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?

---

👉 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.

The Hidden Grace in My One Word

Lisa asked for one insight from our One Word, and as I tried to put mine into a comment, it grew into a full blog of its own.

My One Word abide has been slipping through my fingers lately. Not because I don’t love the word, but because real life has been heavy. Pain, quiet rooms (midlife you know), long days. And strangely enough, these weren’t the days where I sank deeply into Scripture, the way I always imagined I should.

On the good days, I enjoy rich Bible study.
On the hard days… I don’t.
I read a small paragraph. A simple quote. Maybe a page from Max Lucado. And it all feels so thin, so far from what “abiding” is supposed to look like.

Add to that the small heartbreaks. Little things that press unexpectedly on the soul. And I feel myself drift. I worry I’m drifting from Him. I feel like I can’t hold on to the word at all.

But somewhere in that quiet struggle, something has shifted.

I’m starting to see that maybe abide isn’t asking me to hold on harder.
Maybe it’s showing me that Christ is the One who holds on to me.

Even when I’m tired.
Even when I read only a few simple lines.
Even when my prayers feel small and my heart feels flat.

On those days, I come to Him with my mind instead of my emotions, and I whisper, “You will finish Your work in me. You will lead me safely.” And for that day; that really is enough.

If you’ve ever felt guilty for not being “deep” enough on the harder days… please hear this:
You’re not the only one. You’re not failing. And you’re not falling out of His hands.

Sometimes abiding looks quiet, simple, almost fragile.
And yet, it still counts. Because He holds you.

--

I’m so grateful for abide in Me. It shaped me in ways I never expected, and it carried me through this year. But it won’t be my word for the new year. The truth of it stays, just not the word itself.

I sense something new coming… maybe trust, maybe go, maybe speak or write. I’m not sure yet. And that’s okay.

Do you already have your One Word for next year?

Abide: A Lamp in the Dusk

The lamps flicker on while the sky is still holding its breath between day and night. Across the street, windows glow like quiet beacons. Further away, the windmill stands clothed in its faithful light, steady against the dusk. 

The season tilts, and with it the world itself seems to lean into shadows — wars and rumors of wars, even the skies above us feel unsettled, airspace violated, restlessness echoing everywhere.

Yet here, in this gathering dusk, another voice rises — softer, steadier than the night: Abide in Me. Remain. Do not drift with the tide of fear. Keep your eyes on Me.

And that is enough. This one lesson keeps deepening: to remain in Him. He is the only light that truly endures.

“When we remain in Him, we do more than survive the shadows — we sparkle with His light, as stars scattered across a midnight sky.”

Keep abiding. In the shifting seasons and the deepening shadows, this is the safest place you can be.