Restored Years. Joel 2:25

Frank Wible
Jul 8, 2025
2 min read

Kevin used to sit in his truck at sunrise, gripping a coffee thermos, feeling like a man with purpose. At 35, he ran a thriving roofing company, had a beautiful wife, two kids, and a lakefront home he never imagined he’d afford growing up poor in rural Georgia.

Frank Wible Man in an orange hard hat and safety vest holds a steaming mug, leaning on a truck at sunrise. Suburban street in the background. — *Kevin thought his best years were gone—until God proved otherwise.*

But pride blinded him. Long work hours turned into bar tabs with clients. Harmless beers turned into secret vodka bottles hidden under the truck seat. Arguments at home escalated into slammed doors and silent dinners. The day his wife left with their kids was the day Kevin realized he’d lost everything that mattered.

He moved into a one-room apartment behind an auto shop. Mornings started with hangovers instead of coffee. Nights ended with him passed out on the torn leather couch. One Sunday, too sick to drink more, he stumbled outside, sat on the curb, and watched the sun rise over oil-stained pavement. Tears blurred his vision. “God,” he choked out, “I’ve wasted my life. My years are gone.”

That week, flipping through a worn Bible his grandma gave him, he found Joel 2:25: “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…” He stared at the words for a long time. Could God really restore what I destroyed, he wondered.

With trembling hands, he called a local Celebrate Recovery group. Showing up felt like walking into judgment, but instead, he found brothers with stories darker than his who radiated hope. Each week, he confessed, prayed, and cried. Slowly, alcohol’s hold loosened. He got hired on a roofing crew again, starting at the bottom, sweeping shingles off driveways, hauling tar buckets up ladders.

Frank Wible A worker in a neon vest uses a nail gun on a roof, observed by two young men. Background of trees and rooftops under clear sky. — *Restored years aren’t about going back—they’re about God redeeming what felt lost.*

One humid afternoon, his foreman asked him to train two new hires. As Kevin demonstrated nail gun safety under the blazing Georgia sun, he felt something bloom in his chest—purpose. Later that week, the crew gathered for lunch, and Kevin bowed his head to pray over his gas station sandwich. Tears stung his eyes as he whispered, “Thank You for restoring my years.”

Today, Kevin is four years sober, runs job-sites again, and leads the recovery ministry at his church. His kids spend weekends with him, helping build birdhouses in his small backyard. He tells every man he mentors, “God doesn’t rewind time—but He redeems it. He will restore your years too.”

Where do you most want God to restore your years?