WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

 

Still, a few words: the stained-glass window reads in Dutch:

"My peace I give to you: for you too".

Friday's Fave Five

It’s not Friday anymore, but Saturday… and still I wanted to do this. Just to look back over the week and notice what was there.

~ two walks in the woods ~
This week I was able to go to the woods twice, and I’m really grateful for that. It actually took a while before I could go again. The pollen I’m allergic to had to clear first, and my word for this year is patience — so yes, my patience was truly tested. But now there was space again. The fresh spring green…  So beautiful. I even wrote a blog about it (you can read it here).

~ building something together ~
A friend from my new church and I had coffee together, and I helped her set up a blog. I really enjoyed that... something simple, but meaningful too. I didn’t take a picture of it, but it’s a good memory.

~ seeing the day off ~
My husband and I went out to watch the sunset. We kept walking… until it grew dark and the moon appeared. We saw the lapwing and the redshank again; both back. It was such a peaceful moment, stepping away from the busyness of life.

~ seeds coming up ~
Some time ago, I received a large box with flower and herb seeds as an Advent gift from my son. Each day I opened a little window with a new packet. Now they are starting to grow. That also asked for patience… but it’s so lovely to see them come up.

~ mother-daughter time ~
Today I had a little outing with my daughter. We walked through the yellow rapeseed fields — endless yellow, so bright and beautiful. Just being together like that was a gift.

Grateful for this week.
For what was simply there.
Wishing you a lovely weekend 🌿

When Patience Isn’t Patience

I woke up at 3 a.m. shaking.

Nausea. A pounding head. My chest tight, as if something heavy was pressing down on it. No bad dream. Just my body in full alarm.

And I knew exactly why.

I’m writing a memoir about church pain. I’ve lived through it once. But every time I write it chronologically, my body reacts as if it’s happening again. Church hurt doesn’t stay politely in the past.

Patience Is Not Slow Pushing

My word has been patience. I tell myself I’m not rushing. I know books take time. Healing takes time.

But patience is not pushing more slowly.
It’s knowing when pushing is still pushing.

I wasn’t rushing the timeline.
I was gripping the weight.

Opening My Hands

This morning I listened to a short devotion about praying with clenched fists — naming what you’re holding — and then opening your hands to release it.

When I closed my fists, I knew what I was holding.

Not just the book.
The need to carry it thoroughly. Chronologically. Completely.

As if telling the truth requires reliving everything.

It doesn’t.

I can write sideways. In fragments. With space. Even with humor. I can let the process be held, instead of holding it myself.

Patience, Again

And now I’m sitting here on a day when my head still feels tired. I know I shouldn’t make big decisions when I’m this worn out.

But I do know this:

Patience.

Even if I choose a completely different entry point for this book — that’s okay.

I’m not failing if I change the structure.
I’m not failing if I don’t tell it chronologically.
I’m not failing if I protect my nervous system.

The story isn’t going anywhere.

So today, I’ll let it rest.

Patience in Real Life

(January... also known as the month my word started following me around)

My word for this year is Patience.

I know this because it keeps finding me.

If I don’t think about it myself, my husband reminds me.
If he doesn’t, I read about it.
And if that doesn’t happen, my desk calendar will show me a cartoon about... yes: patience!

At this point, I’m pretty sure I chose the right word. Or maybe it chose me.

What makes it funny is the small moment when I suddenly notice it.
Ploink.
Oh yes. That again.

I’m not very impatient with other people. I can wait. I can listen.
But with myself?
Not so much.

I want things to move forward.
I want answers to come quickly.
I want my body, my ideas, and my writing to cooperate.

And when they don’t, my first thought is often: I’ll just stop.
That’s usually when my word shows up again.

Patience.

I write about it in a light way here, but inside it doesn’t always feel light. This word also stays with me during long medical searches, in ongoing conversations with doctors, and in waiting for answers that take much longer than I expected.

So yes, my word is doing its work.
It keeps appearing.
It keeps interrupting me.
And often, it makes me smile when I realize what’s happening.

Ploink.
Oh yes. Patience.

P.S. I made the image with ChatGPT by literally telling it what I wanted — out loud, in quotes, with many small instructions. This is the result. What do you think?

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👉 Curious what other One Words look like? Take a look here: 3 Simple Ways to Begin the Year Gently

How My One Word Took Three Tries

At first, my 2026 word was write. I want to write my book, so that felt logical. But very quickly, write started to feel heavy. It came with pressure, expectations, and the quiet question: why aren’t you further yet? 

That wasn’t helpful. It made me tense instead of creative.

So I moved on to focus. That felt better. Focus is practical. It doesn’t demand results, it just asks for attention. One thing at a time. Less noise. Less scrolling. Focus helped me see what I struggle with: staying with something long enough, especially when it’s not clear yet.

And that’s where the real issue showed up. I don’t lack discipline. I lack patience with myself. I’m patient with other people. I’m patient with situations. But when my own process slows down, I get restless. I start pushing. Focus helped me notice that, but it wasn’t the final word.

The word I actually need is patience. Not passive waiting, and not giving up. Patience with my own pace. Patience when things take longer than planned. Patience when January doesn’t come with a clear starting point.

So that’s how I got here. Write was too demanding. Focus was helpful, but not enough. Patience gives me room to stay, even when the road turns out to be longer than expected.

And that’s why it’s my word.