December has arrived again — that magical time of twinkling lights, unrealistic holiday expectations, and the universal ritual of pretending we have our lives together while simultaneously forgetting where we left our car keys. If there’s one month that forces us to pause, it’s this one. Not because we’re suddenly wise, but because even the calendar seems to whisper, “Look back. Just… look.”

And so, as we edge toward the finish line of another year, I find myself doing exactly that: looking. Not with the polished optimism of someone who mastered life this year (I didn’t), nor with the melodrama of someone whose world fell apart (it didn’t). But with the quiet honesty that comes from realizing:

It was a year of light.
It was a year of shadows.
And somehow, grace slipped through both.

The Cracks I Didn’t Ask For

Let’s start with the cracks — because if you’ve been here long enough, you know this space isn’t about the curated highlight reel. It’s about the places where things felt stretched, pressured, imperfect, or flat-out confusing.

This year had several of those.

Trying to fulfill my role at the company without losing my sanity in the swirl of decisions, tasks, unexpected issues, and the occasional crisis disguised as “just a small detail.” And then balancing the cattle ranch — because one demanding job clearly wasn’t enough; I also chose a life where cows depend on me. A decision I question when the workload increases… and fall back in love with the second I’m surrounded by open land, fresh air, and stubborn animals who somehow make it all worth it.

Then there’s our school foundation — a calling so important it warms my heart. Trying to increase scholarship percentages while keeping the budget intact should honestly count as an Olympic sport. And yes, it’s beautiful work. But beauty doesn’t make anything easy, cheap, or convenient.

Some cracks came simply from being human:

• Feeling overwhelmed.
• Doubting decisions.
• Realizing I cannot multiply myself, even though the to-do list keeps trying to.
• Moments when I wondered, “Is this supposed to be this hard, or am I just uniquely dramatic?”

And then there was my spiritual life — the part of me that I assumed would instantly become perfect once I “found my way back to Jesus.” Spoiler: it didn’t.

Old habits did not magically disappear.
Discipline did not fall from the sky.

There were days when reading the Bible felt hard, when prayer felt distant, or when I was simply too tired, too busy, or too distracted.

Some spiritual battles were quiet, internal, subtle — and exhausting.

Finding Jesus again didn’t make me sin-free. It made me aware. It made me start over. It made me notice what was happening inside, even when I didn’t want to.

It wasn’t a terrible year.
It wasn’t the best year.
It was a real year — and real is where the cracks show.

Where the Light Slipped In Anyway

But then, almost unfairly, grace kept showing up.

Not the flashing-lights kind of comfort. More the quiet assurance that whispers, ‘I’m walking with you. You’re not carrying this alone.’” The kind of reminder that can only come from a God who doesn’t leave when things get complicated.

There were unexpected breakthroughs at work — the kind where something finally clicks after months of pushing. People who stepped up. Moments when carrying responsibility felt less like dragging a mountain and more like walking beside good people.

The ranch had its victories too — small wins, steady progress, healthier cycles, and a growing sense that even though I’m still learning, I’m not learning alone. I found a great team, strong advisors, and mentors. They help me grow in this field. And honestly? I’m looking forward to what next year brings.

And the school… oh, the school. That’s where grace showed up with neon signs:

• A story from a student.
• A grateful parent.
• A reminder that education changes lives in ways spreadsheets will never measure.

The kind of reminder that makes you breathe and think, “Yes. This is worth everything.”

Grace didn’t stop there.

This year, I had the privilege of working with organizations serving people battling addiction, the homeless, and others society often overlooks. They are often in my mind. They marked me. They taught me. They reminded me that gratitude is not abstract — it has faces, names, and stories.

They reminded me that in business, I should never overlook people who feel invisible elsewhere.

And then there were the simple moments:

• A quiet morning.
• A verse that hit at exactly the right time.
• A conversation that reshaped a whole week.
• A trip that let my mind stretch and rest at the same time.

Grace arrived in whispers, in surprises, in the in-between spaces.
It always does.

And I’m grateful — for deepened friendships, for new ones, for the people who let me ramble nonstop without running away. For my church, my spiritual family — the worship, the sermons, the smiles, the greetings that somehow refill my soul enough to start another week.

I am beyond grateful for family, health, peace. The list could go on and on. We are blessed — not because we earned it, but because grace insists on meeting us anyway.

Looking Ahead — With Hope, Not Pressure

I’m not entering next year with a list of 47 goals.

I’m entering with a simple posture:

• To let God set the pace — to follow Him with humility, remembering He holds the reins of my life.
• To surround myself with people who want to grow together.
• To be present when someone needs me — not as a chore, but as a privilege.
• To make space for reflection, for listening, for noticing.

If grace found its way through the cracks this year, I’m trusting it will do the same next year — maybe even more.

An Invitation

Maybe your year also held both light and shadows.
Maybe you had cracks you didn’t plan on.
Maybe you’ve wondered if you’re behind, off track, or just tired.

If so, here’s my encouragement:

Look again.
Pay attention.

Grace might be showing up in the very place you thought was empty.

Because even through the cracks, the light always finds a way.