What Was Forged in the Fire
- Melissa Saulnier
- Oct 14
- 3 min read
The old season wasn’t a mistake.
This is the first truth I must grasp as I stand at the threshold of something new. Whatever hardship I endured, whatever disappointment I faced, whatever seemed like wasted time or detoured destiny, none of it was accidental. The old season, with all its difficulties and delays, was a forge. And I was the metal being shaped within it.
Forges are not comfortable places. They’re hot, intense, and often painful. The blacksmith doesn’t apologize to the metal for the heat. He knows that without the fire, the metal remains brittle and useless. The flames aren’t punishment, they’re preparation. They’re the necessary process that transforms raw material into something strong enough to fulfill its purpose.
As I prepare to step into my new season, I must learn to look back at the old one with gratitude rather than nostalgia. There’s a critical difference between the two, and understanding it will determine whether I carry forward strength or sentimentality.
Gratitude vs. Nostalgia: Learning to Look Back Correctly
Nostalgia is the longing to return to how things were. It’s the selective memory that edits out the pain and highlights only the pleasant moments. Nostalgia says, “Those were the good old days,” and makes me want to recreate what was rather than step into what’s coming. It’s Lot’s wife turning back toward Sodom, unable to let go of the familiar even when it’s being destroyed. Nostalgia keeps me emotionally tethered to a season God has released me from.
Gratitude, on the other hand, honors what was without being imprisoned by it. Gratitude says, “That season served its purpose, and I’m thankful for what it produced in me.” It acknowledges both the gift and the cost. It recognizes that even the painful parts were purposeful. Gratitude allows me to carry forward the treasure from the old season without carrying the weight of it.
The Israelites faced this exact tension. Some looked back at Egypt with nostalgia, remembering the fish and cucumbers while conveniently forgetting the slavery and oppression. “We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost,” they complained, “also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic” (Numbers 11:5). They wanted to go back to what was comfortable, even though it had nearly destroyed them.
But others looked back with gratitude, not for Egypt itself, but for what God had done in bringing them out. They remembered the plagues that demonstrated God’s power, the Passover that marked them as His people, the Red Sea crossing that proved His faithfulness. They carried forward not a longing to return, but a testimony of who God had shown Himself to be.
The same choice stands before me now. I can look back with nostalgia, romanticizing the old season and resenting the discomfort of transition. Or I can look back with gratitude, recognizing that God was at work even in, especially in, the difficult parts, forging something in me that I’ll need for what’s ahead.
Gratitude asks better questions than nostalgia. Nostalgia asks, “Why did that season have to end?” Gratitude asks, “What did that season build in me?” Nostalgia focuses on what was lost. Gratitude focuses on what was gained. Nostalgia makes me a prisoner of my past. Gratitude makes me a student of it.
Daughters of Destiny
Melissa Saulnier
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