Piecing Together the Past and Future

Threads of Growth, Heartbreak, and Hope in the Fabric of Life

Today is the first day of a new year. It’s a time when so many people make resolutions of things they want to change about themselves—habits they want to break, habits they want to create, vows to be healthier, kinder, more creative, and so on. It’s also a time for reflection, looking back at the previous year to consider where we may have fallen short, where we succeeded, what were the wins and experiences we don’t want to forget, while trying to forget some things that weren’t so great.

I suppose, in a way, that’s what this post is about for me. My intent here isn’t to inspire anyone or even to receive anything from anyone. I simply want to share a part of my story from the past year.

2024 was set to be my year! I had accepted a new call at a church in California—a position that better aligned with my gifts and talents for ministry. It also meant moving halfway across the country. Now, I’m no stranger to moving—some statistics say the average person moves 11 times in their life; I’ve already moved at least 14 times (maybe more…I can’t always remember everything).

In late January, the movers came and went, I loaded up my car with necessities and set out for the west coast. After attending a conference in St. Louis, I took my time driving to CA. I visited places I’d only seen in pictures and movies. I met online friends in real life, listened to a lot of podcasts, shed some tears, and discovered new music shared by a friend.

I arrived in California on February 1 and jumped straight into work. This has been such a wonderful place to grow professionally. I’ve been able to preach, teach, and try new approaches to existing practices. The congregation is incredibly open and welcoming—I’ve felt loved and embraced from day one. They’ve even encouraged and supported my schooling.

But in my personal life, things haven’t been as bright. I faced mysterious health issues, the loss of relationships, and intense loneliness.

The health issues were eventually resolved, though they remain a mystery. Loneliness ebbs and flows—it’s manageable most of the time but still unpleasant. The loss of relationship, while a part of life, has been particularly painful this time. I didn’t see it coming. Things were going well until I thought I was being ghosted. Eventually, I learned that he was dealing with personal struggles (which I won’t share to respect his privacy) that left him emotionally unavailable.

I’m sad, hurt, and, if I’m honest, angry. No one enters a relationship expecting it to end. Most breakups involve either visible signs or a mutual conversation. Neither happened here. It left me feeling discarded, as though I didn’t matter. This will take time to heal.

Sometimes, love hurts. Even with unanswered questions, I wouldn’t change the experience. I learned a lot about myself and what I truly want in a partner. I discovered new things, explored new places, and opened my eyes to a world of possibilities. I’m grateful for what I learned and received from him.

Healing will take time. Thankfully, I have a good therapist helping me process the pain. I have supportive friends who check in on me and a congregation filled with people who genuinely care. They’ve made it clear they will walk with me through both joys and sorrows.

This past year has been full of soaring highs and some of the darkest lows. Through it all, I’ve grown. I showed up even when I didn’t feel strong enough. I allowed myself to be vulnerable, even when others advised against it. I took risks—some succeeded, others didn’t. But I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t tried.

As I step into 2025, I am filled with hope.

• Hope to continue opening myself to love, even if it risks heartbreak.

• Hope to keep showing up, even when it’s hard.

• Hope to remain vulnerable, even when it’s scary.

• Hope to take risks, even if they end in failure.

• Hope to offer myself grace when things don’t go as planned.

I’ll leave you with A Blessing for the New Year by John O’Donohue.

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The gray window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colors,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the curragh of thought
And a stain of the ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.

May it be so.

Amen.

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