I know what it feels like
to stand in a Red Sea moment.
You know the place.
Where you don’t know what to do.
You don’t know how you’re going to get through.
You don’t know what the next step even is.
And the air feels heavy.
Thick.
Quiet.
Like something is closing in.
In Exodus 14, this is exactly where they are.
The sea in front of them.
An army behind them.
No options.
No exits.
No control.
And Scripture says they were terrified.
Of course they were.
Because this is what Red Sea moments do—
they strip you of control
and force you to face what you cannot fix.
And then—
a way opens.
Not around it.
Not over it.
Not by removing it.
Through it.
“The Lord drove the sea back… and turned it into dry land.”
A path.
Right through the middle.
But don’t miss this—
The sea didn’t disappear.
The walls of water were still there.
Standing.
Towering.
Unpredictable.
And now they have to choose.
Step in…
or stay stuck.
Because a path means nothing
if you don’t walk it.
So they pick up everything.
Their families.
Their memories.
Their fear.
Their questions.
And they step into the middle of what should have destroyed them.
And it’s not safe.
Let’s just be honest about that.
We read it like it’s calm.
Like it’s peaceful.
Like it’s a Sunday school painting.
It wasn’t.
Walls of water on both sides.
An army still behind them.
Wind still blowing.
And every step forward carried tension.
Because they didn’t know how far it went.
They didn’t know how deep the water was.
They didn’t know how long they would have to walk like this.
They just knew—
Don’t drift.
Don’t go left.
Don’t go right.
Stay in the path.
Because outside of it…
is where you get overwhelmed.
And going back?
Not an option
Going back means surrender.
Going back means returning to what God just brought you out of.
And God didn’t open the sea
so you could reconsider Egypt.
He opened it
so you could leave it.
So you walk.
Step by step.
Breath by breath.
With questions you don’t have answers to.
“How long will this last?”
“When will this end?”
“What if this falls apart?”
You walk anyway.
Because forward is the only faithful direction left.
And then—
you reach the other side.
And here’s the part we don’t always talk about:
The sea is still there.
It closes behind you.
It swallows what was chasing you.
But it doesn’t erase what you just walked through.
It becomes a line.
A marker.
A dividing point in your life that says—
that was then… this is now.
You don’t go back there.
Not because you can’t remember it—
but because you know what it cost to walk through it.
Because going back won’t produce the same miracle.
God is not in the business
of reopening seas
so you can revisit old bondage.
He moves you forward.
Always forward.
And that Red Sea moment—
becomes something else.
Not a place of defeat.
But a place of definition.
Not where you lost.
But where God made a way.
And maybe this is the part we wrestle with:
You can have victory…
and still feel the weight of what you came through.
You can move forward…
and still remember the pressure.
You can be free…
and still see the water in your mind.
But you’re not there anymore.
You’re here.
The same God who opened the sea
is the one who told them in that moment:
“Do not be afraid. Stand firm… The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
(Exodus 14:13–14)
And then right after that—
“Why are you crying out to me? Tell the people to move on.”
(Exodus 14:15)
There it is.
Stand still…
and move forward.
Trust…
and walk.
Pray…
and step.
Because it is prayer
that opens the way.
And it is the absence of prayer
that leaves you standing on the shore
staring at what feels impossible.
So you walk.
Not because it feels safe.
Not because it makes sense.
Not because you have it all figured out.
You walk because God made a way.
And even now—
with pressure behind you
and uncertainty beside you—
you keep moving.
Because one day you’ll look back
at what felt like the end…
and realize—
that was the moment
that lead to your freedom.
phillipbrande.com 