There’s a lot of pressure this time of year to wrap things up neatly.
To summarize.
To evaluate.
To decide whether the year was… “good”, “hard”, “successful”, “wasted.”
BUT… before we turn the page, I want to pause.
Not to measure the year,
but to notice it.
Because not everything meaningful comes with a clear conclusion.
And not everything God does in us can be summed up in a list.
Some growth is quiet.
Some faithfulness goes unnoticed.
Some prayers are still mid-sentence.
That doesn’t mean the year lacked purpose.
And it also doesn’t mean that we stop listening, repenting, or responding — it simply means we trust God’s timing more than our own.
This year held things that stretched us, even if we didn’t have language for it at the time.
It held questions that didn’t get answered.
Obedience that didn’t feel dramatic.
Moments of showing up that no one applauded.
And still… God was present.
As I close this year, I’m realizing there are things I don’t need to carry with me into what’s next.
I don’t need to carry the pressure to explain everything.
I don’t need to carry guilt over what didn’t get finished.
I don’t need to carry comparison or the quiet belief that I should be further along by now.
What I do want to carry is trust.
Trust that God wastes nothing.
Trust that growth doesn’t require a highlight reel.
Trust that faithfulness, even quiet faithfulness, matters deeply to Him.
Scripture reminds us, “The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me.” (Psalm 138:8)
Not all at once.
Not on our timeline.
And not only in the moments that feel complete or successful.
But steadily — through obedience, through waiting, through the ordinary faithfulness of showing up again and again.
So before we turn the page, we release the need to summarize.
We loosen our grip on expectations we were never meant to carry.
And we rest in the truth that God is still working…even here, even now.
Not to stop growing.
Not to disengage.
But to acknowledge what God has already been quietly forming before we rush ahead.
No big ending.Just a gentle pause — to breathe, to trust, and to remember that God is not finished yet.
