Blog 12/ From Wreckage to Resurrection: A Year-End Pour of Praise
Biblical reflection to round out the year in review.
There are years that stretch you — and then there are years that strip you.
This one? It did both.
It is hard to even put into words the kind of season where faith became oxygen, where prayers became the only language, I could still speak, and where silence was not empty — it was sacred and triumphant. There were moments that felt like wreckage: the kind that shakes your foundation, tests your identity, and makes you wonder if the light will ever find its way back through the cracks.
Somewhere between the breaking and the believing, I met God in a deeper way, and He unlocked new levels of peace within me.
When the Pour Feels Heavy
The beautiful downpour can be a blessing, but not without challenges or potential negativity.
This year was not a slow drizzle; it was a downpour. Change, loss, transitions, healing — sometimes all in the same week. There were mornings I woke up unsure how to move forward and nights I cried out just asking for peace.
But faith taught me something: even when your cup is shattered, God still sees the vessel.
The world calls it adversity; I call it an altar in disguise. Because the very moments that felt like defeat became the places where my praise got louder, my prayers got bolder, and my dependence on Him became unshakable.
“But He knows the way that I take; when He has tested me, I will come forth as gold.” — Job 23:10
The Silent Rebuild
Being in the silent wilderness is an opportunity.
There is a sacred kind of strength that comes from silence. The kind where you stop explaining your pain and start excavating your purpose.
This was the year I learned to rebuild quietly. To protect my peace, to detach from validation, and to rest in the truth that my worth was never attached to titles, roles, or rooms.
While others might have seen absence, God was doing alignment.
While some saw loss, He saw liberation.
And while I mourned what fell apart, He was already preparing resurrection.
The Resurrection of Me
A new dawn and a new day.
Resurrection does not just happen in tombs — it happens in timelines.
It happens when you choose to stand again after the season tried to bury you.
It happens when you stop apologizing for your healing and start honoring it.
It happens when you stop waiting for validation and realize you are already chosen.
This is not the end of a chapter — it is the unveiling of one. I walked through fire this year, but instead of ashes, I found anointing. Refined. Redefined. Still walking fine.
Because the God I serve never lets pain have the final pour.
A Declaration for 2026
Cheers to a new year filled with blessings!
2025 was the breaking.
2026 will be the becoming.
The year ahead is not about recovery; it is about revelation. It is about walking in new authority — the kind that only comes after surviving the storm and still choosing to praise.
So, if you are reading this and you have walked through your own wreckage — let me remind you: you are not forgotten. You are being fortified.
Your setback is the soil for your comeback.
Your tears are watering the next harvest.
Your faith is still enough.
“The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you.” — Romans 8:11
So, raise your cup — cracked, scarred, beautiful — and pour a praise that says, “I’m still here, and I still believe.”
Here is to resurrection.
Here is to 2026.
Here is to the God who never wastes a storm.
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Dr. Courtney Nicole Johnson
Founder of CourtneyCoffeeChats
Bold Conversations, Brewed Fresh.
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