The Sweetness of Rosh Hashanah
The table is set with round loaves of challah, their spirals symbolizing the circle of time. Children dip slices of apple into golden honey, giggling as the sweetness drips down their chins. The air carries the sharp, ancient cry of the shofar—its blast echoing across centuries, calling hearts to attention. And then comes the quiet: a sacred rest, a holy hush, as families gather for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.
I’m not Jewish, and until recently I’d never given much thought to what this holiday means. But I’ve found myself helped by pausing to notice the heart behind this tradition. Exploring sacraments and rituals from across the family of faith has become one of the ways I experiment in my devotional life—because sometimes the very practices outside my normal rhythm point me back to God in new ways.
This festival, observed from sundown on September 22 to nightfall on the 24th this year, is more than a change of calendar. It is a season of introspection and repentance, of resolving to turn again toward God, of trusting Him for sweetness in the year ahead. The apple and honey remind us that He is good. The shofar announces that He is present. And the day of rest declares that He is Lord over all seasons.
A Tender New Beginning
As I’ve reflected on Rosh Hashanah this year, its timing feels especially tender. On September 24—just as the holiday ends—Brandon and I will step away for a few days to celebrate our 31st wedding anniversary. Thirty-one years of walking side by side, marked by joys and sorrows, ordinary days and extraordinary grace. But unlike past anniversaries, this one feels like more than a milestone. It feels like a beginning.
Because this year, our life together isn’t simply marked by transition—it is beginning with it. I’ve stepped away from my longtime role in tourism and into a new chapter of Beneath the Fig Tree, creative work, and park life. I’m rearranging my rhythms to align with this new call. And while I’m tempted to look ahead with nervousness about what I don’t yet see, I sense God’s whisper: “This is not an ending—it is the start of a new day.”
A New Day of Destiny
The words of Song of Songs 2 have been echoing in my heart:
“Can you not discern this new day of destiny breaking forth around you? The early signs of my purposes and plans are bursting forth. The season has changed, the bondage of your barren winter has ended, and the season of hiding is over.”(Song of Songs 2:13, TPT)
That phrase—a new day of destiny—stirs me. It reminds me that God doesn’t measure time the way we do. He doesn’t wait for January 1 to begin something fresh. He doesn’t need a round-number anniversary or a milestone birthday. He moves in His own rhythm, and His mercies are new every morning.
God’s Invitation in Every Season
I think that’s why Rosh Hashanah speaks so deeply this year. It arrives in the turning of the seasons, when leaves are preparing to let go, when the earth is winding down from harvest, when our hearts naturally bend toward reflection. And into that moment comes God’s invitation: release what has been, repent where you’ve wandered, resolve to walk with Me again, and receive the sweetness I have for you.
Friend, maybe you’re in a season of shifting, too. Maybe something old is closing, or something new is just barely sprouting. Maybe you feel the tension of both at once. Hear this: God is not late. His timing is not random. He delights in new beginnings—whether they come wrapped in honey on a holy day or in the ordinary Tuesday morning when you simply say yes to Him again.
The shofar still sounds: Wake up. Pay attention. God is doing a new thing.
The apples and honey still remind: Taste and see. His goodness is real.
The Word still sings: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)
And perhaps, like me, you’ll discover that even in seasons of uncertainty, God’s voice is steady, His timing is kind, and His mercies arrive right on schedule—new every morning.
Cultivations
For the Heart
Where is God inviting you to release something old and receive something new? What “new day of destiny” might be breaking forth in your life right now?
For the Spirit
Lord, thank You that Your mercies are new every morning. Thank You for the ways You weave new beginnings into our ordinary days and sacred seasons. Help me hear the sound of Your call, release what I no longer need to carry, and step into the sweetness of the new things You are planting.
For the Journey
This week, choose a tangible act to remind yourself of God’s invitation to new beginnings. Taste something sweet—apples dipped in honey, a spoonful of jam, even a favorite candy. As you savor it, pray: “Lord, thank You for the sweetness of this new day with You.” Let the taste linger as a symbol of His goodness and His faithful new beginnings.
