Walking Between Raindrops — A Year’s End Reflection

As 2025 comes to a close, I find myself thinking about rain.

Not the kind that ruins a picnic or floods a street—but the kind that quietly soaks into the ground and changes things long after it falls. The kind you don’t always notice at first. That is how this year felt to me.

For many of us, 2025 was not gentle. It carried illness, loss, upheaval, financial strain, and uncertainty. Yet within it were also moments of clarity, reconnection, humility, and unexpected grace. In my own life, I was reminded how fragile the body can be, how precious time is, and how deeply we rely on one another.

Walking Between Raindrops was born from that understanding: that life is not about avoiding storms, but about learning how to walk through them with awareness, courage, and curiosity intact.

This year, I heard from readers who found themselves in hospital rooms, caregiving roles, and spiritual crossroads. People who were searching not just for answers—but for meaning. That, to me, is where real science and real faith meet. Not in dogma, but in wonder. Not in fear, but in inquiry.

We live in an age where technology is accelerating faster than wisdom. Where medical breakthroughs are abundant, yet healing still requires presence, love, and patience. One of the things I have learned most deeply in 2025 is that innovation must always walk hand in hand with humanity. We cannot automate the soul.

As we step into 2026, I do not carry naïve optimism—but I do carry grounded hope.

Hope that we will listen more closely to our bodies.

Hope that we will ask better questions of our institutions.

Hope that families will heal old fractures.

Hope that science will serve life rather than control it.

Hope that each of us will walk a little more gently with one another.

If there is a single wish I hold for the coming year, it is this: that we remember we are not here to win—but to learn. Not to dominate—but to discover. Not to harden—but to soften.

The rain will fall again. It always does.

But so will the light.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

— David Paul Summers

Author, Walking Between Raindrops