Boxing Day, Battle Scars and Better Mercies.

Hello friends,

Christmas is finally behind us—though I’m sure we can all still hear the echoes of Mariah Carey drifting on the wind. As we slink through the final hours of 2025, the sobering reminder of a new year hurtles toward us at warp speed.

This year was special for us in a new way. We celebrated our first Christmas here on PEI, and more than that, we experienced Boxing Day—which may very well have been the most relaxing two days on or around Christmas I think I’ve ever had.

For those who are unaware, Boxing Day is the day after Christmas, and on PEI at least, we were told it’s a time to not worry about cooking, not worry about going out, and not worry about doing much of anything—other than spending time with family. In fact, one of our deacons insisted that we enjoy Boxing Day, and several folks kindly helped us understand the holiday and its rhythm.

There were gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. There was good food to be had. And there was something else too—rest. Real rest. The kind that feels almost unfamiliar.

I probably drafted half a dozen “blog updates” since we last checked in, but as the busyness of the holidays set in, I began to feel like maybe it would be the new year before I posted again. And then reality set in. I started unpacking not boxes—but the year itself. All that 2025 had held, both the good and the bad.

I went through my usual routine: publicly denying any intention of making a New Year’s resolution, while inwardly imagining all the things a “new” year could offer. But as I reflected, I was reminded of all the things God has already brought me through—and suddenly, the obstacles ahead didn’t seem nearly as intimidating. When compared to the mountains God has already moved, the road forward looked different.

From there, it felt natural to zoom out.

For some of us, 2025 brought hard things—trials that left their mark. For others, it brought joy and victory. For most of us, probably a mix of both. Wins and losses. Celebrations and scars. But here’s the good news for every single one of us reading this right now: we made it through. We may be wounded. We may be tired. We may carry scars. But we’re still here.

Often, as we approach a new year, we lean hard into the whole “new year, new you (me)” thing—whatever that means this time around. We try to bury the previous year as if forgetting the battles will somehow create a better future. Usually by January 15th, we’ve either dropped our resolution altogether or “revised” it into something far more realistic. And some of us skip the whole exercise entirely because it’s proven, more than once, to be an exercise in futility.

I tend toward that latter camp. However, this year I want to encourage you to pause.

Before we ring in 2026 and treat 2025 like it’s “so last year” (okay—admit it, that was funny), let’s stop for a moment. Before we leap into something new, let’s take time to look back. To find the things we can be thankful for. To name the lessons we learned—especially the hard ones.

When I look back over the last twelve months—and then zoom out to the last four years, ten years, even twenty—I see a clear pattern. Many of you know about the most recent trials my family has faced in leaving everything familiar behind to follow God’s call into ministry in Canada. What you may not know is how many hard lessons, missteps, and refining moments brought us to a place where obedience was even possible. God didn’t just drop us here; He prepared us here.

Scripture has anchored me through that process:

“For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” —Hebrews 12:11 (ESV)

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame…” —Romans 5:3–5 (ESV)

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds…” —James 1:2–4 (ESV)

These passages have become something of a battle cry for me over the last several years. Why? Because every one of us faces trials. Daily opposition. Our hopes, dreams, and desires are constantly buffeted by life—by people, work, circumstances, and sometimes even by Scripture itself.

What I’ve learned walking with God is this: His plan is better than anything I could come up with. (Dramatic pause.)
And yet—I still try to do my own thing.

There it is. Ancient wisdom for the ages.

The truth is, we can know what God says, know His will, know His Word—and still push for our own way, even when it doesn’t align with where we know He’s leading us. But here’s the thing: when life starts shaking everything around us, only what truly matters remains standing. And that’s the point.

So as you look back at the last year, ask yourself: What remained? What fell away?
Was your focus on God and His Kingdom—or on yourself and your own security?
In what ways was God trying to draw your attention back to Him and to what is eternal?

Some of you may be thinking, “I don’t believe,” or “I follow a different faith,” or simply, “I don’t know.” If that’s you, I’m genuinely glad you’re here. You’ve read this far, even if only because we’re friends—and I don’t believe that’s accidental. Scripture tells us that no one seeks after God on their own, but God relentlessly seeks after us. He pursues relationship with His creation.

To those who do believe but still feel uncertain: start simple. Write down what you’re thankful for from last year—even if it’s nothing more than breath still filling your lungs.

You’ve seen our story unfold. You’ve seen the challenges and the hardships. And yet—here we are. Not by our own strength, but by the will of God who called us here. And that same God desires to be known by you.

Now, I know this isn’t my typical update about the journey so far—and I promise those will continue—but I felt compelled to share hope.

I could list every difficulty we’ve faced—and are still facing—but right now I want us to look in the rearview mirror. Every trial so far has been overcome. Read that again:

Every trial. Every challenge. Overcome.

Some were rendered irrelevant. Others were utterly decimated. That is worth celebrating.

I don’t want to minimize the battles you’ve faced this past year—quite the opposite. When you look back at the giants that once stood in your way and now lie behind you, that is nothing short of miraculous.

So what’s the point?

Each battle we survive should fuel us for the next one. Each victory becomes a reminder: we don’t go down easy. More than that—we are more than conquerors.

I’ll leave you with this:

Pray.

Pray for my family as we continue navigating paperwork and immigration.
Pray for the people we encounter—that they would see Christ in how we live and speak.
Pray for our church family as we learn to do life together and grow into unity.
Pray for one another—those you know, and those you’ve never met.
And pray that those who don’t yet know Christ might catch even a glimpse—a hem of His garment—and be healed, restored, and reconciled to the Father.

I don’t know what your 2026 will look like, and I don’t know what mine will look like. I do know this: there will inevitably be trials—and there will be smiles.

My prayer for you is that when the trials come, you would face them with your head held high, remembering that the last ones didn’t take you out—and neither will these. That you would trust God to carry you through, and that on the other side you would find yourself stronger than before.

I also pray that you don’t forget to smile. That you don’t allow the weight of tribulation to erase joy from your memory. And I pray that when we look back on 2026 the same way we now look back on 2025, we would do so knowing that God was there in the middle of it all. That no matter how dark the night may seem, dawn is coming—and with it, new mercies.

More updates will come soon. But with New Year’s Eve right around the corner, this felt like the most important thing to share.

Grace and peace.