As This Year Comes to a Close — Happy New Year’s Eve
As this year comes to a close, happy New Year’s Eve.
I truly hope your holidays held at least one moment of rest, a shared meal, a phone call, a laugh with someone you love, even if the season itself was complicated.
Tonight, as we stand on the edge of a new year, this is an invitation to look honestly at both the pits and the goodness of 2025, and to choose, by grace, to hold on.
Joseph and the Years That Felt Wasted
Some of us walked into 2025 the way Joseph walked into his teenage years—with a dream.
God gave Joseph visions of sheaves and stars bowing, glimpses of honor and responsibility that did not come from his own imagination. In much the same way, many of us began this year holding quiet promises: degrees to finish, ministries to build, relationships to restore, financial breathing room finally in sight.
But Joseph’s road to the promise was not a straight line, and neither was ours.
Before his dreams came true, Joseph met jealousy at home. He was stripped of his robe, thrown into a pit, sold into slavery, and later locked in a prison for something he did not do. This year has had its own pits and holding cells, some with real bars, others invisible, formed by grief, hospital machines, overdue bills, credit card statements that feel like chains, and anxiety that refuses to sleep.
In Potiphar’s house and in prison, Joseph continued to serve. He kept interpreting dreams. He kept naming God as the source of his wisdom, even when nothing around him seemed to resemble the promise. Pharaoh’s moment did not come quickly, but when it finally arrived, Joseph was ready, because God had been quietly training him in seasons that felt wasted.
Then came the famine.
The dreams Joseph interpreted became years of hunger across the region, and the same man who once sat in a pit became the one handing out grain to nations, and to the very family that betrayed him. Looking back, Joseph could say, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good… the saving of many lives” (Genesis 50:20). That sentence only makes sense after walking through chapters where nothing felt good at all.
Not every chapter in our lives ties up neatly. There are seasons when we cannot yet see how God will redeem the loss, heal the grief, or untangle the mess. Yet Joseph’s life stands as a witness that God’s faithfulness is not undone by jealousy, betrayal, prison, famine, or delay, and that God’s promises do not expire when the year does.
The Buried Seed and the Famine
Across cultures, there are stories of seeds that must disappear into dark ground before they can become food.
In some African and Caribbean tellings, a yam or cassava is planted in ordinary times and then forgotten—buried under seasons, storms, and footsteps. Above the soil, life continues. People laugh, work, argue, and worry. Then a drought comes, laughter fades, and empty pots begin to speak.
When the famine grows sharp enough, someone remembers the old planting. They return to the field with little hope, scrape away the cracked topsoil, and dig into the dark. To their surprise, what looked like loss has quietly changed. The buried piece has become a full-grown root, enough to feed a family, maybe even a village.
From the outside, the seed looked dead. Underground, unseen, something was breaking, rooting, expanding. The ground that felt like a grave became a pantry. What was buried in one season became bread in another.
Joseph’s pit years and prison years were like that seed. His life looked buried under betrayal and delay, but beneath the surface God was growing wisdom, humility, and resilience that would later feed people during famine.
In the same way, some of what 2025 buried in us, tears, prayers, quiet endurance, may be exactly what God uses to feed someone else’s hunger in a future we cannot yet see.
Almost Consumed, Still Walking
This has been a year of pits, holding cells, and famines.
Grief came. Financial pressure came. Hospital visits came. Credit card balances grew like shadows. Some days it felt like everything and everyone was against us.
And yet, even in this heavy year, there were flashes of goodness. Babies were born, reminding us that God is still writing new chapters in old stories. Lives were transformed. Addictions were broken. Minds were renewed. We watched friends graduate, launch businesses, pass exams, and cross finish lines they once only dreamed about.
These moments did not cancel the pain, but they whispered, God is still moving.
Lamentations tells us, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed… his compassions never fail.” Standing on the last day of the year, that verse does not erase funerals, diagnoses, or nights spent stretching groceries. It simply tells the truth: despite everything that tried to swallow us, we are still here—bruised, tired, grateful, and not consumed.
Psalm 23 reminds us that we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The valley is part of the path, but it is not our address. This year has felt like one long valley, emergency phone calls, anxiety at 3 a.m., and shadows that lingered. And still, God prepared tables: unexpected provision, unexpected joy, unexpected community.
Romans 8 names what we have lived, trouble, hardship, famine, danger, and then declares that none of it can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. The bars, the beeping machines, the unpaid bills all tried to preach abandonment. Grace preached a different sermon: Love has not let go.
Hold On
Like Joseph, we may be in our pit chapter. The promise may feel distant, even cruel. But the same God who stood with Joseph in the pit, the prison, and the palace stands with us on December 31.
So the word for the year’s end is simple, and costly: hold on.
Hold on when the numbers do not add up.
Hold on when the diagnosis is not what you prayed for.
Hold on when doors close and grief is fresh.
And also hold on when the good news comes.
Not because the next year will be easier, but because the One who promised is faithful beyond the calendar.
Prayer
Faithful God,
thank you that we were not consumed, even when we felt swallowed whole.
Thank you for walking with us through every valley of shadow.
Thank you that nothing, death, life, prison, debt, sickness, or despair, has separated us from your love.
You see every pit and every tear.
You also see every newborn cry, every reconciliation, every quiet miracle.
You remember every promise spoken over us, even the ones we are too tired to remember.
As we step into the new year, hold us when we feel like letting go.
Teach us to wait and trust like Joseph.
Use even these buried places to grow nourishment for others.
Open our eyes to your goodness along the way.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Call to Action
Name your pit, prison, and famine before God, honestly.
Write down three signs of God’s goodness you saw this year.
Recall one promise or glimpse of hope God has given you, and ask for grace to hold on.
If someone you know is in their own pit, share Joseph’s story and remind them: this chapter is not the whole book.
Grace Across Borders: Biblical Lessons and Global Legends 
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