So I’ve been intentionally focusing on how to regulate my nervous system. This is not my realm of expertise, so I’m simply sharing from my own experience here. You are likely somewhat familiar with this, but if not, I’ll give my own very unscientific description of how what it means to me.

I know my nervous system is dysregulated when I start to feel irritable, and when there’s an internal spinning and “prickly” sensation that makes it feel like I’m on edge. It’s that idea of someone or something “getting on your nerves”–it’s a physical sensation that can spiral into getting short, snippy, or even angry with those around you.

It’s an inner agitation that can lead to an outer overflow of frustration and anger.

Learning to regulate your nervous system requires listening to your body, and paying attention to what it is telling you. We have to be mindful and aware of what is causing the irritation first, so we know what to do about it.

I view this as a spiritual practice, because God made our bodies, and designed the way they work. Caring for our bodies often gets neglected for many of us, and we don’t realize how much it impacts our hearts and minds.

We try to think our way into healing, when many times, it’s our body that desperately needs care and attention.

I often try to mentally process my way into calmness or peace, when what is needed is not in my mind, but in my physical body.

Lately I’m noticing that my physical self-care routines are just as important as my times of journaling, reading, or other practices that we label as “spiritual.” ALL of life can be a spiritual practice when we are aware of God’s presence with us, and as we find God in all things. This includes how we care for our bodies.

So what can we do when we notice we are spinning out on the inside? What does it look like to regulate our nervous system in a way that helps us to be more present and loving people?

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Here’s how it looks on a practical level for me these days. I’m learning that my nervous system is impacted both positively and negatively by what I choose to do and NOT do.

In other words, there are things I can do to help it, and things I can avoid that will hurt it.

The most important thing I can do to regulate my nervous system is to move my body daily. For me, this looks like Pilates, as this is my exercise of choice.

When I notice I’m feeling sluggish and lethargic, unmotivated and unsure what to do, movement helps, even for just a few minutes.

Now, we KNOW we are “supposed” to exercise. This is not new or revelatory information. But what is helpful to remember is the “why.”

Not only does movement strengthen and energize us physically. But it also helps our mind to slow and settle. It gives space for our emotions to be felt and moved through, instead of pretending they don’t exist.

And the most significant thing I can avoid? Mindless scrolling on social media. I know. We hear this all the time, we know it’s not good for us, blah, blah, blah. But it’s just true. When I’m dysregulated, I feel the pull towards social media–because it’s mindless, because it’s an escape, any number of reasons–and it pretty much always leaves me worse than before I got on it.

Not because it’s bad. But because when I’m depleted, it’s not what I need.

These are the simple, tangible practices that I’m finding helpful–Move my body. Less mindless scrolling.

It’s often the simplest things that have the biggest impact. But simple doesn’t mean easy, and it often means sticking to it when I don’t feel like it, trusting that the calming effects will come.

Needing to regulate our nervous system isn’t a sign that we’re weak or failing. It’s simply a sign of being human.

It’s so easy to go to a place of shame when I notice my own inner irritation. But lately, I’m learning to silence the inner voices that tell me I should be able to handle this, the ones that heap on guilt and shame when I feel irritated by noise and stimulation.

Instead, I want to listen to the voice of kindness that leans in close, takes me by the hand, and gently asks: What do you need?

When I can name what I need, I am able to take action on it–both in small ways in the moment, and in carving out longer spaces of rest and renewal later in the day.

I’m trying to notice when the irritation starts to creep in, and to find a way to calm and settle my body in the moment. This could be through breathing, some quick stretches, listening to music, or stepping outside onto the front porch. That way I can break the cycle before it begins to build too much, and hopefully avoid a crash.

Learning to regulate my nervous system is one of the most important things I can do to take care of myself in a full or stressful season. It deeply impacts how I move through my days, and increases my capacity to lovingly be present with my people.

I love to share simple next steps to help you put things into practice, so here is how you might approach regulating your own nervous system:

• Develop mindfulness. Notice the times when the inner agitation increases. Meet yourself with kindness and without judgement, invite God into the irritation with you, and be compassionate to your own human needs.

• Ask yourself: What do you need?

• Find a simple practice of physical regulation you can do now–a few deep breaths, stepping outside, or even a short walk.

• Plan practices of regulation to do later. What are some simple daily, physical routines that are restorative for you?

• Schedule at least one physical self-care practice each day. I’m learning that consistency is key here. But also, if I miss a day, I don’t beat myself up about it. I simply reset, and begin again.

Tell us in the comments: What have you found to be helpful practices to regulate your nervous system?

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Summer itself is always a unique season, and this year it felt even more like an in-between time as I felt the change both externally and internally. As a family, we have been turning towards a new season, and while many of the shifts are only slight, they feel loaded with significance.

Whenever someone asks, “How was your summer?”, I never know quite how to answer. Summer was, well, summer. It was unstructured and chaotic. It was beautiful and also challenging. It held a special family trip for just the four of us, and it also held bored kids who needed to eat twelve times a day.

It held work and fun, constant interruptions, and also slow-paced mornings where we didn’t have to rush out the door.

I’ve been learning a lot about my nervous system–what makes it feel overwhelmed, how to care for it, how mine uniquely responds to the inputs around me. Summer is a season of over-stimulation, and the constant noise and needs wreaked havoc on my inner state of being.

At the end of July, Tyler and I took a trip to Michigan that has become an annual thing for us. This year, I felt the need for it more than ever. I felt weary and depleted, wound up and in need of quiet and respite.

The beauty of going to the same place every year is we know what to expect. We know where we like to eat, and what food we’ll pack to eat in our room. We know our way around the town, and we know what feels fun and relaxing for us. There is no research or planning needed other than setting the dates, booking the room, and making sure our family can take care of our kids while we’re gone.

The days started slow with coffee and reading on our balcony, sitting in silence as we looked out at the water. We went on a lot of walks around the small lakeside town. We sat with our books at the coffee shop. We wandered in and out of stores.

One afternoon, it stormed for several hours, but we didn’t really mind. We could still see the water from our windows, and I sat in bed, either reading, watching TV, or napping.

On our last evening there, I sat looking out at the water, watching the sunset with Tyler. As the waves coming in and out settled in to an inner rhythm, I felt an acknowledgement of all that this year has held so far. There have been some hard and heavy things. Nothing catastrophic, and much of it just the ordinary stress of life and parenting, even as some of it is unique to our situation. But that is always life…there are always hard and heavy things that we carry.

And in that moment, I felt the weight of it as I acknowledged all that I had been carrying. I felt God in that moment, and I felt seen and known. Yes–it has been a lot. There is a reason you are tired and weary.

That trip was part of God’s kindness in restoring me–mind, body, and soul. It was space to simply be. It was time for my nervous system to reset and settle out of over-stimulation. It was time to talk with Tyler and write in my journal.

It wasn’t a quick fix or a magical turning point. It was a slow inner work that could not be forced. It was simply a gift to be received, and I was invited to lean in and trust that something was happening in me that was exactly what I needed.

I entered the final two weeks of summer in a different place. Not only because of that trip, but because of several spaces of support I recognized that I needed–mind, body, and soul.

So there is a shift. There are the external transitions as the girls begin junior high, as we return to more routines and rhythms, as I have more consistent space in my schedule for work and life and all the things.

But there is also an internal shift, and I feel a space opening up for something new.

There is no before and after. There wasn’t one breakthrough moment. There is still joy and sorrow, grief and joy, hardship and delight.

Part of the growth is embracing and accepting all of it. It’s knowing that God is growing in me in my actual, real life–in the mess and beauty of all of it.

As I experience this shift, I want to write and share about it in this space as well. I admit that is hard to do sometimes. What is meant to be held close between God and I, and what am I being invited to share?

How can I be open, honest, and authentic without being transparent? What is mine to tell, and what is simply not my story to share?

But I want to lean in and show up, however messy and imperfectly, and invite you to lean in with me. God is always doing something new within us, even as he keeps showing up in the familiar, everyday, ordinary spaces of our lives. We are invited to open our eyes and pay attention, to notice God in all things, in every corner of our lives.

Tell us in the comments: What transitions or shifts are you experiencing in your life right now? How might that open up space for something new, both externally and internally?

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We likely answered this question based on what sounded fun or what we enjoyed at the time, maybe even naming activities that are very unlikely to result in actual income. (I’m still trying to find the job where I can just read books for a living.)

But many of us, especially the older we got, thought about what we were good at and what came easily to us, and imagined that somehow be part of our job someday.

It’s interesting to me that the question is who do you want to “be” when you grow up, but we almost immediately go to what we will “do” in the form of a job.

For a long time, my assumed career path was music. I played the piano and sang, plus did all the school music activities of band, choir, and musicals. I sang solos in church, and eventually became the church pianist when I was just a freshman in high school.

But even before that, I would listen to my favorite CCM artists and dream of a similar career path (CCM stands for Contemporary Christian Music, for those who weren’t so immersed in that culture that you also received the magazine by the same name, IYKYK).

Why was this my dream? Because singing and music was something I was affirmed for, so naturally, I thought that would be my job.

But there’s a deeper reason: Music was something I knew I could do well, and it’s the place where I felt loved and valued. I wasn’t so sure what I could offer as a person, simply as my own self. But I knew I could sit at a piano or stand behind a microphone and bless and impress the people in the room.

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Music was my thing, and it was safe to show up in that way. Growing up, I gravitated towards the spaces, such as music, where I felt competent, strong, and capable, and I hid the parts of me that didn’t feel so presentable to others. I even did this with God, looking for His love by doing good things.

I grew up in the church, so I would have told you: God loves me unconditionally. I knew that because He was God, He simply loved me no matter what and it wasn’t based on what I did or didn’t do.

I knew God loved me unconditionally. I just never really gave Him a chance to show me that.

I kept showing up in my strength, but God was inviting me to find Him in my weakness.

What was your “thing” growing up, or even now? What is it that you know you can do well?

There’s nothing wrong with celebrating and embracing our gifts and talents. Each of us has a unique contribution to make through our strengths and abilities, and the beauty of the body of Christ is how we bring our own unique selves to the community.

But too often, we inflate that part of ourselves until we think it’s our whole identity and what makes us beloved.

We think that unless we perform with perfection, we will fade into the shadows. No one will see us or care, including God.

We develop a posture of earning and proving, and if our “thing” went away, we’d have no idea who we are.

But how would it feel to receive love as-is? Without the performance or perfection, with all of us brought into the light of God’s love–both our beauty and our brokenness.

It is only in this undefended and open state that we can fully and truly experience the unconditional love of God.

Not based on what we do, or what we do not do…but simply because of who we are.

The journey of becoming beloved is a lifelong work. It’s more difficult for some of us than others, and for me, it’s a core part of God’s invitation to growth.

God has invited me into spaces and places where I have come face-to-face with my weakness. He has kindly led me into certain parts of my life where feeling capable and competent simply isn’t an option.

It’s in those places of weakness where transformation happens. It’s not in places of competence where I grow, but where I reach the end of myself and find the grace and strength of God holding me.

This is where I find I am loved, even when I have nothing to offer.

As God is healing this in me, I am learning to show up in places of strength and weakness without trying to prove or earn.

I find God in my strength, as music has become a life-giving place for me again. Because it’s simply something I do, and it’s not who I am.

I also find God in my weakness. In this season, motherhood is a place where I often feel weak. This too is becoming a place where I experience myself as beloved, even in my lack.

As you consider your own life and story, what is it for you? What is your place of strength? What is your place of weakness? And what would it mean to live as the beloved for who you are, apart from what you do?

I’m sharing more of my story on the latest episode of the REALIFE Practice Podcast, which I cohost with Teresa McCloy as part of the work I do at the REALIFE Process.

We’ve been doing a series on seasons of formation and interviewing people in different decades and stages of life, and this week, it was my turn to share my own story–both the story of my past, and what I’m navigating in my current life stage in my forties.

I’d love for you to give it a listen, and make sure you check out the other episodes in the series to learn from people in all seasons of life. Search for “the REALIFE Practice” in your podcast app, or CLICK HERE to check it out.

Tell us in the comments: How do you find God in both your strength AND your weakness?

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One of the gifts and curses of writing, teaching, or leading is that the topics you share are generally part of your own struggle. I am passionate about certain subjects not because I’m an expert, but because I’ve had to do so much of my own work within it. And our work is never done.

So last week, I decided to set the piece aside and proceeded to practice what I preach, as I did what I could to take care of myself and get what I needed for that day.

I still plan to publish that piece. But that day stirred something in me that I think is worth sharing first.

Sometimes we can do all our essential self-care routines and spiritual practices, and we still cannot avoid the crash.

Even when I did all of the physical and spiritual practices that I know are necessary to sustain me, I still had an emotional breakdown at the end of that day.

It doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong. It means I’m human.

It means that sometimes, a day really does hold more than we can handle (despite the cliches that might tell us otherwise).

What I’m learning is that it’s important to know not only the benefits of spiritual practices, but also their limits.

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This particular day last week was really hard on multiple levels. My kids were having a hard time for all sorts of reasons I won’t get into, but suffice it to say: IT’S SUMMER.

Navigating that day with its demands and emotions drained my energy and motivation. So then we all reverted to screens more, which just makes it worse. I knew it wasn’t helpful. But we just could not find our footing or figure out what to do to get the day on track.

And here’s the thing: I did my normal practices that day. I got up early to read scripture, pray, and journal. I went on my walk in the morning. I did Pilates in the afternoon. I tried to regulate my nervous system throughout the day.

I did all the things that usually set me up well for the day. These are the spiritual, emotional, and physical self-care practices that connect me to God and myself, that give me energy and help me feel like myself.

And it still wasn’t enough. Because some days, life is just too much.

Even when we regulate our nervous system and faithfully follow our spiritual routines and practices, there is no insulating ourselves from the stresses and struggles of life.

We cannot do enough breathing exercises or journaling to maintain an inner peaceful feeling throughout our entire day. This is simply not possible or realistic.

Life is hard, and no amount of spiritual practices will change that.

Spiritual practices–for our mind, body, and soul–is not about a formula to make life feel good. It’s about creating space for the deep and difficult inner healing that only comes from God’s Spirit within us.

And healing often hurts before it feels better.

We grow and we make slow progress. We fall short and fail, and we begin again.

The goal is not ease and feeling good. It’s leaning all the way in to the beauty and brokenness of the reality of our life.

We still create routines and rhythms in our life for self-care and spiritual growth. It matters, and it does help. But we are not trying to fix ourselves or anyone else.

Because we are not problems to be solved, but people to be loved. And that begins with receiving love ourselves. This is what changes us.

But it’s not meant to be easy. We cannot spiritually practice our way into comfort. That’s not the deal, nor is it the goal.

It’s so important to remember what spiritual practices are, and what they are not. Yes, we embrace them and pursue them and prioritize them. But we also need to name and acknowledge the limits of them. We cannot elevate spiritual practices into something they were never intended to be.

They are not the formula or pathway to an easy, breezy life. It’s not about feeling good. It’s about transformation, and that is not an easy or comfortable process.

And the truth is that God is in all the chaos and the hard places too. He is not waiting impatiently by your quiet time chair for you to show up. He is with you in all of it, and often the deepest transformation comes in the hardest, loudest, messiest places of our lives.

We still pursue the quiet and solitude. We keep carving out space to still our souls and listen. But we’re also paying attention in the chaos, and we’re finding God present and active in all of it.

There are days we will do everything we can to try and take care of ourselves, and the crash or the breakdown still comes. We are still human, and we can only bend so far until sometimes, we break.

But there is still healing and restoration, and it’s never too late to begin again.

I’m happy to report that particular day was, for the most part, just one really hard day amongst an otherwise pretty good week. But there will always be ups and downs, and sometimes, the pain of life outpaces our ability to regulate through it.

There is room for the emotions, even the ones that are hard, and it’s all forming us as we notice God within it.

Tell us in the comments: What are the benefits AND limits of self-care and spiritual practices that you have experienced?

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It started with the death of my beloved grandmother on May 1 and a quick 3-day trip out of town for her funeral with my family in Virginia.

Then I was out of town again the following week for my final retreat as I completed a two-year spiritual direction program (I’ll share more on this soon!).

From there, we moved right into the end of school and beginning of summer, which brings a change of routine and schedule, less alone time, and all the chaos and joy this time of year can bring.

We also took a family vacation with just the four of us, which was a wonderful way to start the summer, but also came at the end of a very busy month.

Not to mention the transition out of elementary school and into junior high this fall, and we are feeling all of the changes deeply around here.

This is a season that feels like it’s moving quickly. The days have been full of tasks and preparations, and it seems like as soon as one major event is over, it’s on to get ready for the next.

This season is full of moments I want to notice and name, to mark the occasion and be present to the significance of it. But who has time for that when there are things to get done?

Sometimes when life is full, I find myself just trying to put my head down and push through until I get past the chaos. I find myself longing for a break and relief, for space to breathe, but life keeps coming at me.

I can end up trying to just get through to the other side, instead of being present to what is right in front of me.

These are the times in life when reflection is more important than ever, yet feels so out of reach.

What does it look like to create time for reflection in a season when quiet and space is limited?

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We often think deep soul reflection requires hours of time, getting away from it all and closing ourselves in a retreat center to hear from God.

Times of retreat are important and needed. But if we wait until we can get away from our life to reflect on it, we’ll miss the daily moments worth noticing.

Creating small moments of reflection in our busy days allows us to be present here and now. This does not have to take a lot of time, and can fit right into the cracks and crevices of our busy days.

This is why I love teaching and talking about simple spiritual practices. It’s about noticing and naming God’s presence and activity in our everyday life, and God wants to meet you right where you are. He knows your season, and He sees the complexities and demands of your life.

God isn’t waiting with His arms crossed for you to get away from it all. He is right here with you, arms open, ready to walk with you in the middle of the noise and busyness and chaos.

The invitation is to pause and notice–even for just a few minutes–to notice Him.

How do we notice God in busy seasons?

There are many practices I could share for this, but what I want to offer is one simple question.

It’s something you can ask God at the end of your day that will help you not just rush on to the next thing. Here it is:

God, what do you want me to notice about my day?

That’s it. Ask God this question, listen to what comes up, and maybe jot it down.

Here’s why this is so powerful: We often rush through our days without taking the time to notice the bigger picture of what’s really going on. We got lost in the details and to-dos, simply trying to keep up.

So this question allows us to pause and see our life from God’s perspective. It creates space for God to remind us how he sees us too.

It’s not a time for us to dwell on what we left undone, or even what we accomplished. By asking God what He wants us to notice, our eyes can become open to His presence and movement in ways we might have missed in the moment.

There are some seasons that require so much of us that we need to keep our time of reflection simple. This question helps us to process our days one at a time, instead of allowing it all to build up until we have a longer space for it.

It gives us the chance–even if it’s just five minutes of our day–to take a breath, to name what really matters with God, and reset for all that is to come.

If steps are helpful, here is how you might implement this practice:

• Choose a time. When in your day feels best to do this reflection? You might find it helpful to attach it to an already existing habit or routine. Maybe it’s before you watch TV at night, or before you read in bed. It could also be done in the morning as you reflect on the day before.

• Ask the question. God, what do you want me to notice about my day?

• Reflect on your day with God. It might be helpful to recall what your day held, even “watching” it as if it’s a movie playing back. Remember to imagine God watching it with you.

• Listen. Sit in silence, and see what you hear or feel from God. It’s okay if there’s not anything specific that comes to mind. Simply noticing God with you, both during your day and as you reflect, is more than enough.

• Optional: Jot down what you notice. You might find it helpful to write it down. This could be one simple word or phrase, or a bullet-point list.

• Begin again. Close out the time with a short prayer, asking God for the grace to begin again tomorrow. Leave this day behind, and receive God’s new mercies that come with every morning.

Keep it simple so you can be consistent. This can be done in five minutes, which makes it easy to keep up with in a busy season.

When life is full, even short times of reflection allow us to be more present to what is, instead of rushing ahead to what’s next. I hope this simple question gives you some space to notice God, who is present in all of life.

Tell us in the comments: How do you stay present and aware of God in busy seasons?

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There is a right and wrong way to move through the steps, and if you’re standing out from the group, you’re doing it wrong.

This is different than, say, the chaos of a middle school dance. While everyone is dancing to the same music, the steps are mostly made up, require very little skill, and the goal is to have fun (aside from all the middle school awkwardness and hormones, of course).

There’s a way of dancing that is structured with the steps laid out for you. But there’s also a dance that emerges from within, one that’s all your own.

This past weekend, our church’s marriage ministry hosted a silent disco. If you’re not familiar with what that is–as I wasn’t–basically everyone receives a pair of headphones to listen to music, rather than it playing through speakers, and you get to choose from one of three channels, with our options being 70s, 80s, and 90s music.

Of course I stayed mostly in the 90s because that is my decade. We also were invited to dress up as our favorite decade, so here is Tyler and I in all our 90s glory:

To be honest, I felt some resistance to this event when I first heard about it. Dressing up in a costume means choosing to stand out and be different, and let’s just say I’d rather blend into the crowd.

Also, a SILENT disco? Meaning, you’re dancing to music that only you can hear. So the moment someone takes their headphones off, the chances of the dancers looking foolish are pretty high.

But still, I really do enjoy dancing, so I figured I would have fun when I got there.

Let me just tell you: it was THE MOST fun I’ve had in a long time. The nostalgia of the 90s music, plus singing along and dancing without worrying about doing it “right”…because this wasn’t a dance class, after all, so there was a freedom in the movement that was energizing.

My husband said he saw a different side of me, one that he doesn’t get to see often. He said it reminded him of when we were dating. I felt it too.

As we get older and life keeps adding more responsibilities, we often lose this side of us. The part that just wants to let loose and have fun, to move in freedom and un-self-consciousness.

But how would it feel to move through our days with more freedom?

A few days after the dance, I was reflecting on my tendency to want to blend in, to not stand out. I have this fear that I won’t do things the “right” way, and an assumption that others must know better than me. I have long carried a false belief that if what I do or say is different, then I must be the one who is wrong.

This is not a new insight and I’ve had a lot of growth in this, but those lies still have a way of surfacing.

As I considered this, I remembered how it felt to dance without inhibition. I noticed the freedom I felt, and wondered how it might feel to carry that same posture into the rest of my life.

Maybe that does sometimes look like literal dancing, whether that’s alone in my house, or playing “Just Dance” on Nintendo with my girls.

But it also is a posture I carry with me into my work, my family, and my community. It’s a lightness and freedom to simply be who I am.

It’s not taking myself so seriously, and letting go of the need to do it “right” as I embrace my own unique way.

There was something about embodying this feeling of fun and freedom through dancing that connected me to a part of myself that had been forgotten.

Yes, I am introverted and serious and a deep thinker. But I also have a dancing spirit within me that is craving freedom and expression, fun and lightness.

I’m glad she was invited to come out of hiding last weekend, and I’m exploring other ways she might emerge.

I am still pondering all of this, so I invite you to reflect with me. Here are a few questions, so maybe sit with whatever one most resonates with you:

• When was the last time you did something that was just FUN?

• What are the parts of you that have been forgotten, or are hidden and dormant? How might fun and play invite these parts to emerge?

• What are the lies you believe about yourself that are constraining you? Imagine how it would feel to release this. What words or images come to mind?

• How can you move through your days in un-self-conscious freedom, embracing who you are?

I hope this can be an invitation to do something fun, even if it feels awkward at first, and to reconnect with what has been lost or forgotten.

Tell us in the comments: What activities bring fun and lightness into your life?

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I love Pilates and the way it makes me feel. So why do I just want to be finished already?

I’m standing beside my child’s bed as she tells me one more rambling story from her day, and I’m shifting back and forth and tapping my foot, anxious for the day to be over so I can do what I want.

What is my hurry to get through this moment of connection with my daughter?

I’m sitting with a novel on the sofa on my day off, watching the clock and willing the minutes to slow down so my free time can feel extended, all the while distracting myself from the very book I want to enjoy.

Why can’t I simply enjoy the moment, instead of grasping after my time?

Why is it so hard to be present to the current moment? Whether it’s something difficult that I want to be over, feeling anxious about what’s next, or simply wanting to be somewhere else and doing something else–I often find myself thinking about every moment except this one.

There is a song called “Centering Prayer” by The Porter’s Gate with this line: “I want to be where my feet are.”

This is what it means to be present. Not looking back in regret, or looking ahead in anxiety or over-anticipation of what’s next. It’s being where my feet are, in this place and moment.

Because this moment is where God is found. And when I pull away from it, I am leaning away from God’s presence.

Being present often looks like an invitation to slow down.

I feel this strongest at night when I put my kids to bed, as I shared in the example above. It’s the end of the day, and I am ready to be done. I want “me” time, and I don’t want to be needed anymore. Yet this is the time of day that they seem to need me the most.

Listen…I am not saying that I’m going to sit on their bed for an hour and let them spill every thought that pops in their head. And it’s okay to want to do other things at night, whether that’s spending time with my husband (also super important), or relaxing with my book.

But many times, it’s a matter of just about ten extra minutes.

So when I find myself hurrying them along and acting in rush and irritation, I’m asking myself: What’s my hurry? And I’m also reminding myself: It’s only ten minutes.

I’m noticing the irritation that rises up in me when I feel like “my time” is being taken from me. I’m choosing to be present to this moment and to let go of the rush to what’s next.

I hesitate to even share this, because I know that inevitably after I post this, I will fail miserably at it almost immediately, and then I’ll feel extra guilty about it. This is not me sharing from my great wisdom and success, but it’s what I am actively seeking to grow in.

But I see the progress in myself, even as it’s up and down and back and forth. I’m paying attention to it, growing in awareness, and choosing presence MORE than I did before, however imperfectly.

Thank God for grace and that “always, we begin again” (St. Benedict).

What are the moments in your day when you feel the pull to rush ahead? What would it feel like to be where your feet are?

Take a breath. Slow down. Be right here where you are, in this moment.

So look around, and receive the gift of the present moment for what it is. Because the present is where God is, and I want to be right here with him.

Tell us in the comments: What is one moment of your day when you want to be present instead of rushing through it?

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As we move into spring, there is new life all around. If you are in a season of growth, this likely feels welcome and aligned. But if you find yourself in a season of sorrow or grief, the increasing sunlight may feel jarring.

There is a detail within the story of Jesus’ crucifixion that recently took on new meaning for me.

Mark 15:33 says this:

“At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon.”

There were three hours of darkness as Jesus hung on the cross. Imagine being there as darkness suddenly and completely came out of nowhere, blocking out all light and warmth.

It’s hard to imagine exactly what Jesus felt and experienced on the cross. But the outer darkness must have felt very resonant with his inner experience.

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The union of the Trinity was broken for the first time in existence. Jesus had chosen to submit to his own creation, to not resist or fight back, but to be led to the cross.

While Jesus was fully divine, we see the fullness of his humanity in the Garden of Gethsemane as he weeps and asks: God, is there any other way?

And then, after unimaginable pain and suffering, he was on the cross, alone and cast aside–and the land was swallowed in darkness.

After three hours of darkness, Jesus cried out: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Then he gave a loud cry and sighed out one final breath as he gave up his life, surrendering completely to the dark.

We know how this story ends, of course. There is resurrection just a few days away. And Jesus knew this too.

Jesus knew how it would all end. Yet he still felt grief in the darkness.

We know how it will all end for us as well. The knowledge of God making all things new and eternity with him brings hope in the midst of our suffering.

Yet we will still face darkness, times when life is hard or uncertain, and we struggle to see the light. There is grief in the darkness, even as there is also hope.

Jesus knows what it feels like to be in darkness. And he is sitting with you in your darkness too. You do not hurt and grieve alone.

How would it feel to sit with Jesus in your darkness?

As we move through Holy Week, may we sit with Jesus in his darkness on the cross as we recognize him with us in the dark days and seasons of our own life.

Practice: Sitting in the Dark with Jesus

This is a practice that invites you to imagine Jesus’ experience on the cross as you learn what it means to sit with Jesus in your own darkness.

Read Mark 15:33-37. Close your eyes and imagine being there with Jesus as he hung on the cross. Picture the moment when the sun was hidden and everything went dark.

• What do you see?

• What do you hear?

• How does the ground feel beneath your feet, or as you sit on it?

• How do you feel?

Bring to mind any darkness you might currently be experiencing in your own life. This might be uncertainty about the future, or hard things you are walking through now.

• What rises up within you as you sit in the dark?

• How does it feel, and what thoughts come to mind?

Notice Jesus with you in the dark.

• What do you notice about Jesus as he sits with you?

• Is there anything you want to tell Jesus or say to him?

• What might Jesus want to say to you?

As you close this practice, you might feel invited to linger in the darkness. If so, don’t move out of it too quickly. Allow the darkness and grief to do its necessary work.

When you’re ready, you might imagine the light of new life and resurrection of Easter Sunday, allowing that to fill you with hope. Or maybe this is a reflection you return to on another day, resting in the companionship of Jesus in the dark.

Whatever comes to mind, remember that Jesus is with you in it. Express your heart to him, see the love in his eyes, and simply be with him in this moment now.

Tell us in the comments: How have you experienced Jesus with you in the darkness?

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When interruptions and disruptions keep us from the day we had planned, it’s easy to feel like we might as well throw our to-do list in the trash. We can become resigned and feel like if we can’t have the day we planned, we might as well not try to get anything done at all.

But even within circumstances outside of our control, we still have a choice in what we will do. It’s never all or nothing.

When we learn to embrace the reality of what is and stop fighting and resisting our circumstances, we discover that we have a lot more freedom and agency than we thought.

Kate Bowler calls this “Limited Agency” and I love that term. She defines it this way: “The truth that we are decision-makers inside circumstances we did not choose.”

There are limits and external boundaries of our circumstances. But within that is a lot of wide open space and freedom to choose how we will move inside of our limits.

As Kate says, we can’t do everything, but this doesn’t mean we do nothing. There is a lot we can do.

We still get to choose. Not from endless options, but within the reality that is given to us. And that still leaves a lot of freedom and agency.

The more we can accept and consent to our reality, the more we will be free to make choices. But when we resist our actual life, we actually constrain ourselves more than if we would simply let go.

So how do we embrace the agency we do have when our schedule keeps shifting?

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I have been surprised to notice that in a season full of changed plans and interruptions, I have been really drawn to intentionally planning my days.

Too often, I can feel like a victim of my circumstances. There is too much opposition and interruptions. So why bother making a plan at all when it’s just going to change?

But I’m noticing that even with a child home sick today–and many other days the past few months–I am still able to get a lot done.

There are interruptions, of course, and not one of these days has gone exactly according to my plan. For example, even in writing this very article, I have stopped and started multiple times. I’m having to embrace the truth that “done is better than perfect” and put my words out there anyway, even as I wish I had more time with it.

When the schedule is thrown off, I have to be creative with when I will fit things in. And there are some things that I simply have to let go, because even on the best days, I can’t do it all.

More often than not, the plan doesn’t get completely thrown out. It simply gets adjusted.

You can’t make adjustments to a blank page, so that’s why planning even when life is unpredictable is still important.

The plan becomes something to return to, a steadying anchor when life feels a little chaotic.

And here’s the beauty of it all: I made the plan and I chose it, so I am free to alter it whenever I want or need.

Sometimes it gets shifted by choice, and other times it’s because of circumstances beyond my control. But the invitation is to practice acceptance and agency, working with my limits but choosing to do what I can.

This is more than just about our schedule, of course. It’s the posture we take towards our time, which of course makes up our very life.

The tension is to make a plan without trying to control my time.

A few questions to consider:

• What is true about the reality of my life right now?

• What are the limits?

• What is the space within the limits that is mine to choose?

• Am I grasping for control?

• Am I accepting reality, or resisting it?

• Can I be kind to myself when things don’t go as planned? (AND kind to the people who interrupted my day?)

Making a plan is not about trying to predict or control every moment. It’s setting an intention, and then allowing that to be a guide for your day. But the plan is not in charge of your day, and there is both the freedom and necessity to adjust.

Even as we faithfully plan out our days and do the work that is ours to do, may we choose trust and surrender in our schedule. May we embrace both the reality and limits of our life, and lean into our “Limited Agency” as we do what we can.

Tell us in the comments: How do you respond when your plans need adjusting? What is one practical way you can embrace both reality and limited agency?

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I have been so grateful to learn about creative spiritual practices that go beyond a bible reading plan and a prayer list (as helpful as these can be).

In fact, I have an entire handbook of spiritual practices that offers countless creative and fresh ways to spend time with God, both alone and in community. (Highly recommend, btw!)

But sometimes, this can feel overwhelming. Because I can’t do it all every day, and there is value in both consistency and creativity in my life with God.

I find it helpful to name the foundation of my daily spiritual practice and build from there.

What are the non-negotiable practices in my daily life with God? What are the few practices that help me feel most like myself and most connected with God?

If I can do these few practices daily, I can then discern what other unique and creative practices can be added to these for a season. But the non-negotiable practices are a consistent daily rhythm, and on the days when I leave out even one of them, I feel the impact.

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Here are my daily non-negotiable spiritual practices:

1. Sit in Silence.

Why is silence the simplest yet hardest thing to do? Silence is the practice of letting go of words, releasing our attempts to control our lives, and simply resting in the love and presence of God. It is opening ourselves up to the healing of God in a way that we cannot force or manufacture.

For me, this looks like setting a timer, usually for about 10 minutes, maybe more or less depending on the day. I take a few deep breaths, open with the Welcoming Prayer or a simple one-line prayer of acknowledging God’s presence, and then I simply sit and still my thoughts and body as best as I can.

When my mind wanders, I gently return my attention to God, often returning with a simple focus word such as “trust” or “rest.” Silence in the presence of God is one of the best ways I know to open myself to the work of God that is beyond my effort.

2. Read the Bible.

There was a time when reading the Bible was simply checking off the assigned reading plan passage for the day. These days, I read less verses at a time, and I usually read them slowly and more than once (read more about how this looks for me here). While there is a place for deeper study, most days it feels more like a prayer and asking God what he wants me to notice. Right now, I’m slowly reading through the gospel of John, drawing close to the life of Jesus and even imagining what it would feel like to be in the story with him, to hear his words and look into his eyes.

3. Write Something.

I have shared many times in this space about writing and how it connects me to myself and to God. The writing often flows from the silence, and I tend to go back and forth between writing words and listening. But on the days when I don’t write anything, I feel a bit adrift and disconnected. So whether it’s picking up my pen and a journal, or typing out a few thoughts, writing is a foundational part of my life with God (read more here).

4. Move My Body.

This might seem out of place or surprising. But I’m learning that my physical body is deeply connected to my spiritual life. Movement is a spiritual practice when I recognize that it’s part of taking care of my whole self.

We live our lives in our body–it’s the conduit of our work, our words, and our connection and presence with people. Most days for me, this means Pilates, my movement of choice. I’m also taking more walks, which invites me into a different way of praying than when I’m sitting still. But I consider this to be a non-negotiable, and it feels just as important as the other practices.

Your list of non-negotiable practices doesn’t have to be the same as mine, of course, and your daily routines and rhythms will look different. But I do think it’s helpful to name the few things you will do no matter what, at least most days.

Each of these practices can take as much or as little time as I am able or desire. Keeping it simple keeps it consistent. These are the foundational practices that keep me tethered, and they provide the trellis upon which the rest of my life can grow. It’s just enough structure to still allow freedom and trying new practices as the season calls for it.

Sit in silence. Read the Bible. Write something. Move my body.

Simple and doable, yet deeply profound and transformational. These are my non-negotiable daily practices. What are yours?

Tell us in the comments: What are your daily non-negotiable spiritual practices?

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I was a Communication Studies major in college. After quickly realizing majoring in music was not for me, I sort of stumbled into that as my area of study. But I soon discovered how much I loved living in the world of expression and learning what it looks like to bring our internal world into our external surroundings through words and ideas.

Along with this, I developed a deep love for writing. I had journaled extremely sporadically growing up, but after college when I moved to Illinois and began my church leadership program, I began journaling almost daily, typing away on my computer as the words came faster than my pen could write.

As I’ve shared in this space before, words are one of the primary ways I connect with God and myself–both through writing and reading the words of others.

But as powerful as words are, sometimes they can get in the way of an experience of what is true.

There is a space beyond words where we find an inner knowing, one that resides in our actual body. And it requires the words to cease for a while if we’re going to have the space to rest within it.

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Have you ever been with a close friend or your spouse when you didn’t feel the need to fill every silence? What a gift to just enjoy being with someone without needing to say any words at all.

Along with that, knowing a person is far more than having information about them. To truly know a person isn’t about a list of facts, but an experience of who they are when you’re with them.

The same is true with Jesus. We are invited to know him in the space beyond words, to move from knowing about Jesus to experiencing who he is when we’re with him.

Jesus loves to simply be with us, and we don’t even have to say a word.

How might it feel to just sit in the silence, knowing Jesus is with you in it?

You don’t have to pray the right words, or figure anything out, or prove anything to him. You don’t have to read words about him, even though of course there’s a time for that.

But sometimes, the invitation is to simply rest–as who you are, in the presence of who he is.

There is so much mystery when it comes to our faith, and often we work so hard at trying to explain it that we miss the beauty of this.

Maybe we need to just let the words cease for a while so we can simply enjoy the beauty of what can never be explained.

If you feel the invitation to enter the space beyond words and want some tangible ideas for how to do it, here are some practices that can help:

Sitting in Silence

This is the simplest and most approachable–and yet often the most powerful way–to move beyond words. One of my favorite practices to recommend is to set a timer for five minutes and simply sit in silence. This is not a time for praying words, and we are not even seeking to hear a word from God. We are simply enjoying the stillness of resting in God’s presence.

Contemplative Prayer

This type of prayer is about being with God without the use of words. It’s very similar to simply sitting in silence, but I think it adds a layer of intentionality to it. The purpose of this type of prayer is to rest in and receive the love of God.

It’s been described as “looking at God, looking at you, in love” as we “let God love us into people of love” (from Practicing the Way, by John Mark Comer). This is a prayer where we let go of striving and our only aim is to receive God’s love in a way that transforms us from the inside out.

Going on a walk with God

Go for a walk with nothing playing in your ears–no music, no podcast. It could just be around the block or on a trail through the woods. Begin the walk with a short prayer acknowledging that God is with you, and express that you simply desire to take a walk with him.

As you walk, notice the beauty around you–take in the sky and the trees. Tune in to your senses: How does the fresh air feel? How does it smell? What do you see? Notice the feel of the ground below you. I especially love this particular way of entering the space beyond words, because it’s embodied. It helps you move out of your mind and connect with your whole self, including your body–an often-neglected yet essential part of us.

Instrumental Music

Sometimes when I’m in silence, my mind will get distracted. This is normal. At times, what fills my mind is a song I have stuck in my head. I’ve found that sometimes listening to instrumental music can help me settle in to the silence and allow my mind to release the words.

Choose songs that don’t have words attached to them that your mind will naturally try to fill in. My favorite playlist is called “Peaceful Piano” on Spotify, if you need a place to start.

I am and always be a words person. But words can only take us so far. Letting go of words is admitting that I cannot completely explain or figure out my faith or my life.

I don’t want to just know about Jesus. I want to experience who he is.

As I release my effort at words, it’s an act of trust and a surrender of control. It opens me up to receive the wisdom and strength that can only come from the Spirit of God, and it leads to a knowing that can only come from experience.

And this is something that words can never express.

Tell us in the comments: Which of these practices resonate with you? What would you add to this list?

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It seems that when I finally have the space for deep work, all of a sudden my mind is filled with a bunch of small tasks and to-dos, or something I need to look up “really quick” online. There is an inner buzzing that is thrilled to finally have the outer space to be heard, and it can sometimes completely derail my coveted empty block of time.

I noticed it again one morning this week, as I was praying and journaling. I long for and eagerly anticipate this time, but it often seems that the moment I have it, my mind and body struggle to settle in to it.

I allow any small inner tug to grab my attention, and it yanks my focus from what matters into some trivial thing to look up or check in on.

I tell myself I’m just going to do something really quick–it will only take a minute! And while that might be true, I also know that any small task will derail my focus away from whatever is in front of me that is probably more important.

The countless studies on this tell me what I already know–when I switch tasks, especially when it interrupts deeper work, it takes a whole lot longer than a minute to regain the momentum that I have just lost.

So why do I give in to the pull of distraction when I so deeply desire these spaces of silence and focused work?

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These small tasks do matter. They need to get done, and there are often times I put these off way too long, until there is an urgency because I didn’t take care of it before it was pressing. So there is also the need to block off time specifically for these nagging tasks and to-dos. This is important too.

But when I’ve already decided it’s a time for either deep work or prayer or inner reflection, that is not the time to give the to-dos my attention.

When it comes to inner, spiritual formation work, and creative work like writing, it requires uninterrupted time and space. There’s a lot of just sitting and thinking, and that is when the flood of to-dos come rushing in to fill that empty space.

It can crowd out the deeper thoughts that are waiting to emerge, and they never end up coming because I didn’t stay in the stillness long enough.

The deeper layers under the surface take time to rise up, and when we keep running away from the quiet, the waters just stay stirred up. We never fully settle in to the stillness.

This is a more far-reaching struggle than we often realize, and it seeps into many in-between moments of our day, crowding out any potential space for reflection.

This is why social media and our phones can be so detrimental. Because they invite us to fill the empty spaces with input, information, noise, and ideas from other people. It crowds our inner space, leaving no room for the deeper things to finally surface.

I’ve tried all the tricks to minimize this habit, and yet it keeps coming back. I’ve removed social media apps from my phone, only to still open them on my laptop and scroll through the newsfeeds.

While it helps to not have these apps on my phone, this doesn’t feel like enough. Especially because I write and work from my laptop, the pull to “just check in” is so strong. Yet I hate the way it makes me feel, and I don’t want to keep returning to it.

The truth is, there is something deeper going on here. This isn’t about trying harder, being more disciplined, or getting a better app or screen time settings that will control my behavior.

While external tools can be helpful, if we don’t face what’s going on within, it’s not that hard to get around the boundaries we’ve set.

So here’s what’s going on underneath all of this distraction, at least what I’m noticing in me:

It’s because I’m avoiding something.

Sometimes it’s an emotion under the surface that I don’t want to feel.
Or there’s something I don’t feel like doing.
Often it’s a project that I’m avoiding because I’m afraid I won’t have what it takes to do it well.

It feels easier to do a small task, to check the box, and to feel a sense of accomplishment around something I can control.

But when I consider my truest, deepest desires, I don’t really want to avoid the things that matter. I want to stay in the deeper places when I feel the pull to stay at the surface, or to skip around to whatever feels easier.

I know that the more I resist the urge to disconnect, the stronger that muscle of “staying in it” will grow.

There is a deeper desire for quiet and simplicity. Life is loud and hectic enough without adding to the noise, and that’s what I’m doing when I fill the empty spaces with these mindless distractions.

My invitation to you and to me is not to feel shame or set up a bunch of arbitrary rules and boundaries. It’s first to simply notice the pull.

Here are a few questions to help you notice:

• When do you tend to drift into mindless distractions?

• What makes it hard for you to stay in the stillness?

• What are you avoiding–whether it’s an emotion, project, or anything else that matters to you?

• What do you really want in how you spend your time and attention?

As you notice the pull and avoiding, remind yourself of what you really desire underneath all of it. Return to what matters to you, and give yourself the gift of empty space and silence without filling it.

Also, a quick announcement!

Next week on Thursday, February 12, I’m so excited to be speaking–along with Sibyl Towner–at the FREE Rested Success Summit, hosted by our team at the REALIFE Process®!

In our session, Sibyl and I will share a simple practice that helps you notice God’s inner work in your day-to-day life, and how this helps you to be more present with others. This practice has been life-changing for me–personally and in the work that I do–and I can’t wait to share it with you!

If you are a faith-based coach, spiritual director, or ministry leader, this FREE one-day online summit will help you as we explore:

• Inner Formation – the inner work that shapes who we are
• Outer Expression – coaching presence, skills, and ethics
• Sustainable Systems – marketing & tech without overwhelm
• Sustainable Success – rhythms of rest, boundaries, and faithfulness

Here are the details:

• February 12 | 10:00 AM–3:00 PM ET, LIVE on Zoom

• Save your spot for this FREE event here: https://therealifeprocess.com/summit

I hope to see you there!

Tell us in the comments: What helps you “stay in it” when you want to avoid or give in to distractions?

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I’m a big believer in journaling. Writing is how I process my life and how I notice God’s presence and activity within it.

It connects me to myself and to God, and is a deeply formational practice. I wrote more about this practice HERE, so you can read more about why I believe so much in writing as a part of our growth and spiritual journey.

But there’s another part of this practice that often gets left undone. While writing things down is crucial, it’s also important to read what you wrote.

As the quote above says so perfectly, reading what we write helps us understand our own thoughts and perspective. It helps us to know ourselves and our story, and to name the themes and threads that connect it all together.

Reading my own words gives me insight and brings connections that I may have missed in the moment, and there are some things that can only be seen in looking back.

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I have found it extremely beneficial to go back and read my journal in two ways:
*Reading journals from years ago
*Reading my journal from a week ago

One of the gifts of keeping a journal for many years is the ability to go back and read what I was experiencing in previous seasons.

There are particular times in my life that I am incredibly grateful I kept a journal–
My early twenties when my understanding of God and myself completely shifted.
When I met my husband.
The entire journey of infertility and adoption.

Picking up an old journal from one of these seasons is like getting to have a conversation with the younger version of myself. She has important things to tell me, and I have a few things I would tell her as well.

But not only is it helpful to look way back. I also need to look right behind me.

Every week, I practice a Weekly Review (which I share more about HERE). As part of this, I read through my journal from the past week. I then make a short list of the themes I noticed, of what I want to mark and remember and carry forward.

Reviewing my days and my weeks helps me notice the presence of God, which is always there just waiting to be named.

Journaling is my Daily Review. Reading my journal is part of my Weekly Review.

As we just began a new year, this daily and weekly practice brings an added gift. Sometime in December or January, I love to spend time reflecting on the year that has just passed before I move to naming what I want for the year ahead.

But it’s incredibly difficult to remember exactly what has transpired over a year’s time. I might remember big and significant events, but what about the daily noticings and learnings that shaped who I have become?

This is where my Weekly Review of my journal is incredibly helpful. Instead of looking back over my entire journal from the whole year, I can simply look at the list I made for each week. This helps me name what was most significant about the year that just passed.

To summarize, here is what this process looks like:

• Daily(ish): Write in your journal. Even a few lines or bullet points is a great start.

• Weekly: Review your journal and make a short list of what feels significant to carry forward.

• Yearly, OR (even better) Quarterly: Review your weekly lists and pull out the threads and themes that stand out to you.

If you want to notice and name the movement of God in your life, and if you want to practice spiritual journaling as part of your growth, I’d encourage you to consider how you might build on this practice by reading what you wrote.

This doesn’t have to take a long time or be super complicated. The beauty of this practice is that the more often you do it, the easier and quicker it is.

Journaling is a practice of reflection, and reading what you wrote takes it to a deeper level as you get up on the balcony of your life and notice it from a new perspective.

Tell us in the comments: Do you practice journaling? If so, do you ever read what you wrote?

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I want to get it all together, preferably now.

But I know growth takes time, and instead of trying to do it all at once, I need to keep it simple.

A practice that I’ve found helpful in doing this is choosing a word of the year. It’s a way of taking that giant list of “ways to improve” and focusing on what matters the most.

A word of the year is simply an invitation into who I want to be and how I want to live.

But unfortunately, what can happen all too often is that we choose a word, and then a few months later we find ourselves not even able to remember what it was.

How can we keep our word of the year in front of us? How might it become a part of our spiritual practices and even our time with God?

A word of the year is only helpful if we have a way of continuing to engage with it in our everyday life. So I want to share with you not only my own word for 2026, but a simple practice to help you continue to pay attention to your chosen word in a way that’s formational.

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MY 2026 WORD OF THE YEAR

My word for 2026 is ENERGY.

This has both a practical and a spiritual element for me.

When I did my review of 2025 (as I shared about that in this post), I noticed that so much of what I discovered and learned was connected to energy.

My practice of going on retreat sustained me spiritually.
Movement and nutrition gave me physical energy.
And having a plan and taking action brought energy to my everyday life.

These are very practical ways I noticed either the growth or lack of energy in my life, and I want to pay attention to these areas even more in 2026.

But it’s not just about what I can do to cultivate energy. It’s about recognizing where the truest, deepest energy actually originates.

The true source of energy is the Spirit of God within me.

I can “do” all of the right things to take care of myself in my mind, body, and soul, but my own energy will always be limited. God is the only source of energy that never runs out, and it is always available to me.

I have been noticing what it means to ask for strength from the Spirit in prayer–in both the quiet times alone with God, and right in the middle of the loud and challenging moments of my day.

Probably like you, I’m holding a lot right now–between work, family, home, and just all that life contains.

I want to be aware of the energy that is needed to show up to my life in ways that are healthy and sustainable, and this involves strength that is beyond me.

And, at the same time, there are things I can build into my day and my habits to cultivate energy in my mind, body, and soul.

So I’m noticing what energy looks like in my life right now, and naming what I can do–and not do–to build and develop it.

A DAILY PRACTICE FOR YOUR WORD OF THE YEAR

I don’t want my word for 2026 to be something I name now and then don’t pick up again until I review my year. I want it to be integrated into my everyday life in a way that keeps me growing.

So here’s a simple practice that can help us pay attention to our word of the year, and it’s connected to one you might already be doing.

To keep your word of the year a part of your daily life, make it part of your Daily Review (also called Examen.)

What is a question you can ask yourself each day that is connected to your word of the year?

If you’re unfamiliar with the Daily Review, it’s simply a practice of looking back over your day with God. You notice when you moved toward God and when you moved away. It’s about paying attention to the movement of God in your ordinary, everyday life so you can notice God in places you might otherwise have missed.

A big reason I chose Energy as my word of the year is that it’s something I want to pay attention to. I want to learn what actually gives me energy, and what drains it–because I’m learning that sometimes it’s not what I’d expect.

So my own Daily Review around my word of the year includes these questions:

• When did I feel the most energy today?

• When did I feel the least energy today?

• What can I do tomorrow to cultivate my energy–mind, body, and soul?

By making these questions part of my Daily Review, it keeps my word of the year in front of me. It actually becomes a tool of growth and transformation, and not just something I named at the beginning of the year and then proceed to forget completely.

This simple practice allows your word of the year to actually guide you into who you want to be, and moves from being just a word into a way of being and living.

Recently, I was invited to reflect on my 2025 word of the year with on her Welcoming Slow Growth podcast.

If you’re curious about how to choose a word that invites real transformation rather than just another goal to check off, this conversation might be for you.

Check out Episode 4: “Learning to Live Freely and Lightly in Your Creative Calling” on Emily’s podcast by searching “Welcoming Slow Growth” wherever you listen to podcasts.

Thank you, Emily, for a great conversation, and for your work in helping us embrace our word of the year in a way that carries us forward!

Tell us in the comments: Did you choose a word of the year? Feel free to share it, and how this practice has helped you in your own personal growth.

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But for many of us, myself included, the start of a new year feels like a fresh start, a blank slate, and a chance to reset and recommit to what truly matters.

And yet, I’ve learned that growth doesn’t happen in one day, and slow progress through small steps is the only way it will last.

So I always enter the new year a bit slowly and cautiously, noticing when my all-or-nothing mentality starts to creep back in and tell me I need to change my entire life in one day.

A practice that helps me enter the new year well is to first review the year that has ended. I take some time to look back and notice what I learned and experienced in the past year.

Even though we’re already a week into the new year, it’s never too late to look back. In fact, the practice of reflection and review is helpful to practice on a weekly and even daily basis.

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What was extremely helpful for me as I reviewed my year is that almost every week, I sit down and do a weekly review. I write down a few bullet points of what I want to remember–significant events, small moments of delight, and what felt particularly challenging that week.

It helps me remember not only important events, but also what God has been showing and teaching me.

So when I did a review of 2025, I simply looked over my weekly review lists, and made a new list of what felt important to remember.

2025 held a lot, for me and for our family. And while I won’t share everything here, I do want to share a few themes that surfaced for me as I considered: What was most significant in 2025?

Here are a few of the big takeaways I noticed in reviewing my list:

1. A rhythm of retreat is essential.

As part of a training program I’m doing, I go on a short retreat five times per year. This time away includes teaching, training, and community, and it also allows time to be alone. I have time to pray and reflect, and to simply be with myself and with God. These experiences have been life-changing on so many levels, and I’ve recognized how much I need it. Even short times away can be incredibly restorative, so I want to intentionally plan them into my rhythm.

2. My physical health–movement and nutrition–impacts everything.

This is a huge noticing for me. I’ve come to realize that my daily Pilates practice is almost as important as my daily spiritual practices, if not equally so. It impacts my mood and my energy, not to mention long-term care and health of my physical body.

I’ve noticed a similar effect with food and what I eat. When I eat comfort food and let go of healthy choices, it’s often because I’m having a hard time already, and my food choices do not help. They make me lethargic, zap my energy, and really impact my overall mood.

Whenever I get out of routine–such as during the recent holidays–it’s really hard for me to get back on track. But when I can develop consistency, I build momentum and it becomes easier to make healthy choices. I know how important it is to reset when I get off-track here, and caring for my body is something I’ve noticed is hugely important.

My physical health matters more than I want to admit. It’s worth the investment of my time and energy and effort.

3. Having a plan and taking action helps me tremendously.

I crave open space and nothing on the calendar. But too much of this is simply not good for me, no matter how much I think that’s what I want. I both crave and resist structure. But I’m learning that having a plan in place keeps me from drifting and checking out from my life.

I can always adjust the plan, but I need to start with something. I use a digital calendar but also a paper planner to write down what needs to be done and when I will do it. This helps my energy, focus, and motivation.

I am also learning that it feels really good to take action. My tendency is to want to be DONE, to not do anything and to just have nothing required of me. This leads to putting things off as I try to conserve my energy.

But I’m noticing it’s MORE energizing to get things done. I often carry a sense of dread about whatever it is that I’m putting off, and THIS is what drains my energy. The dread disappears when I start moving, and I am often surprised by a sense of delight in the simple doing of the thing.

There are other things I noticed, and one in particular that influenced what I chose as my word for the year, which I’ll share more about next week.

It’s helpful to be specific and name tangible, actionable takeaways as I discern how I want to move into this next year and season.

If you haven’t already, I encourage you to look back over the past year. It doesn’t have to be a long, drawn-out process. Look through your calendar, journal, photos, and planner. What stands out to you? What worked, and what didn’t? What were the themes and patterns that feel noteworthy?

Let us know in the comments: Have you spent time reviewing 2025? What did you learn or notice?

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But it was a lot, and on the other side of it, I was left feeling depleted and drained.

Now as we are right in the middle of the holidays, I know how full this season can get, and how fast it can go. I find myself drawn towards slowing down and simplicity, but my schedule and to-do list don’t exactly align with this desire.

I find myself wanting to clear some space.

This is a compulsion that typically doesn’t come until January. The start of a new year usually makes me want to clear the clutter and embrace a fresh start.

December is generally more about filling the days with activity and traditions. Again, the word “full” seems like an apt description for this time of year.

And yet, I can feel my soul resisting it. I am craving slowness and simplicity in a time of year that seems to fight against it.

So how can life slow down and feel simple, while still holding the fullness of all that daily life brings?

To further complicate things…

Right alongside this desire for simplicity and slowness is the longing to get stuff in order. I want to GET. THINGS. DONE.

“Things” is a general term that encompasses my ENTIRE life: work projects, my physical space and home, meal planning, finances, schedules and calendars, digital clutter, etc etc etc.

I wish there was a giant reset button that would return everything to a completed, ordered state that I could then just maintain.

I just want all the things to be done, to catch up with life, and feel settled. Is that too much to ask?

(Yes. Yes, it is.)

So if I can’t do ALL the things…and it’s not an option to do NONE of the things…where does that leave me?

Here’s where I’m landing after spinning in this spiral for a bit:

It’s not about getting it all done. Nor is it checking out from life and spending the entire month staring at the pretty Christmas tree (as tempting as that option is!).

When life feels too big and overwhelming, I have to make it small.

What is mine to do today? What can I do in this moment?

When all the pieces of life are competing for my time and attention, what matters most? And what can wait, or even be released completely?

It’s not all or nothing. So what are the few somethings that are mine to hold and to do?

A simple, tangible practice that is helpful for me is to get out a piece of paper and make a giant list. I write down all the things that are competing for my attention: the tasks, events, to-dos, anxieties, projects…I just write it all down.

Simply getting it on paper makes it feel less overwhelming. Being able to tangibly see it in front of me brings clarity and perspective.

When I can see it on paper, I know what I’m actually dealing with, instead of thinking it’s “EVERYTHING”. Because it’s not really everything, even if it is a lot.

Then I can sort through it and make some decisions. I do this in prayer with God, as we discern together, using some of the questions mentioned above:

• What matters most?

• What is mine to do today?

• What is one small step I can take in this moment?

• What can wait, or even be released completely?

This helps me to not try and do it all. But also to not do nothing. (Is that sentence good English? Probably not, but you get the idea.)

The holiday season, like the rest of life, can only happen one step at a time. You can’t do it all. But you can do something.

We crave simplicity and we also have stuff to do. Let’s make the stuff simpler, and let go of the rest.

Take a deep breath. Make a list to get it out of your head, and then sit with God as you hold it together. Name what matters, and instead of doing it all, just take one small step, and then another.

Even when life is full, we are invited to stillness within. Even while we keep moving forward, we can settle into the simplicity of being present to this moment instead of taking it all at once.

Tell us in the comments: How are you feeling in this hectic holiday season? What is one small step you can take today? What is one thing you can release?

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Basically, you make a list of the gifts you are grateful for in your life, whether they are big or small, and write it in your journal or maybe even share it on social media.

Even though this is a good and helpful practice for many, it’s one I’ve struggled to do.

I can easily name the big things–my family, my health, my work. And then a few little things too–good coffee, a book I can lose myself in, a walk on a bright and chilly fall day.

But then I seem to run out of new items for the list. I feel like I end up writing the same things over and over again.

I get stuck trying to come up with new things to be grateful for, and inevitably, the practice of gratitude list-making will be abandoned.

But maybe the point of the practice is not to come up with new things to be grateful for, but to keep reminding myself of the consistent beauty that is in my life right now.

I don’t need new reasons to be grateful, because the existing ones are so deeply worthy of gratitude.

I just need a short and simple list, one that I can return to again and again to remind me of what matters most in my life.

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Gratitude is less about making a giant list, and more about simply noticing what’s there. It’s about paying attention to the everyday moments that are easy to miss when you’re not looking for them.

How do you pay attention to your everyday life in a way that leads to gratitude?

Maybe, instead of wracking our brains for a list of all the people and things that we know we should be thankful for, we could simply open our eyes to look around us. We could rest in the current moment, whatever it holds, and thank God for whatever rises up inside of us.

Gratitude comes when we simply open our eyes to see what’s right in front of us.

It’s about choosing to slow down and be present to what is, instead of constantly thinking about how we wish it could be.

We can even look for gratitude in the less obvious places–to find thankfulness even in the struggles and stresses of everyday life.

Practicing gratitude in those places just might be life-changing. Because even in the hard places, there is always beauty to be found. We can see God at work, growing us and sustaining us with his presence and strength.

Even in the circumstances where we struggle to feel grateful, God is there. Even if all we can express gratitude for is his presence, we can trust that it’s enough.

Practicing gratitude isn’t about pretending life is easy or dismissing our pain. It’s recognizing there is still goodness to be found, because God is found everywhere. And in the hardest places of our lives, we can be especially grateful for that.

Tell us in the comments: How do you feel invited to practice gratitude in this season? Is making a list helpful for you? Or does it feel more doable to simply notice the everyday moments?

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Reading scripture is a practice that I believe is foundational to our life with God. Yet sometimes we can feel like we’re just going through the motions, checking the boxes, and reading it because we “should.”

So much of the emphasis around scripture growing up, at least for me, was on knowing the bible well. Could we recite a verse from memory? Quickly look up the reference? Recall the basic facts about the most well-known stories?

I remember being in my 2nd grade Sunday School class when our teacher challenged us to memorize Psalm 23. Our reward would be a beautiful, clear (glass? probably plastic) bookmark, and I remember desperately wanting that prize. I recited the words at home over and over again until I finally reached my goal. I can still recite that psalm from memory to this day.

In high school, we had to memorize a list of verses in order to become part of the team going on a mission trip that summer. I wrote them all out on index cards, and once again worked towards my goal.

I sat in countless bible studies with workbooks and the fill-in-the-blanks, always ready with the “right” answer.

I flipped through the pages of my bible during sword drills, racing to see who could locate the requested verse first.

It’s not a bad thing to know the bible well. But when our knowing stops at information, and never moves to a deeper knowing of the heart, all that knowledge just doesn’t do us any good.

We were told to read our bibles daily, ideally first thing in the morning. I carried a sense of guilt and shame for years because I found this practice unsustainable.

But I had sat through years of sermons and flannel graphs and worksheets, so my biblical knowledge didn’t really depend on reading it for myself.

It wasn’t until my freshman year of college, when I was invited to join a Beth Moore study, that I truly began to fall in love with God’s Word. Each week, we would do our “homework” in the workbook, digging in to the passage for ourselves, writing down what we noticed. We would then gather to watch Beth Moore teach on a tiny TV in one of the library’s private rooms.

It was the first time I’d ever seen or heard a woman preach, and she taught with such passion and conviction. She had a visible, tangible passion and love for Jesus and God’s Word that was contagious.

I started reading the bible on a more regular basis, and it wasn’t because I “should” but because I wanted to. This turned into a call and passion for ministry, even earning a seminary degree after college.

But studying scripture in seminary happened right alongside learning different ways of reading scripture–slowly and reflectively, listening in the silence, and reading less instead of more. This began to help me move from my mind down to my heart, and it changed how I approached the bible.

As I reflect on my experience with Scripture, there was a gradual shift for me. Early on, it was about learning information, meeting external goals and expectations, and reading it because I “should.”

Eventually, my desire for scripture grew, but I can’t help but thinking of the words of Jesus as I review my story: “You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life.” (John 5:39-40)

Was I looking to the bible for life instead of Jesus himself?

Of course, the bible is how we learn about Jesus. But so often we come to scripture for information, knowing “about” God, instead of transformation, which is actually knowing God in a way that brings loving connection with him that changes us from the inside out.

Currently, I still read the bible most days, although smaller sections of it, and I read it much, much slower.

If you value reading scripture but find yourself stuck in a rut or just going through the motions, there are specific practices that can help us engage with scripture in a new and fresh way.

But the best place to start might be this–Read less. Slow down.

Choose just a few verses. Read them slowly. Read them again.

Be still, silent, and listen.

Give yourself permission to not check the box or finish the plan. Allow God’s Word to move from your head to your heart, and encounter Jesus in a way that transforms beyond simply reading information.

We just started a new season of the REALIFE Practice Podcast that I host with Teresa McCloy, and it’s all about scripture. In the first episode, we’re sharing some of our own experiences with scripture, and the rest of the season will share some specific practices we’ve found helpful.

LISTEN HERE, and you can also download a free resource with ideas for how to engage with scripture HERE.

As you think about how you currently engage with scripture, take some time to reflect: What is your story with scripture? How did you engage with it growing up? How was it taught about in your church or family?

I hope the podcast gives you some tangible tools to engage with scripture in your own life, and I’ll share some of these tools in upcoming posts as well. The word of God is living and active, and new ways of engaging with it can breathe fresh life into it for us.

Tell us in the comments: What is your story with scripture? Is there a specific memory that comes to mind? How does that connect to your experience with scripture now?

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You get the idea.

Yet I had things to do. As much as I might want to lose myself in a good novel or TV show, that wasn’t really an option. While I had a pretty flexible day, I also had a list of things to do that weren’t going to accomplish themselves.

So what do you do on a day like that? Sometimes it feels like the only options are to power through or just check out.

What if there’s another way?

What do we do with low energy or motivation, when we feel the pull of distraction and disconnection?

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I’m learning there is so much power in taking a simple pause. It sounds so incredibly minute and meaningless that it’s tempting to overlook it as a helpful tool. But often, just pausing for even a few moments can be what keeps us from either pushing forward and burning out, OR disconnecting and drifting into distraction.

Pausing is a small yet powerful tool for changing old patterns and habits.

I’ve heard it said that growth happens in the space between the stimulus and the response. (Who came up with this quote? Not sure. Dallas Willard? John Ortberg? Tyler Sterchi? We’ll never know.)

So before we move to action–or INaction–a simple pause can help us discern what is needed.

Here’s a simple practice of pausing:

First, take a moment to check-in with yourself, ALL of who you are–body, mind, and heart–and name what you notice.

Here are a few questions that are helpful:

• BODY
  How does my body feel? What is it telling me?

• MIND
  What thoughts are taking up space in my mind? Are there any unhelpful messages I can notice and name?

• HEART
  How am I feeling in this moment? What is stirring in my heart, and how might I name my current emotion?

Next, identify which of the three areas is most depleted right now. Is it your body, mind, or heart?

While I might be aware that I need some sort of reset in my day, until I identify where I need a reset, I don’t really know what I need to do. I might try to replenish my mind, when what I need is to restore my body.

Finally, ask: What do I need right now to replenish this area (body, mind, or heart)?

Part of this is identifying what you can do now, and what you can do later. Depending on your day, you might not have much time, but generally there is something you can do in the moment. Then, you can name what you will do later when you have more time in order to better care for yourself.

To show you how this might look, here’s an example of how this played out for me this week.

I noticed I was feeling low energy and just kind of lethargic. I didn’t feel like doing anything, and honestly didn’t have the drive to just power through.

So my mind started to get pulled into distraction with the usual culprits–social media, checking email one more time, that sort of thing.

These habits are a signal that something is off, and that I need a reset.

So I paused. First, I checked in with myself, quickly going through the questions above about the state of my body, mind, and heart.

Next, I identified that it was mostly a depletion physically in my body. The reason my mind was distracted was because my body was physically tired and low on energy.

So I asked myself: What does my body need? What might feel good in my body right now?

I know that movement can often help with energy, so I decided to go for a short walk–only about 15 minutes, but it felt good to be outside and move.

As I walked, I also noticed I felt hungry. I realized making a quick smoothie sounded good and nourishing. (My food cravings are not always so healthy, I can assure you, but I think paying attention to what my body truly needed was what made it sound so good.)

Did this take time out of my day? Yes, but the 15-20 minutes it took saved the countless minutes and hours I could have drifted through, had I not given my body what it needed.

Thankfully, I had the flexibility in my day to do these things in the moment. But if I had an appointment or meeting that I simply couldn’t miss, there are other ways I could have taken care of my body in the moment: drinking a tall glass of water, doing some stretching, taking a few deep breaths.

I also asked myself: What can I do later–when I do have more time–to care for my physical body? I could plan a nourishing meal for dinner, and go to bed early.

None of this was a magic fix, but it helped. It kept me from drifting, and allowed me to be more present to my day and what needed to be done.

When we take the time to pause, even a small space can be enough to break our unhealthy habits and patterns.

This is a practice of kindness towards ourselves. Instead of checking out or pushing through–telling ourselves to just get over it and get back to work–it’s taking just a few minutes to notice what we need and, if we’re able, to provide ourselves with that care.

Pause. Notice what’s going on in your body, mind, and heart. Ask yourself what you need now and later, and do what you can to care for yourself.

It all starts with a simple pause, and that small step can be enough to reset your day.

Tell us in the comments: What small steps can you take to care for your body, mind, and soul on a low-energy day?

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(Note that my girls listen to a variety of music, and the silly and ridiculous songs are played just as much–if not more than–the Jesus ones. Just to keep it real here.)

This simple song is one many of us sang as children, at least if you grew up going to church as I did. It conveys a truth that seems so very basic that we are tempted to think we have moved on from it to deeper and more important things.

But what could be deeper than truly understanding the depth of Jesus’ love for us?

As I listened to my daughter sing, it struck me that if she could grasp the truth of those words–that Jesus loves her, uniquely and completely–how much that would shape her life and who she is.

And the same is true for me, and for you.

If I could grasp the depth of the love of Jesus–for me–it would change everything.

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Back in my early twenties, I felt drawn to a season of deepening my experience of Jesus’ love for me.

At the time, I “knew” God loved me unconditionally–no matter what I did or did not do. But I had never truly given God the opportunity to show me, because I’d been working so hard to earn his love and acceptance, and prove myself worthy of it.

So for a season, that’s what I did. I stopped “doing” and simply received. I experienced God’s love for me for who I am, not for what I could do.

It formed so much in me, and when I returned to the work of ministry, something deep had shifted in me. I approached it knowing I was loved. Nothing I could do would ever change that.

The reality of God’s love for you is something you probably “know.” You would likely agree with the statement made in the song: Yes, Jesus loves me.

But it’s often been said that the farthest distance to travel is from your head to your heart. We can know something in our mind and agree with it logically. It’s a completely different “knowing” to experience ourselves as loved.

The truest thing about you is that you are a beloved child of God. This is who you are. When you think of your identity, this is the first thing that ought to come to mind. But if you’re anything like me, it’s often not.

We define ourselves more often than not by what we do. We believe our value lies in what we can contribute, how we perform, and how often we succeed versus fail.

What we do matters. And yet, it is not what is most important about us.

The truth is, we often approach this in the wrong order. We try to perform and prove ourselves to show our worth and value. But our worth and value have already been decided: We are loved, just as we are.

Truly knowing this about ourselves–through experience, not just logically in our minds–will change everything about what we do.

Our lives become an overflow of this central truth of our identity–We are loved. So we then live and act as the beloved.

I was recently on a retreat for my spiritual direction training program, and our facilitators read to us a list of “graces” that we might feel invited to ask for as we begin the second year of our program.

The one that drew me in was: “the ability to embrace and love myself–my being, mode, and gifts.”

It surprised me at first, because I thought: Haven’t I already received this grace? Haven’t I been here before?

But I felt invited to return to resting in who I truly am. Not to build up my self-esteem or to pretend I have it all together. But to become rooted in the reality that I’m loved–as I am, for who I am, right here and now.

While in some ways, this was returning to an earlier part of my journey, it’s not the same experience. I myself am not the same, nor am I in the same place.

It’s not going backwards. It’s exploring the deeper layers of the ever-spiraling journey of life with God.

This time, it feels quite different. I am in a season that has a lot of “doing.” I am not able to step away from it all, nor do I feel the desire to do so.

Right now, I’m being invited to experience God’s love for who I am as I move, along the way. It’s an experience that is integrated into the action and reality of my everyday life–my work, family, home, and community.

Experiencing ourselves as the beloved is something we must return to again and again. We never outgrow the need for this most basic and foundational truth, and there are always deeper layers to explore.

Just when we think we finally “get it” we discover there is much more there. Part of spiritual maturity is realizing just how little we actually understand, and how vast is the mystery of God.

So what might this practically look like?

I’m still discerning this, to be honest. But I have found a helpful practice is to spend more time in silence with God–without words or agenda, but simply being with him.

Here is one way you might practice being the beloved:

• Sit in silence, allowing yourself to settle in to the space.

• Listen to the song “Loved” by Pat Barrett, one that’s been helpful for me, HERE. Imagine Jesus listening with you.

• Then sit in silence again, asking God: How do you see me?

• Simply listen. There may be words or phrases you sense from God. Or you might simply experience the gift of God’s presence as he does an inner work that you cannot even name.

• You may want to write down what you sensed or heard after the silence, but don’t rush to words or trying to define it. Allow yourself to be loved–without agenda or effort.

Just as the truth that “Jesus loves me” is simple, so is the practice of resting in his love.

But while it might be simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. (True of so many aspects of life with God.)

If no one has told you lately, allow me to say it: You are loved. It’s the simplest and most profound truth about you.

You are a beloved child of God. That is who you are. You are loved.

Tell us in the comments: How does it feel to rest in the truth that you are beloved by God?

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