Starting Again: When Life Interrupts the Work You Were Building

There’s a house in our neighborhood that sat unfinished for years.

It’s a beautiful home — grand, thoughtfully designed, overlooking a quiet pond. You can tell it was meant to be something special. But because it’s been left incomplete for so long, parts of it have begun to decay. The porches, once carefully built, started to rot. Recently, a truck pulled up and tore both the front and back porch away entirely.

It’s strange to walk past something so beautiful that was almost finished.

Every time I pass it, I wonder about the story behind it. Did the owners run out of money? Did something unexpected or tragic happen? Or was it something quieter — a shift in priorities, a season that simply changed? I don’t know. All I know is that the house still stands there, waiting to be brought back to life and completed.

It’s hard not to see ourselves in it.

How often are we building something — a habit, a rhythm, a version of ourselves — and we get so close… only to stop? Sometimes we give up. Sometimes life intervenes. Either way, things are left unfinished.

This has been true for me more times than I can count.

A few years ago, I was in a really good rhythm with lifting weights. I felt strong. My energy was improving. I could feel momentum building. Then I had a wisdom tooth surgery that went wrong, creating a hole in my sinuses. That led to another surgery and strict instructions not to lift anything for three months.

It felt like everything I had worked toward stalled overnight.

Then, a couple of years later, a friend and I decided to train for a half marathon. We were feeling great — until a seven-mile run ended with a fractured foot. Once again, everything stopped. Rest was mandatory. Progress paused. Frustration set in.

For a long time, these moments felt like failures. Like proof that I couldn’t stick with anything long enough to finish.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’m starting to see things differently.

Setbacks aren’t interruptions to life — they are part of life. What matters isn’t how many times we have to stop, but whether we’re willing to begin again. There is no shame in restarting. There is no moral failure in picking something back up after it’s been set down.

After our recent move — a major disruption layered on top of an already full life with five kids — I found it hard to jump right back into healthy rhythms. Everything felt scattered. Unsettled. And so I waited. I rested. I adjusted.

And now, I’m starting again.

This time with more grace. Less urgency. And a quiet confidence that I’ve been here before. I’ve learned that each time we restart, momentum often comes faster. Strength returns sooner. We’re not beginning from scratch — we’re beginning from experience.

I’m reminded of the way Scripture talks about pruning. Just when a tree is bearing fruit, it’s cut back. Not to destroy it, but to strengthen it. To make room for deeper roots and more abundant growth.

Maybe the pauses in our lives aren’t proof that something went wrong. Maybe they’re preparation. A clearing away of what can’t last so that what’s meant to grow can.

That unfinished house down the street isn’t ruined. It’s waiting. And so are we.

“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” — Philippians 1:6

“The Lord will restore what the years have taken.” — Joel 2:25

“Every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” — John 15:2

A Gentle Prayer

God,
for the places in our lives that feel unfinished,
for the rhythms we started and had to pause,
for the strength we once had and are learning to rebuild—
meet us here.

Give us grace to begin again without shame.
Patience for the slow work of becoming.
And trust that You are still at work, even in the waiting.

Where You have pruned, bring new growth.
Where momentum was lost, restore it gently.
And help us believe that nothing offered to You is ever wasted.

Amen.