My One Little Word for 2025

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It’s that time of year: time to choose a word as a beacon to guide me through 2025.

I chose the word listen as my One Little Word three years ago, and for the past two years I have chosen the word pray to guide me through the years. My former words won’t leave me – I still keep them as my own – especially pray. Once a new word has been chosen, former words don’t vanish, turning down some dark alley lurking between the minutes of the midnight hour of New Year’s Eve. They stick like blood kin that want more words to come to the table in the family of chosen words, much like siblings wanting more brothers and sisters.

I’m not abandoning listen or pray. But a strange word took hold of me a few weeks ago, and I don’t fully know why. It’s an adjective and adverb and, according to the dictionary, can also be used as a pronoun and is sometimes used interjectionally, too. This is not an actionable verb as my former words have been.

My One Little Word for 2025 shall be enough.

It seems an unusual choice to me right now, but I know it will become clear once the year gets going. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that once we pray for the right word, we must listen hard enough when it comes alongside us with the pick me! pick me! promptings.

I felt tears welling a couple of years ago when I discovered I was a one on the Enneagram – an overachieving perfectionist whose own worst enemy is…..well, …… ME. I can’t ever seem to live up to my own bar – it’s been set far too high for far too long. I often feel I fall short, even when I succeed. I need to be able to say that I am enough – – and to believe me when I do.

If I do a thing, I overdo it.
I cook for an army rather than for the two of us at the table. I own too many books and too many shoes. I need to learn to appreciate the blessings of having enough– without having too much. I need to find my library card more often than the Amazon cart. I need to learn what is enough and to be a good steward of the management of it.

My sense of adventure is insatiable. I want to explore every GPS location on the globe and don’t quite know what to do with myself when I get there, while under-appreciating that the exquisite beauty of my own town is a unique world all its own – enough to keep me fascinated right here where I am if I only see it with the wonder-filled eyes it deserves.

And my world gets out of whack. I work long hours, and I’m feeling my bones and my soul tell me that doing too much in one place leaves too little in another. More balance would bring enough to both the professional realm and the personal one. I’m often rushing my husband through the extra glass of iced tea he likes to have at the end of a meal if we are in a restaurant, even at times when we have no hurry or particular place to be. I envy his ability to amble where I can’t seem to slow down and fill my lungs with enough air to take the time to relax and breathe a little.

There are gestures where I fall short: phone calls, birthday cards, random text messages to say I love you to those who mean the world to me. I fail to do enough to let my family and friends know how frequently I think of them.

The first word that appealed to me for 2025 was less. I almost chose it – then, I realized that less may not always hit the marks I need to hit. I could eat less, I could weigh less, I could spend less. I could check a few boxes and say I did less. But the real challenge will be sorting what needs more and what needs less to find the just-right balance of enough.

If you have chosen a OLW, please share it in the comments. I love the stories of how words manifest themselves to the people they choose. This is the first word that has me scratching my head about its reasons for knocking at my door. But here we are.

Happy New Year, and happy word finding!

Merry Christmas!

Few things give me greater pleasure than walking into the woods to gather Christmas greenery to create our own holiday decorations. On Christmas Eve, my husband and I took a bag and some pruning shears to snip some of nature’s finest fragrant (and free) gifts. As we light the candles to remember our mothers at Christmas dinner today, we celebrate the simple beauty of family, of friends, and of love that transcends this life.

May you find, in all the merriment of the day, true peace in the real reason for the season – the eternal life we have because of Jesus Christ. And the assurance that we will again be joined with those no longer here around our tables in person. That’s the most precious gift of all.

Last-Minute Shopper

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do not wait until

Christmas Eve to go gift shop

your mother was right~

your luck has run out

I planned and finished my list

and you had one job

she shakes a finger

from her buffet in Heaven

bites into dessert

A Calm Christmas: Clearing a Path for Dreams

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This December, I’ve been slowly making my way through Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year by Beth Kempton (2019), and in her final chapter of this book laden with the peace of the season, Chapter 10, Kempton encourages us to plan and dream in the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. clearing a path for all good things to come our way. The week between these holidays is what Kempson calls The Hush – – the best time of year for reflecting on the past years’ blessings and dreaming about the bountiful blessings that the coming year will bring.

This week brings some of the most delightful times of the year – the time we gather with family to celebrate Christmas. Yesterday, we took our three Schnoodles on a long walk around the farm on their favorite trails to celebrate Winter Solstice by keeping close to nature. Today, we will begin our first gathering of the season with our oldest grandson, who will turn 15 in February. This week will also bring the birth of our seventh grandchild in our family. As we clear paths for dreams, we are blessed beyond measure to build those dreams with the grandchildren that we love and hold so dearly today. For tomorrow, they will be holding their own grandchildren and sharing the stories of their own lives.

The Hush is more important now than ever in my day to day life – particularly the older I get. I need to carve out an every-weekend Hush, if only for a day. I’ve realized that what I see and hear in the news and on social media, what I read in books and magazines, and even in my own conversations with others can prompt the most horrific nightmares. It’s why I have to be so intentional about what I allow to enter my mind and heart. It’s why I don’t read horror genre books or watch scary movies anymore, as I once did. It’s why I read more Mary Oliver poetry and books like A Calm Christmas.

Take last night, for example. Yesterday as we finished having lunch, my husband casually showed me a photograph of four planes he’d taken this week as he was waiting on a recipient of a delivery. The planes were flying parallel, but they were emitting trails that were all of the same length and looked more like horses racing on a track where the inside horse is a set distance just ahead of the second, each horse a distance ahead and aside from the next, as if running down the straightaway on a racetrack.

He told me that he finally had seen with his own eyes why people might be persuaded to believe in the chem trail conspiracy. I examined the otherwise benign photo, and sure enough – these were not passenger jets, because generally they follow a flight path. They tend to stay in line, as I’ve watched through the windows at night from my bed just southwest of the Atlanta Airport. There is a seasonal shift in the tree line from my vantage point, but the planes have flown consistently above certain branches of the trees, always in a straight line, and there are usually about 2 minutes between the blinking lights of these planes. They don’t fly side by side the way his photograph showed. I have watched the planes for years as a relaxation tool – much like counting sheep, only counting planes.

Naturally, with a headline that had popped up when I was logging into my office computer network earlier this week, I’d seen the start of a nightmare. I should have known one was coming. The headline assured the world that World War 3 has begun. With all of the drone footage recently, a cup and half of this toxic cinnamon-sugar story was added to the mix, blending and swirling in the most obnoxious way in my dream, too.

I was standing on the lawn of the office in my dream (keep in mind that my office has no lawn, so this was a different space). Apparently, we all liked to go outside and eat (in real life, we either eat together at tables or go out to lunch), but we stood instead of having any picnic tables outside anywhere. I could see four glowing red/orange mini nuclear weapons about the shape of softballs, positioned much like the planes in the photograph, coming at me from the sky as I stood there in the dream, and I heard the voice of our PowerSchool Coordinator’s voice announcing that “We have been The Pirates,” to our community, as a final sign-off since she had seen the oncoming missile attack as well and was making our final phone call to say goodbye to all the families and students we’d served in our area in rural Georgia.

I ran for cover behind a bush, knowing it would not matter, and after surviving the nightmare attack, I stood up, charred, recognizing that in my condition I would not survive much longer. I looked at the rubble of the building and how disaster had struck in this small area, and then began walking home along a nature trail, peaceful and covered in evergreen trees and bare limbs where birds were all gathered in great number on the branches, singing and chirping as if nothing had happened.

I stopped and thought about them. They knew. They knew, and they had flown outside the realm of danger to avoid the exposure to the radiation. This was their survival technique.

It occurred to me that I need to be more like these birds – to be vigilant and aware of what I allow to seep into my mind, because it will blow up in the most unexpected ways. I must be the gatekeeper of all that goes in.

My husband asked why I’d been awake earlier. I told him never to show me scary photos again, and he chuckled, remarking that he didn’t see how the picture he’d shown me was scary.

And then I explained it all to him.

He has agreed: no more pictures that might cause me to lose sleep and wake up as a signed-off Pirate on a charred countdown clock.

I could use your most comforting book recommendations as my next reading. I’ll be listening to books that bring peaceful assurance on Audible as I make my way north this week to Kentucky to swaddle my new grandson and rock him in my arms, praying for his safety and health all the days of his life. Prayer. Needed now more than ever in our lives and in our world.