As the calendar turns to a new year, I find myself standing at the intersection of what was and what will be. One foot rests in the past, where love and loss have shaped me, while the other hovers over the threshold of an unwritten future.
Life teeters here, where grief and gratitude meet. But in the delicate balance of what I simply carry and what I long to embrace, I gain my footing and remember the faithfulness of the One who beckons me onward.
A new year invites me into a landscape of fresh choices, its possibilities veiled by what I cannot yet know. But even in the face of uncertainty, there is a quiet invitation to trust the hand that deals the cards.
No longer content with the greyscale living that has characterized so many of my days, I choose technicolor living, instead: A decision to celebrate. To play. To serve. To love. To notice. To cast off the sackcloth that once wrapped me in mourning.
To chase joy is not to erase sorrow but to recognize that joy and sorrow often share the same space, holding hands in a beautiful, redemptive alchemy that transforms our brokenness into something of value.
Stepping into this new year with both feet, I resolve to dance in the rain rather than fear the storms that bring it. I vow to excavate for the beauty obscured among the ruins, searching for joy like hidden treasure. Understanding that it often hides in plain sight, I ask God for eyes to see, banking on Him to grant that request in spades.
He already has.
Grief has left its mark, but so, too, has grace. I carry both with me—a testament to where I have been and a promise of what is yet to come. I shift my focus from what broke me to the only One with the power to make me whole.
Life, with all its brokenness, can still be astonishingly beautiful. This, I know for sure.
I want so earnestly to be of use for the Kingdom, so I hand God a blank check, declaring to the One who knows me best and loves me most, “Father, You may help Yourself to my life.”
There is no greater, more trustworthy repository.
I don’t know what 2025 holds, but I trust implicitly the One who does.
Will it be happier? Hopefully.
Will God redeem it regardless? Absolutely.
May I be found faithful either way.
“Leave the broken, irreversible past in God’s hands, and step out into the invincible future with Him.”
~ 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬