.
But because choices have consequences.
Even faithful people falter.
Even obedient people stumble.
Even called leaders let emotion outrun trust.
And sometimes that costs us experiences we were meant to step into.
But hear this:
Moses still fulfilled his purpose.
He still led a nation to freedom.
He still parted seas.
He still changed history.
Even when he didn’t cross the final threshold.
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Obedience Is the Difference Between Passage and Paralysis
Some seasons require:
• letting go before we’re ready
• walking before we feel safe
• trusting before we understand
Because standing still isn’t neutral.
It’s dangerous.
Fear never stays contained forever.
It either becomes a pathway we move through — or a force that overtakes us.
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A Question Worth Sitting With
What’s chasing you right now?
What are you watching approach?
What fear feels close enough to touch?
And what would happen if, instead of looking back, you took the next step forward?
The water may still tremble.
Your ankles may still get wet.
Your heart may still pound.
But the sea doesn’t part for those who wait.
It parts for those who walk