Last year was, without a doubt, one of the most difficult I’ve faced. It seemed like every step forward was met with two steps back. Moving to the family farm to care for Harvey, my father-in-law with dementia, was a decision rooted in love and necessity. It was a move that marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another, one filled with trials I hadn’t anticipated. Coupled with being laid off from my job, the weight of responsibility and uncertainty felt like an anchor pulling me deeper into uncharted waters.
Physically, mentally, and emotionally, I was stretched to my limits. My own battles with manic depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and dystonic spasms added layers of complexity to an already overwhelming situation. There were moments I felt like giving up, when the darkness threatened to consume every sliver of light. Grief compounded these struggles, as I mourned losses that felt too heavy to bear. The emotional toll of saying goodbye to Friends Kelly, Jason, Amber and Nathan, left a void in my heart that time has yet to fill.
Yet, even in those moments, there were glimmers of grace. I was reminded that life’s hardest seasons often bring the most profound lessons. They strip away pretense and force us to rely on something greater than ourselves. For me, that meant leaning on my faith more than ever, trusting in God’s promises even when His plan felt incomprehensible. The words of Job 13:15 echoed in my mind: “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.”
Still, as I looked ahead, there was not much to celebrate in the coming year. The trials of last year have not magically disappeared, and I feel like I keep sinking no matter how much I try to stay afloat. New Year’s Eve found me laying in my bed, shedding tears as I wondered what the next day would hold. I wasn’t worried about the year ahead—the weight of the moment felt too immediate, too heavy to see beyond.
There were also moments of gratitude. My wife, my steadfast partner for over 26 years, has been a constant source of strength and love. Her ability to stand beside me, even in the messiest of times, has been a reminder that I am not alone in this fight. And then there were the small blessings—the songs that soothed my soul, the quiet moments of reflection, and the prayers of friends who truly cared.
Looking ahead to this year, the challenges remain. The path forward feels uncertain, and the weight of the past year still lingers heavily on my shoulders. But I’m learning to embrace the crawl. Each small, painful movement forward is a testament to resilience—a reminder that I’m still here, still fighting.
This year, I’m not setting lofty resolutions or crafting an idealistic vision of what 2025 should look like. Instead, I’m focusing on survival and grace—on finding beauty in the small victories and trusting that brighter days are ahead, even if I can’t yet see them. My hope is not rooted in circumstances but in the assurance that I am held by a God who sees the bigger picture.
To anyone else who feels like they’re crawling into this year, know that you’re not alone. Life’s valleys are deep and often isolating, but they don’t last forever. We’ll get through this, one painful inch at a time. And maybe, just maybe, this year will surprise us in ways we never expected. Until then, let’s hold on to hope, lean on each other, and keep moving forward, however slowly. Crawling is still progress I guess feeling like it is with one arm and on leg.
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