“How does a change in date change anything?”
This was the question I asked myself as I sat at my window today.
New Year’s Mass on 31st December had been joyful, festive, hopeful. But as the days unfolded, the glow of newness faded.
The projects I was to wrap up last month lay half-open on my desk. The to-do list had simply been carried over into 2026. My children needed the same reminders they needed last year.
And I am still the same old me.
An awkward place
I don’t feel like I am at the threshold of something new. I feel like I’m in the middle.
Of questions and answers.
Of losses, lessons, and joys.
With a flicker of hope.
So much happened in 2025.
My son began junior college. My older daughter leaned into her musical gifts. My youngest learned early lessons in friendship and fairness. There were laughter-filled family trips, noisy evenings spent playing Uno, and moments of quiet and togetherness.
But there were also seasons that were far harder than I’d expected. I fought with and for those I love. One particular struggle gnawed at me day and night as I wrestled with God, asking the classic “Why me, Lord?”
So many times, I came close to giving up.
I looked out at the foggy morning.
What an awkward place to be in, I thought. Thankful, yet weary. Running on what felt like half a tank of hope.
A blessing in the middle
The house was quiet as I sipped my chai and sat with my thoughts.
That’s when she came. My little sparrow friend who likes to perch on the window grill. Small, beautiful, and completely unconcerned about deadlines and lists.
As we watched each other in silence, I smiled at her, happy to share the stillness of the moment.
And softly, a line rose in my mind: You are worth more than many sparrows.
I turned it over in my mind, as memories floated in gently…
An early-morning accident that ended in scrapes, not broken bones
The unexpected gift of a blossoming music ministry
An injury that offered time to learn new skills
A friend’s text that brought comfort on a sleepless night
I wasn’t alone in the middle.
God was there. In the unfinished projects, the lonely morning road, the little victories, the heartache I couldn’t name, and the joys I couldn’t count.
Perhaps you’ve seen it too. His hand in unexpected places.
As I sat there remembering these graces, I began to recognize another hidden blessing that had been growing in the quiet soil of my heart over the past year.
In that uncomfortable middle where broken dreams meet blessings, I had learned to hold up both sorrow and joy to the Lord. To go to Him each time, not with tidy prayers or great enthusiasm, but just as I was. Frustrated or overjoyed. Crushed or relieved.
I had discovered that I could bring whatever I felt and cast it upon Him. The way my little one throws herself upon me, knowing she will be held.
If you’re hurting or grieving, lost or low on hope, or simply chugging along like I am, I pray you know this blessing too.
You don’t have to feel hopeful to come to Him. You don’t have to clean up the mess or push aside the disappointments.
Bring the gratitude with the grief.
Bring the confusion with the thanksgiving.
He’s not waiting for you at the finish line. He’s right there. In the middle of it all.
Go as you are.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted, saves those whose spirit is crushed.
Psalm 34:18 (NABRE)
In faith,
