The week between Christmas and New Year has a different feel to it.
The rush is over. The decorations are still up. The calendar is thin. And nostalgia has a way of sneaking in.

Nostalgia is a strange mix—wistful remembrances of times full of laughter and joy, and memories heavy with tears and grief. Life, it turns out, is almost always both/and.

Sometimes our minds favor one side and push the other away. We question our own memories.
Were things really that hard—or am I just feeling melancholy?
Were they really that good—or am I remembering with rose-colored glasses?
Probably… both.

The Bible is refreshingly honest about this tension.

Adam and Eve enjoy perfect fellowship with God in Eden—and in the very next chapter they are ashamed, separated, and sent outside the garden.

Abram obeys God in faith and leaves Ur—then panics in fear and runs to Egypt.

Moses speaks with God so intimately that his face shines with glory—later he strikes the rock in anger and forfeits the Promised Land.

The New Testament doesn’t clean this up either.

Peter boldly declares that Jesus is the Christ—then a few chapters later vehemently denies even knowing Him.

Demas leaves everything to follow Paul—then walks away when the cost becomes too high.

At first glance, these stories feel discouraging. But the more I sit with them, the more grateful I am that God recorded them.

God could have chosen perfect people. The strongest. The wisest. The ones who “got it right.” Instead, He chose the broken and flawed—sometimes even the unrepentant (think Jonah)—to advance His mission.

Why?

Maybe so there would never be any confusion about who deserves the glory.

In heaven, we’ll never hear an Israelite say, “Moses led us through the desert.” They will declare, “God led us every step. He fed us. He sustained us. He kept our clothes from wearing out and our shoes from falling apart—for forty years.”

No one will praise Peter’s preaching skills for the growth of the early church.
With arms outstretched, they will praise Jesus—the Chief Shepherd, the Cornerstone, the One who holds all things together and causes all things to grow.

That truth lands close to home when I sift through my own memories.

Recently I’ve been sorting through old photos of our kids when they were little. Some moments I had almost forgotten—until the pictures brought them rushing back. I laugh at their silly antics. Then I cringe remembering my frustration, my impatience, my anger.

I remember worshiping God wholeheartedly on a Sunday morning… and being sharp-tongued and unkind by Sunday afternoon, wondering how both could be true.

So was I a good mom?
A bad mom?

How about a forgiven mom—one who desperately needed grace then, and still does today.

What do we do with memories that expose our failures? With moments when our behavior was less than loving—or plainly sinful?

We take them to the cross.

If we’ve never confessed them, we bring them honestly and ask for mercy.
If we already have confessed them, we bring them again and ask God to remind us of what is eternally true:

His forgiveness.
His grace.
His mercy—new every morning.

Where possible, we confess to those we’ve wronged. We name the sin. We own it. We repent. And then we release it.

Can parents sin against their children and still love God? Yes.
Can children struggle with obedience and still love God—and us? Yes.
Can God still use broken, messy, imperfect people? Absolutely.

He uses the foolish things to confound the wise.
He uses the broken to reveal the Restorer.
He uses the sinful to reveal the Redeemer.
He uses the wounded to reveal the Healer.

He can restore and redeem your childhood.
He can restore and redeem your adulthood.
He can restore and redeem your children—and your grandchildren.

As we sit in this quiet space between one year and the next, may we rest in this promise:

“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength.”
Isaiah 30:15 (NIV)

The story of your life—like Scripture itself—is not either/or.
It is grace upon grace.
It is brokenness and redemption.
It is both/and.