This year has reminded me that goodness doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it barely whispers. It stands in the corners of the room while the louder pains take center stage. But when I slow down long enough to look back, I can still see it — steady, persistent, and undeniably present.
Yes, this has been a year marked by loss, grief, and the emotional debris that follows both. My dad’s death at the end of last year spilled its weight into the early months of this one. Then Daryl’s mom’s long decline brought its own heartache before she finally slipped away in September. Those aren’t small things. They don’t stay neatly contained in the past. They follow you, reshaping the landscape of your days as you try to keep moving forward.
But mixed into all of that were the unmistakable signs that life continues to give — sometimes quietly, sometimes exuberantly.
Ten years of marriage with Daryl. A decade of choosing each other every day.
Sully turning two, full of personality and joy and curiosity — a little spark of light who doesn’t know how much he brightens a room.
A week on the Kentucky Bourbon Trail with Scott, where friendship and laughter softened the year’s edges.
Refereeing games and discovering — maybe despite my own doubts — that I’m not half bad at it.
Another year of being highly effective in the classroom, doing work that matters with students who sometimes surprise me in the best ways.
And then the news that lifts everything to a different plane altogether: Lizzi is having another baby. A granddaughter this time. A new life, a new joy, a new chapter.
So yes — even in a year defined by struggle, the good was still there. Sometimes overshadowed, sometimes quiet, but always present. And the older I get, the more I see the truth in Romans 8:28. All things don’t magically become good. Many things are not good at all. But somehow, in ways I don’t always understand, God keeps working in the middle of it all — shaping, refining, and leading me toward the person He intends me to be.
My job is to keep loving Him, trusting Him, and staying aligned with His will as best I can. The rest — the weaving of good out of pain, beauty out of loss, purpose out of confusion — that’s His work.
And today, as I look back on this difficult, complicated year, I’m reminded that even when the road feels heavy, life is still full. And life is still good.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
