Catch Your Tail
Catch Your Tail: How to Enter a New Season Lighter
Most of us step into a new year believing we’ve moved on—yet our emotions, wounds, and disappointments tell a different story. We’ve changed calendars, but not attachments. We’re present, but not fully participating. That’s what Scripture helps us name as a tail—the part of an old season we keep dragging into a new one.
The Book of Ruth is a masterclass in transition. Naomi leaves Bethlehem during famine and ends up in Moab—a place of survival but not alignment. What begins as a practical decision ends with profound loss. Pain doesn’t just wound her; it tries to rename her. Naomi becomes Mara—bitter. That’s what unresolved grief always attempts to do: turn a season into an identity.
But God doesn’t leave Naomi stuck. She hears a word—provision has returned. And sometimes, that’s all God gives us: not an explanation, just an invitation to return. Return to praise. Return to alignment. Return to trust.
On the road back, Naomi does something powerful—she releases Orpah. Not in anger. Not with bitterness. But with blessing. Orpah represents what was meaningful but not meant to continue. And too often, we exhaust ourselves trying to make seasonal things permanent.
Ruth, on the other hand, clings. Not out of convenience, but covenant. She attaches herself to purpose, promise, and lineage she cannot yet see. That choice changes everything.
When we stop dragging our tail—when we bless what left, release what’s misaligned, and hold tightly to what God assigned—God begins to work behind the scenes. Fields open. Favor appears. Handfuls are left on purpose. Redemption unfolds.
Your release isn’t just about peace.
It’s about protecting what God wants to birth through you. And when you return lighter, you discover you were never empty—only being positioned.
The Book of Ruth is a masterclass in transition. Naomi leaves Bethlehem during famine and ends up in Moab—a place of survival but not alignment. What begins as a practical decision ends with profound loss. Pain doesn’t just wound her; it tries to rename her. Naomi becomes Mara—bitter. That’s what unresolved grief always attempts to do: turn a season into an identity.
But God doesn’t leave Naomi stuck. She hears a word—provision has returned. And sometimes, that’s all God gives us: not an explanation, just an invitation to return. Return to praise. Return to alignment. Return to trust.
On the road back, Naomi does something powerful—she releases Orpah. Not in anger. Not with bitterness. But with blessing. Orpah represents what was meaningful but not meant to continue. And too often, we exhaust ourselves trying to make seasonal things permanent.
Ruth, on the other hand, clings. Not out of convenience, but covenant. She attaches herself to purpose, promise, and lineage she cannot yet see. That choice changes everything.
When we stop dragging our tail—when we bless what left, release what’s misaligned, and hold tightly to what God assigned—God begins to work behind the scenes. Fields open. Favor appears. Handfuls are left on purpose. Redemption unfolds.
Your release isn’t just about peace.
It’s about protecting what God wants to birth through you. And when you return lighter, you discover you were never empty—only being positioned.
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