Still Here: WhEN Tears BecoMe Your Testimony

A Failing Forward Relection

Today, while riding to the store, Marvin Sapp’s “My Testimony” played in my ears for what has to be the hundredth time in the last 48 hours. It wasn’t background noise. It wasn’t casual listening. It was survival. It was breath. It was the only thing anchoring me as I navigated a year that has stretched me in ways I never imagined.

2025 has been… a lot.

If I’m honest, I went into the fourth quarter believing I’d finally get to exhale. I thought this would be my reprieve, my “thank God that season is over” moment. Yet here I am — still feeling like I’m holding my breath, still pushing through the weight of a year that didn’t let up when I expected it to.

But somewhere between the tears and the lyrics, something hit me.

The fact that I am crying means I am still here.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Still breathing.

And that alone is a testimony.

The Weight of a Hard Season

I’ve shed more tears this year — especially between the third and fourth quarters — than I have in entire years of my life combined. Tears from disappointment. Tears from hurt. Tears from uncertainty. Tears from things I didn’t see coming and things I thought I’d already healed from.

But the truth is this:

Tears don’t mean you lost.
Tears mean you survived long enough to feel it.

And that matters.

Because when you’re devastated, when you’re overwhelmed, when you’re in that confusing middle place where nothing is clear — it’s hard to believe your story isn’t over. It’s hard to believe the moment won’t consume you. It’s hard to believe good can come out of any of it.

But you’re still here.
Which means the story isn’t finished.

For Anybody Walking Through a Hard Year

This isn’t just about me.
This is for anyone who feels like 2025 has shaken your world in ways you didn’t choose and didn’t expect.

Maybe you’re sitting in uncertainty.
Maybe you’re carrying disappointment so heavy it feels like you can’t take a full breath.
Maybe you’re questioning everything — your decisions, your strength, your purpose, your direction.

Hear me clearly:

If you are breathing, you are still in the fight.
If you’re crying, you’re still in the fight.
If you can read this, you still have a chance.

This season may have knocked you down, but it did not take you out.

I’ve felt defeated this year. Truly.
But I haven’t lost — and neither have you — because we’re still able to move forward. We’re still able to take steps, even if those steps are slow, shaky, or tear-soaked.

The only way you lose is if you stop.

If you give up now, you do lose.
Your surrender becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But if you keep going?
Even imperfectly?
Even tired?
Even unsure?

You position yourself to win.

This Is Part of Your Testimony

I know it might sound churchy — I grew up in church, so it’s in me — but I truly believe this:

This will work out for your good.
And for God’s glory.

This season will not be wasted.
Your tears will not be wasted.
Your pain will not be wasted.

God will use your story to bless, encourage, strengthen, and lift somebody else. You may not know the how, the when, the who, or the why. We often get caught up in the details — the timing, the clarity, the resolution.

But that’s not your job.

Your job is not to figure out the outcome.
Your job is to keep going and let God write the story.

Don’t Give Up

You are still here — and that means something.
It means there is more to your story.
It means there is more for you to experience, more for you to learn, more for you to overcome, and more for you to become.

You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t have to have it all together.
You don’t have to pretend this season doesn’t hurt.

Just don’t quit.

Let God continue writing.
Let the testimony unfold.
Keep pressing.
Keep breathing.
Keep failing forward — because you’re still in the fight.

Until Next Time~Lady Jay