Beginning again sounds hopeful — until it’s our turn to take the step.
That’s when fear shows up. Not always loud and dramatic, but quiet and persuasive. It whispers questions we struggle to answer: What if this doesn’t work? What if I fail again? What if I step forward and nothing is there to hold me?
At the heart of much of our hesitation is one simple reality: we are afraid of the unknown.
As we journey along the path of life and faith, there come moments when we stand at a crossroads. One path leads toward what is familiar, safe, and predictable. The other disappears into terrain we cannot see. We can feel the pull of the familiar — even when we know it no longer gives us life — simply because it is known.
Here Be Dragons
Medieval mapmakers had a phrase they sometimes wrote on the edges of their maps: Here Be Dragons. It marked the places where their knowledge ended and mystery began. Beyond that point lay uncertainty, danger, possibility.
We have those edges in our own lives. Seasons when the future is unclear, when the next step is hidden by fog, when we can no longer rely on old maps. And often, we imagine dragons waiting just beyond our line of sight.
But what if the unknown is not only a place of danger, but also a place of discovery?
The Gift Hidden in Uncertainty
We are often tempted to plan every step, to chart our course in advance, to secure certainty before we move. Yet life rarely unfolds according to our careful designs. As Peter Enns describes it, we encounter “uh-oh” moments — those disruptions that shake our familiar patterns of believing and thinking. In those moments, the life we thought we understood begins to unravel, and we are invited into deeper trust.
This is where the unexpected joy of not knowing begins.
When we loosen our grip on certainty, we make room for grace. When we stop insisting on control, we open space for surprise. We begin to see that not knowing is not the absence of God, but often the place where God does some of the most meaningful work in us.
Of course, stepping into the unknown can feel like walking blindfolded. It can stir fear and doubt. But faith has never been about having all the answers. Søren Kierkegaard called it a leap — not because we are reckless, but because we trust that we are not leaping alone. Faith is the quiet confidence that even when we cannot see the path, we are still being led.
Perhaps beginning again is less about conquering our fear and more about learning to walk alongside it. To name it. To acknowledge it. And then, gently, to take the next step anyway.
I remember a season when I sensed I was being invited into something new, but I couldn’t see how it would work. Every practical question seemed to shout “wait.” Every comfortable routine whispered “stay.” If I had waited until I felt completely certain, I would still be standing there. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t lacking clarity — I was afraid of stepping into a future I couldn’t control. The path only became visible once I started walking.
When the Path Opens
The Israelites knew something about this. Standing at the edge of the Red Sea, with Pharaoh’s army behind them and an impassable barrier before them, fear must have felt overwhelming. Some wanted to turn back to slavery simply because it was familiar. But in that moment of uncertainty, God made a way where there had been none.
The unknown did not destroy them. It became the path to freedom.
So when you find yourself at the edge of your own map — when the way forward is unclear and the old way no longer fits — remember that the words Here Be Dragons might also be read as Here Be Possibility.
Beginning again often means stepping into a place where you do not have all the answers. But you do not step there alone. Grace goes with you. Courage grows as you move. And sometimes, on the other side of what you feared most, you discover a deeper life than you could have planned.
So take a breath. Loosen your grip on certainty. And take one small step into the mystery.
You may just find that not knowing is where the real adventure begins.
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