2025 wasn't only heavy. It was also full of beauty!

2025 was quite the year. Not tidy. Not simple. Not linear. It’s the kind of year that feels like three lifetimes stacked on top of each other. There was suffering, joy, exhaustion, miracles, growth, and God’s fingerprints everywhere.

2025, stretched me in ways I never imagined. It was a year that held both the deepest valleys and the most breathtaking mountaintops.

This year my 11-year-old son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, and we came terrifyingly close to losing him. One moment I was lying in bed when I heard God tell me to take him to the hospital, and an hour later we were in a hospital room fighting for his life. The beeping monitors, the fear, the helplessness… those memories still sit close to the surface.

We spent a week in the hospital with him, learning a new language of numbers, needles, and nonstop vigilance. And then, unbelievably, I spent another week in the hospital myself when my body rejected my new stimulator battery, sending me into emergency surgery.

Two weeks. Two crises. Two reminders of how fragile and precious life really is.

Learning to live with T1D has been a heavy adjustment, one that has touched every part of our lives. It’s changed our rhythms and routines and stretched us in ways we never anticipated. At the same time, we’ve walked through several struggles with our other children, and I’ve continued my own journey of healing. Some days we were just surviving.

But in the middle of the medical chaos, God was doing something I didn’t expect.

When my body rejected the stimulator battery and it had to be abruptly removed, I was afraid that the awful condition it was treating, Occipital Neuralgia, would return. My 14-year old son told me not to worry, saying I just didn’t need the stimulator anymore, and while he may not have realized it, he was prophesying over me.

I was completely healed.

The pain I had carried for so long had been simply lifted. What felt like a setback was actually a setup for healing. A hidden mercy. A reminder that God can use even the most frightening moments to bring restoration.

2025 wasn’t only heavy. It was also full of beauty.

We went on a family cruise to the Virgin Islands, a much‑needed breath of joy in the middle of a hard year. My oldest son, who I homeschooled since he was in Kindergarten, graduated from high school and stepped into college at the school of his dreams. Watching him walk into this new season has been very hard for my Momma heart, but I couldn’t be more proud of him.

In ministry, 2025 was overflowing with moments that became a counterweight to the heaviness of the year. These were reminders that darkness doesn’t get the final word. That joy still rises. That God is always, always at work.

This year God gave me the vision for the Garden of Remembrance for Preborn Babies that will be on the property of the former abortion clinic where I had my abortion in 1999. This is such a sacred space, I could have never dreamed this up on my own. And then, in a way only He can, during our annual banquet, God provided every single dollar needed to build it. We broke ground just a few weeks ago. A dream became a plan, and a plan became reality.

We held our 10th weekend healing retreat, which create space for women to encounter truth, healing, and hope after abortion. I had the privilege of baptizing eleven people, including one of my best friends. My husband completed the men’s version of the Free Indeed Bible study. I was invited to speak across the country, and every time I stepped onto a stage, I was amazed all over again that God would use my life and my story to reach others.         

Honestly, all of this is why I haven’t written as much on my blog or social media this year. There were stretches when life felt too heavy and too full to capture in real time, and times when I just didn’t have the energy to put my thoughts into words. I’ve spent most of this year simply living, breathing, healing, and holding the pieces together.

But while I have been quieter, God has still been faithful. He has been teaching, sustaining, and weaving redemption through every high and low.

As I step into 2026, I’m choosing to walk slowly. To move intentionally. To create space for both growth and rest. I don’t want to rush past what God is teaching me or sprint into a new year out of habit. I’m carrying the lessons, the scars, the gratitude, and the hope as I walk into 2026 with open hands. I am trusting that the same God who sustained us through this extraordinary year will guide us into whatever comes next.

Here’s to healing.

Here’s to resilience.

Here’s to redemption.

Here’s to a new year, one we don’t take for granted!

Tori