On January 1st, I found myself in the garden, hands in the dirt, digging up potatoes.
If 2025 felt like it took everything out of you, you’re not alone. There’s a collective fog many of us are carrying into 2026—a sense that last year took the wind out of our sails. It was volatile. A few really high highs, and a lot of really low lows.
So instead of forcing clarity or rushing into resolutions, I did what I often do when my mind feels full and my heart feels unsure: I went outside. I grabbed my shovel, bundled up, and started digging.
Digging up sweet potatoes is a lot like a treasure hunt. You don’t just plunge in and pull something out. You have to follow the clues. You find one root, then trace it carefully through the soil, never quite knowing whether it will lead to something small… or something massive.
As I worked my way through the bed, I realized this might be exactly what reflection needs to look like this year.
Some years, the lessons aren’t obvious. You have to dig for them.
Following the Roots
There was one long root in particular that kept disappearing deeper into the dirt. Somewhere along it, I knew, there was a potato waiting. But it took time. I had to slow down, gently loosen the soil, and follow it all the way to the end.
That’s how this season feels to me.
To really understand what 2025 taught me, I’m going to have to dig deep. I’m going to have to sit with questions like:
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What lessons am I taking with me?
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What goals are actually reasonable right now?
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Which dreams do I want to continue pursuing—and which ones am I ready to let go of?
Sometimes when you dig, you find tiny treasures. Sometimes you find a big “mama jamma.” And sometimes… you find nothing at all.
When Nothing Grows (But Something Is Still Alive)
This year, I planted both sweet potatoes and white potatoes.
The sweet potatoes? Abundant. They fed us again and again—but only because I was willing to dig for them.
The white potatoes? Nothing. Not a single one.
Or so I thought.
As I turned over the soil one last time, I found it: a single white potato. Firm. Healthy. Viable. Sending out roots.
It didn’t produce this year—but it wasn’t dead.
And that might be one of the most important lessons of all.
Just because something didn’t bear fruit this year doesn’t mean it won’t ever. It may simply need to be replanted, cultivated with more intention, and given more time.
Improving the Soil
As I kept digging, I was also turning over the thick mulch layered on top of the bed—bark, leaves, chicken manure. It looked messy, but this step is essential. Mixing it into the soil activates bacteria and enzymes, creates warmth, and speeds up the composting process.
This messy turning-over is how soil becomes fertile.
And isn’t that what reflection really is?
At the end of a year, we mix everything together—the disappointments, the wins, the grief, the gratitude. We turn it over again and again in our minds and journals. Not to dwell, but to break it down. To let it transform into wisdom, strength, and next steps.
Maybe 2025 wasn’t about reaping a harvest at all.
Maybe it was about improving the soil.
Abundance Looks Different Than We Expect
We’re wired to focus on what went wrong. But a better question is: What worked?
Success leaves clues. And the way we multiply it is by doing more of what fed us.
In the garden, I didn’t get grapes. Or white potatoes. Or much okra.
But I got basket upon basket of tomatoes. Armloads of sweet potatoes.
You have to roll with what grows.
In my own life, my art and paper goods business didn’t do what I hoped this year. Financially, it was a loss. But my steady engineering job? I crushed it. I showed up. I grew. I proved something to myself.
And I made a pivotal decision: to intentionally pursue coaching—not instead of art, but alongside it. I realized I won’t truly know what tools people need unless I walk with them, dig with them, and listen deeply.
That seed didn’t produce a harvest this year.
But it’s alive.
The Helpers You Find When You Dig
At one point, I uncovered a big, healthy worm—busy doing its quiet work, breaking down compost, feeding future plants.
It stopped me in my tracks.
Sometimes, when you dig into a hard year, you don’t just find lessons—you find helpers.
People who showed up. Small mercies. Unexpected supports. Grace you didn’t even realize was there at the time.
Thank you, God, for the helpers in 2025.
It is okay to not have the fruition of goals, dreams, or prayers show up in this year.
In 2025 I learned that timelines are made up and things take the time they take. Psalm 69:13 says
“But as for me, my prayer is to you, O LORD. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of your steadfast love answer me in your saving faithfulness.”
If it didn’t happen this year, it wasn’t an acceptable time.
In 2025 I learned that the little glimmers of the every day are the big things. They are essential for survival because they show God’s power. The sound of my daughter’s laughter. The flowers that popup unexpectedly along my route to work. The glowing sunset that lit up the sky all of a sudden. The sound of utter silence and peace on a walk you didn’t want to step away for. The surprise potatoe when you’d given up on getting white potatoes.
In 2025 I learned that you have to look for abundance with an open mind. It may not show up where you want it but may be waiting for you somewhere else. Like 2 huge armloads of sweet potatoes, basket upon basket of tomatoes, but 2 okras and no grapes.
I learned that it’s okay to still be turning over challenges, chewing on lessons and concepts, this is the healthy process of composting and breaking down deep and big things into new character attributes, new strengths, next steps, and new ideas. Again, it takes the time it takes.
If your 2026 looks foggy, or you don’t know what you want out of your year, that’s okay. I can’t see my whole path, and neither can you. We’re not meant to. What we’re supposed to do is just take the next right step and when you do, and you land there, the next step will appear.
I’m reminded of the song by Elmo Mercer
“Each step I take, my Savior goes before me
And with His loving hand He leads the way
And with each breath I whisper, "I adore Thee"
Oh, what joy to walk with Him each day
… I trust in God, no matter come what may
For life eternal is in His hand
He holds the key that opens up the way
That will lead me to the promised land
… Each step I take, I know that He will guide me
To higher ground, He ever leads me on
Until some day the last step will be taken
Each step I take ,just leads me closer home
Or maybe
“One step at a time, dear Savior,
I cannot take any more;
The flesh is so weak and hopeless,
I know not what is before.
Chorus:
One step at a time, dear Savior,
Till faith grows stronger in Thee;
One step at a time, dear Savior,
Till hope grows stronger in me.
2 One step at a time, dear Savior,
I am not walking by sight;
Keep step with my soul, dear Savior,
I walk by faith in Thy might. "
By T.J. Shelton
After spending time in the garden, I realized that 2025 was about improving the health of my soil. It kept coming up over and over this year in my garden.
Got a disease? What does google say- improve the soil.
Got no fruit? Improve the soil.
Got fireants? Improve the soil.
Got grubs? Improve the soil.
But that’s not glamorous, and Instagram tells us it should be glamorous. That’s boring and unsexy. So we don’t do it. But before we can grow any kind of life, we’ve got to make sure the foundations are right.
My question came to me. What do I need to do in 2026 to make myself the healthiest I can be?
Bedtime at 9pm. Ouch. Eating more nutritiously. Ew. Mindful morning reflections aka get up earlier. Ugh. Say the hard things. Nooooo!!
All of those things are so very uncomfortable for me.
Growth doesn’t happen in our comfort zone. It doesn’t happen all at once. It happens one small, faithful action at a time—hands in the dirt, trusting that the soil is being prepared for something good.
So if 2026 feels foggy, let it be a year of nurturing. Of bedtime routines and better nourishment. Of saying the hard things. Of tending the foundations instead of chasing a flashy harvest.
So your first gardening task of the new year is to grab your journal, and answer these 2 questions:
What do I need to do in 2026 to make myself the healthiest I can be?
What is the next right step from where you are right now?
That’s why in 2026, my focus is on cultivating healthy soil—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
One of the ways I’m doing that is through gentle daily reflection. If you’re craving a grounded, non-overwhelming way to start your mornings, the Morning Matcha Mindset Journal was created for this exact kind of season. It’s not about fixing yourself or hustling for clarity—it’s about creating space to notice what’s growing, tend your inner life, and take the next right step with intention.
Before anything can grow, the soil has to be healthy.
And sometimes, the most important work happens underground.