2025: What Remained... 

January 1, 2026

2025 is over now.

Not in the dramatic way we imagine endings, but quietly—like a door closing without a sound. And standing here at the beginning of 2026, I can see more clearly what that year took from me… and what it left behind.

2025 was clarifying.

It stripped away what I relied on to feel secure. It challenged the parts of me that equated movement with obedience and results with faithfulness. There were moments when progress slowed, plans unraveled, and the familiar markers of “success” stopped working the way they used to.

And in that slowing, something deeper surfaced.

There were decisions that looked right on paper but felt wrong in prayer. Moments when choosing peace meant letting go of being understood. Seasons where waiting cost more than acting ever had. I learned that faith doesn’t always announce itself loudly—sometimes it shows up as restraint, as silence, as the willingness to stay present when nothing is resolving yet.

There was grief in 2025. Not always the kind that demands attention, but the quiet grief of release. Letting go of expectations I once carried. Of timelines I had prayed into place. Of versions of myself that were useful for a season but no longer necessary.

And still—there was light.

Not the kind that erases uncertainty, but the kind that makes it bearable. Light that appeared in small obediences, in unseen integrity, in learning that rest is not something you earn after finishing, but something you practice because you trust God enough to stop.

By the time 2025 ended, I wasn’t left with neat conclusions. I was left with depth. With humility. With a clearer sense that formation matters more than forward motion, and that faith is often less about confidence and more about willingness.

As I step into 2026, I’m not carrying resolutions as much as I’m carrying clarity.

Clarity about what matters.
Clarity about what can be released.
Clarity about the kind of life that can only be built slowly, honestly, and with God at the center.

2025 is finished.
But what it formed in me is not.

And that feels like a beginning.