On the Friday before Christmas, my wife Lori was returning home on I-85 near High Point, North Carolina, when the dashboard lit up, and the car did something no one ever wants a car to do going 70 mph on the interstate. It went into “limp mode.”

If you’ve never experienced it, “limp mode” is exactly what it sounds like. The car doesn’t stop completely. It doesn’t break down and shut off on the side of the road. But it can no longer go as it once did. Power is reduced. Speed is limited. Everything is suddenly fragile.

Lori stayed calm while panicking a little at the same time. However, she kept both hands steady on the wheel. She said to herself: “I am still here. I am going slow, but I am still moving.” She listened to what the car could still do, not what it could no longer do. And little by little, she guided it safely off the highway to a convenience store. A tow truck came. A mechanic took a look. A few days later, the problem was fixed. And now she’s back on the road.

As we step into a new year, Lori’s limp-mode adventure feels like a parable, as many of us are not roaring into January with full power. Honestly, we are limping, emotionally, spiritually, financially, physically. Some are carrying grief that didn’t resolve itself by December 31. Some are exhausted by a world that keeps demanding more while offering less. Some are doing the brave work of survival and calling it what it is.

The good news is that “limp mode” doesn’t mean we have failed or need a complete overhaul.

It only means that something in the system needs attention. It means slow is the new faithful.

The temptation in a new year is to pretend we’re stronger than we are. We make bold promises we don’t have the fuel to keep. We shame ourselves for not accelerating fast enough. However, wisdom teaches us something different. Remain calm, even if we are panicking a little. Pay attention to what we still have. Protect what’s still working. Get to a safe place.

There is hope, not because everything is fine on January 1, but because we are still moving.

Hope looks like pulling over instead of pushing harder. Hope looks like asking for help. Hope looks like trusting that repair and recovery are possible, even if we don’t yet know how or when.

The car didn’t heal itself on the highway. It needed a tow. It needed a mechanic. It needed time.

So, if you are limping into this year, the good news is that you are not broken beyond repair. As long as you are still moving, even slowly, there is a future for you in 2026. As long as you are paying attention, pulling over when needed, and letting others help carry what you cannot, there is grace for the road ahead.

And sometimes the most hopeful thing we can say at the start of a new year is this: “I’m still here.” “I am going slow, but I am still moving.”

And that is enough to begin.