Closing the Chapter on 2024
This is my final post of the year, and as I sit here, my heart is heavy with so many emotions. For our family, 2024 began and ended with the loss of two of our most beloved pets. On January 3, we said goodbye to our sweet Maltese, Cinderella. And just yesterday, on December 30, we had to let go of our silly, lovable bunny, George Gershwin. What we thought was a small issue turned out to be a tumor, and we made the heartbreaking decision to let him rest.
Our sweet mini-lop, George Gershwin.
My word for 2024 was resurrection. Yet, as I reflect, the year seemed to echo a different theme: death. It was as if life brought this truth into sharp focus through the loss of our dear companions. But it wasn’t just the loss of pets—it was a year filled with other kinds of endings.
There was the death of friendships that had run their course, the breaking of patterns and disciplines that no longer brought life, and the stripping away of facades to see people as they truly are. There was the death of our theater’s former identity, as we renamed and re-missioned Legacy Theater Company into The Seeing Place. And then there were the deaths of dreams, hopes, and visions—things I once clung to but had to release.
How does a year that was supposed to be about resurrection feel so much like crucifixion instead?
In his book Living the Resurrection: The Risen Christ in Everyday Life, Eugene Peterson quotes:
"Nietzsche pithily reminds us: ‘Only where graves are is there resurrection.’ We practice our death by giving up our will to live on our own terms. Only in that relinquishment or renunciation are we able to practice resurrection.”
Suddenly, 2024 makes sense to me.
The Lord led me to resurrection, but to live the life He desires—a life not lived on my own terms—some things had to die. Choosing to follow Jesus, not just as Savior but as Lord, means surrendering what no longer aligns with Him. It’s a relinquishment of control, a breaking away of the old to make way for the new.
And yet, there is grief in this process. There is pain in letting go of the things we once held so dear—the relationships, dreams, patterns, and even identities that felt like part of us.
But the beauty is found in this: grief leads to life.
We grieve, and we let go—not to be left empty, but to create space for the newness He promises. And through the tears, we begin to see glimpses of resurrection.
As I look to 2025, my word for the year is BEAUTY. After a year of letting go, I feel the Lord inviting me to turn my gaze toward Him—to behold His beauty even in the ashes of what was. My verse for the year, Psalm 27:4, captures this longing perfectly:
“One thing I ask from the LORD, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple.”
This verse reminds me that even in the midst of pain, grief, and surrender, God’s beauty remains constant. It comforts, restores, and reminds us of His goodness. Beauty is not the absence of brokenness but the presence of His glory shining through it.
As I step into 2025, I want to carry this truth with me:
Resurrection is born from graves, and beauty is revealed from the ashes of those graves (Isaiah 61:3).
While 2024 was a year of letting go, 2025 will be a year of looking up—to see the beauty of the Lord in every moment and to live a life that reflects His goodness and grace. ✨
