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.

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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.

When Slowing Down Becomes a Way to Abide

 Abide 🌿

It’s September. The last time I showed up here was June—and honestly, back then I wasn’t doing too well. A lot has happened since then. I finished the research for my book (yay!), but I also had to learn something new: pacing.

With a body that speeds up when it shouldn’t and crashes when it’s pushed, pacing becomes essential. Step back. Slow down. Stop before you hit the wall. Easier said than done, of course.

And strangely, that’s exactly what abide has been teaching me.

Abiding isn’t only about staying close to the Lord (though that’s the heart of it). It’s also about not running ahead. Not rushing. Not getting swept into the social media frenzy. These days, I’m inching my way through Psalm 27—one word study at a time. Not to share online, not to impress anyone, but just for myself. It feels like re-learning how to chew slowly and savor what God is teaching me.

It’s also about being present—with my husband, with my daughter, and with my boys who are about to hop on a plane to Croatia. Today yes.

Everyone seems busy—sometimes it feels like busyness is its own kind of virus. And honestly… could my symptoms just be side effects of that same virus? Someone should do a study on it. 😉

Although I wasn’t very active here on this blog, I was quite busy on my other three blogs: my faith blog, my photo blog, and my author blog. They’re written in Dutch, but no worries—there’s a translation button on all of them. 

Here are the links if you’d like to visit:

Kostbaar
Frozen Moments
Aritha's Schrijfblog

“Abide in Me… and learn the sacred rhythm of slowing down.”

💖 The Blessings Are in the Small Things

It’s Satarday, and I feel the need to slow down. I’m joining Susanne at Living to Tell the Story to pause and give thanks for the good things—this week. Maybe these things seem small, but they matter. 

Here’s my list:

1. I started walking in the woods again. It’s hard, so I’m taking it slow—no big goals, just enjoying what I see. And if I can’t enjoy it right then, I take photos so I can look at them later. I saw so many beautiful things—especially the color of the forest in the soft sunlight. The spring green of the leaves has already turned into a mature green. It’s going so fast.

Thank God we’ve had rain these last few days. In the photo below, you can see a huge puddle in the forest.

2. I had an important talk on Wednesday with the doctor, and my husband came with me. That meant a lot to me. ❤️ Maybe it’s something like POTS. I now have two weeks to see if this possible diagnosis makes sense, and then we’ll talk more with our GP about how to move forward.

Here’s a photo of a test I had on Thursday at our GP's office. First I had to lie down for 15 minutes, then stand up (while they checked my blood pressure). I got bored during those 15 minutes, that’s why I took photos from my lying-down position.

 

3. I finished reading a book, and for some reason, it touched me. 

The Recipe of Dreams is the first book in a captivating family saga about the women in a soap factory.

It’s 1865. Hanna grows up in her father’s soap factory, learning the craft from a young age. She’s talented and full of ideas, but her father doesn’t take her seriously just because she’s a woman. Still, she secretly creates new recipes for lovely, fragrant soaps.

She’s also hiding her love for Louis, the doctor’s son. When their relationship is threatened by family problems and her brother’s serious illness, Hanna’s whole world starts to fall apart. But she decides to fight – for her love and for her dream of one day running her own soap factory.

The Recipe of Dreams is the first part of the exciting new series The Women of the Soap Factory.

4. I feel so blessed that the spark to write has returned. I’m continuing with my memoir. 

5. My daughter came over, and we went thrifting. I get dizzy walking around in shops, so it was also a little test for me. But it went well!  I paid for what she picked out for herself.

These are the 3 pieces of clothing I bought. Lucky me, they fit—I was too tired to try them on at the store! 😄

Gratitude is often found in the small things. 

💛 Do you like thrifting or reading or walking?

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Over the course of the week, I’ll be visiting everyone else who joined this challenge or who left a comment here. See you soon! 😊

Friday’s Fave Five – I Got the Flu

It’s the last Friday of the month, and I’m feeling the need to slow down.  I’m joining Susanne now, at Living to Tell the Story, to cultivate gratitude by pausing to remember the good things of the week—and this month too. 

💖 Maybe these things seem small, but they matter. 

Here’s my list for this week:

1️⃣ Last Saturday I came down with a fever and spent most days in bed or garden chair. Thankfully, by Wednesday I began to feel better. My cough is still lingering a bit, but I’m so grateful the fever is gone.

2️⃣ My son gave me a lovely candle after an outing. It smells amazing, and it has little minerals inside that I plan to put on my windowsill later.

3️⃣ I joined a free workshop called Van Scrollen Naar Lezen (From Scrolling to Reading) and was so enthusiastic about it.

4️⃣ I wrote an Instagram post about a special “mistake” in my flower.

5️⃣ I’m absolutely fond of books with an animal as the main character! I did a lot of reading this week. Even though I felt sick, I finally had time to enjoy my books!

These were my little blessings of the week. 💕

I wrote this about a flower with a flaw:

🌸 This flower doesn’t grow the way it’s supposed to.
It twists into a spiral, growing crooked along the way.
They say it’s a mistake at the growth point.
They call it fasciation—a kind of growth disorder.
The stem widens, as if several parts have merged together.
It can happen because of cold, stress, damage, or disease.

Just like me.
At one point, I thought:
Too much has gone wrong.
Too much has grown crooked.

But now, years later, as I look back,
I see that something has grown after all.
In the depths, where everything seemed broken.

God can really bring something beautiful to life
even in places where it seems impossible.
I still don’t understand how He does that.
But I admire Him.
For who He is.
For what He does.

What you can’t see now
may become a source of wonder later.

“Even the crooked growth can carry fruit.”

🌀 “He makes everything beautiful in its time.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Five Blessings on a Friday Evening

It’s Friday evening, and I’ve taken a quiet moment to look back.
Not to analyse or to fix—just to notice.
To trace the little things that brought light into the ordinary days.

I am sitting on my red bench. It’s evening now. The sun has set, but I still heard the blackbirds singing—one last line of music before the day truly ends. And I look back. 

1. Coffee time at 10:30.
Every morning around 10:30—it’s our routine. My husband and I share a latte in the office that’s attached to our house. He pauses his work, I pause mine. We talk, sometimes laugh about nothing in particular, and I feel so deeply blessed to share that moment each day.

👇Dutch: And this is coffee ☺

2. Swallows overhead.
I was sitting in a garden chair with a bowl of oats when I heard them. Swifts, I think. Back from Africa. An Instagram friend from Israel once showed me photos of swallows resting there on their journey. I remember saying, “Just a little longer, and they’ll be in the Netherlands.”
And yes, here they are again.

The photo of the swallow is a bit blurry—but it gives you the idea.

3. My amaryllis bloomed.
A birthday gift from November—now finally in bloom. And what a bloom it is. It felt like a small miracle. Sometimes things take time, but they still come.

I took this photo today.
Can you see the raindrops on the window?
Finally—rain.

4. Photos from the windmill.
On his way home from the village, my husband always takes a little detour down the windmill path just to see how things are progressing. They’re fitting new sails on the mill, and he often sends me a photo of the latest changes. 

Two photos—
The one with the blue sky is from earlier.
You can see the year of construction engraved in the brickwork: 1911

5. A walk, and young birds.
Going for a walk was a small victory. Because of my symptoms (like a racing heart when I stop or bend down), walking can feel uncertain. But I did it. And it went well. A victory. And a blessing.

And there they were: young godwits! And baby redshanks—like little puffballs on stilts.

I’m attaching a little video… Click to enlarge
Mom and dad godwit with their chick.
Look closely—you’ll spot the little one!

😐 Oh, now I see it—what a pity, the quality is quite poor.

What were your blessings this week?

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👉Linked to Susanne's Friday's Fave Five

Go Back to the Garden

Once upon a time, there was a girl who couldn’t knit. Or crochet. Math confused her. Baking? Just about okay — if no one looked too closely. Home wasn’t exactly a cheerful place either. Not much laughter. But she had something else. She saw beauty in flowers. In the way light touched a poppy. In how even a tired dandelion still looked alive.

She wandered through the garden, took photos, and posted them on Instagram with quiet little captions. Nothing dramatic — just what she saw, what she felt. Some people replied kindly. A few even said: “Your posts help me slow down. I needed that.”

And she needed it too.

Until one day, someone said something.
Not loudly. Not rudely. But just enough to shake her a little:

“You should come talk to me sometime instead of wandering around that garden all day.”
“Maybe try doing something a bit more useful.”
“It’s nice, sure… if you’ve got time for that kind of thing.”

It came from someone she knew. Not her closest friend, but close enough to get under her skin.

And it worked.

She felt a bit stupid. Like she’d been wasting her time. Like noticing small beautiful things didn’t really count. So she deleted her account. Put her phone away. She bought a stack of books about flowers and curled up on the couch.

This is how jealousy sometimes works.

It doesn’t come with flashing lights or big words like “I’m jealous!”
It comes dressed up as concern. Or logic. Or a “friendly suggestion.”

“Shouldn’t you use your time for something real?”
“I’m just more practical — I don’t really get into that soft stuff.”
“You have time for that. I’m too busy.”

And if you’re the type who picks up on moods, who doesn’t want to bother anyone, you shrink a little.
You stop sharing what you love.
You feel guilty for enjoying it.
You make yourself smaller.

But someone else’s discomfort is not your fault.
And it’s not a reason to make yourself invisible.
Or to crawl away.

You don’t have to delete your photos.
Or swallow your words.
Or leave the garden.
You don’t have to say: “Sorry I found something beautiful today.”

Go back to the garden.
Because there’s nothing wrong with beauty in flowers.
Or simply: being yourself for a while.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

“Abide in Me, and I in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in Me.” — John 15:4 

He doesn’t ask you to be more useful, louder, or different.
He simply says: stay close.
And from there — you may quietly become what you were made to be.

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This is a fictional story, written for a challenge about how other people's emotions can affect you.

Friday’s Fave Five – A Quiet Pause

It’s Friday afternoon. I should be cooking dinner, but I’m home alone — and I’m putting it off. First, I want to pause and count a few blessings from this past week.

1. Blue skies
The weather has been beautiful. That soft Dutch blue always lifts my heart. Still, we haven’t had rain in weeks, and nature is longing for it. So I’m thankful for the sunshine, and praying for water.

2. Evening walk
One quiet evening, my husband and I went for a walk. Birds singing, herbs in the air. Just the two of us, no rush. A small thing, but it stayed with me.

3. My daughter’s birthday
She turned a year older today. We talked yesterday by video, laughed, even ate chips together — in our own homes. I’m thankful for her, and for moments like this. 

4. Wearing a heart monitor
I had to wear one this week, and it went really well. I even slept fine. I hope it recorded what it needed. I’m grateful for quiet technology that helps without disturbing.

5. A kind postcard
A stranger in Germany read my Postcrossing bio and picked a card that suited me. It made me smile. A little note, chosen with care. I love that.

Bonus: My breakfast 🥣
Every morning I have the same thing: gluten-free oats, full-fat milk, no sugar (but a pinch of salt), and a magnesium pill. 

Most mornings I eat my breakfast outside, in my garden chair, feet up on a little stool. It feels like such a blessing — my own little moment of quiet joy. I call it tuinstoel-geluk (Dutch for garden chair happiness).

How about you — do you eat the same breakfast every morning, or do you like variety?

👉Linked to Susanne's Friday's Fave Five

Known by the One Who Made Wings

“My patience was really tested by that butterfly,” my husband said.

He had gone for a bike ride while I was resting, and came back with photos — for me.

A common blue. A male.
Its upper wings, bright sky blue — but only visible in flight. The underside: soft grey, delicate black dots, and a curved line of tiny orange crescents. A butterfly no bigger than a coin, and yet so intricately designed.

It lives a short life — sometimes just a week. And still, it carries pollen from flower to flower. It’s not a “top pollinator” like the bee, but it plays its part. 

Carefully made.
By the One
who stretches out the heavens
and shapes the butterfly wing.

I looked at the photo. And I remembered what Jesus said — about lilies, about sparrows, and how we are not to be anxious. 

“Follow Me,” He said,
“and do not worry.

Not a single sparrow falls outside the Father’s care.
So neither does this little butterfly.

I don’t need to oversee where it’s going.
I just need to follow Him.
Today is enough. 🕊️

— A meditation on Matthew 10:29–31

Friday’s Fave Five – Better Late Than Never

I really wanted to join Friday’s Fave Five — but I was just too tired that day.

Now my post is finally up, a little late, but full of gratitude.
I’m glad I can still join in.

1. ☀️ The sun shining through the almost-summer-green oak leaves against a clear blue sky — such simple beauty that lifts my heart.

2. 📖 Reading Mark’s Gospel in the garden. The moment where Jesus sighs as He heals the deaf man struck me deeply. It felt like the sigh of God’s heart — full of sorrow and fierce compassion. I’ve been feeling physically weak lately, but He notices. He is the Rock beneath my trembling feet. One day, no more sighs. No pain. No tears. No fear.

3. 💐 A sweet Mother’s Day bouquet from my youngest — he gave it on Saturday “because I couldn’t hide it under my bed.” That made me laugh.  You can see one flower in the first photo, that lovely pink bellflower 🌸.

4. 🧦 Compression socks from my other son — a thoughtful and caring gift, hoping to ease some of the symptoms I’ve been struggling with.

5. 🦋 And a photo from my husband of a tiny Icarus blue butterfly — such a delicate reminder of God’s creativity, and how He notices even the smallest things.

So much grace, even in fragile days. Some days are simply harder than others — and honestly, don’t we all have days like that?

How precious then to pause and look for the gold that still shines through: the little and the big blessings God keeps giving. 

Written on a quiet Monday morning — but sneakily backdated to Friday, because that’s when I meant to post it. 😉

Sometimes We’re Too Afraid

I saw something on the forest path.

“A snake!”
My heart skipped a beat. 

But when I looked more closely, it turned out to be a slow worm.
Not a snake. No danger.
Just a legless lizard, harmless and still.

It made me think.

Sometimes I react out of fear,
before I even know if what I feel is true.
Often, we’re more afraid than we need to be.

And it’s not just creatures in the grass.
Sometimes something hard crosses our path.
Heavy. Unexpected.
And our first thought might be:
this is too much. help, I’m scared... I’ll never get through this.

But we don’t have to carry it alone.
God sees it.
He knows our fear, our breathlessness, our questions.
He doesn’t always take the weight away right away.
But He stays close.

And I remind myself: this is where I need to abide.

That word — abide — is the one I chose (or maybe it chose me) this year.
It calls me back, again and again.
Not to rush, not to flee, not to fix —
but simply to stay with Him.
To remain in His nearness, especially when I feel overwhelmed.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”
— Psalm 56:4

🧠 What looks like a “snake” in your life right now—something that startles you, but might not be as dangerous as it seems?

Friday’s Fave Five – First Week of May

It’s Friday, and I’m feeling the need to slow down. I’ve been dealing with some physical issues lately, so I want to take a quiet moment to reflect. 

💖 I’m joining Susanne now, at Living to Tell the Story to cultivate gratitude by pausing to remember the good things of the week.

Maybe these things seem small, but they matter. God is good in the everyday.

1. Writing simple blog posts
This week I wrote some simple blogs, using thoughts from earlier Instagram posts. That made it easier—when you already have a little base, it flows more naturally.
Tip: If you have Instagram, write small posts about what you experience, and turn them into a blog later!

2. Short walks despite dizziness
I went for walks, even though I felt dizzy. Just little pieces at a time. I'm thankful that I could still go outside. Spring is so beautiful now… for me, it feels like a kind of rising from the dead.

3. A message that mattered
I had a nice app conversation with someone this week (twice). Just a few words, but they meant something. I’m thankful for how God can use even a small chat to bring light into a day.

4. Sunshine, coffee, and a squirrel mug
The sun was shining, and I sat outside in my garden chair with a warm cup of coffee. I used my favorite mug—the one with the little squirrel on it. That moment felt like pure joy.

5. The beauty of flowers
I saw some beautiful flowers outside a flower shop this week (see the first photo). I felt so thankful. Flowers are little signs of God’s beauty and kindness.

What is one thing you are thankful for this week? 💛

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I’m also linking this post to Sweet Tea & Friend's May 2025

A Little Joy in a Dizzy Month

What two potted flowers taught me about love, waiting, and unexpected joy

For the past four weeks, I haven’t dared to walk alone.
Not because of fear, exactly. But because of a quiet, persistent dizziness — the kind that makes the world feel just slightly off balance. Enough to keep me home, even when the sun is out.

And I miss the outside.

So last week, my husband brought me flowers.
Two little chrysanthemums in soft, cheerful pots. One yellow and rust, the other pink and white. He didn’t just grab them on a whim. He’d been watching for days — passing the flower stand, scanning every row — but nothing seemed right.

“I waited,” he told me, “until I saw ones that felt like you.”

He saw me — not just the need for something bright, but me, as I was. That’s love, isn’t it? Not waiting for strength to return, not needing me to stand tall first. Just being there — in the days when the room spun and I didn’t. When everything was slower, quieter. When I wasn’t overflowing with life, but simply present, barely. And still, He brought beauty. Gently. Not because I was okay, but because he loved me — even there. Especially there.

These chrysanthemums now stand on the table where the sunlight falls just right.
They don't stop the dizziness. But they speak — of care, of tenderness, of being known.

And something in me steadies.

I keep taking pictures. Not because I need them — but because beauty invites attention. And because when someone loves you like that, you want to remember it.

Even more than that, I see God’s hand through it. In this quiet month of slow days and off-balance mornings, I keep receiving small glimmers of joy: a verse at just the right time, a kind message, a good article — and now, these two little flowers.

"In the multitude of anxious thoughts within me, Your consolations brought delight to my soul." (Psalm 94:19)

🌱 Have you received a small joy lately — one that helped you keep going?

Abide in March

                   

Yes, this year, my One Word is Abide. It sounded quiet and peaceful when I chose it. But now, I see how much I need it—especially in a world that feels heavy and uncertain.

🌹Big thanks to Lisa for the idea behind these three reflections (below)—so helpful!

1. Abide in a Time of Worry

Every day there’s new political tension, new headlines, new reasons to worry. I catch myself scrolling, wondering…

What will Russia do next? What if something happens to the nuclear plant in Ukraine? (We have iodine tablets in the kitchen—just in case the wind blows this way 😉). And then there’s the Middle East. Israel. Violence. Fear.

It’s easy to get overwhelmed. And I’ve responded wrong sometimes. I once wrote a sarcastic piece about Trump. Another time, a short story about boycotting American products. They were creative—but I didn’t feel peace afterward. Just more noise in my soul.

What did bring peace?
Sitting with Jesus.
Letting the news go.
Praying.

“Abide in Me, and I in you.” — John 15:4. That’s where I want to be. Not spinning in worry. But staying close to Him.

2. What Abide Feels Like

These words help me picture what it means to abide:

• Dwell – to live somewhere, to feel safe

• Remain – to stay put, not run away

• Rest – to trust, not try to fix everything

If I had to pick a backup word, I’d choose dwell.
Here’s how I see it:

Dwell is where I take off my shoes. Abide is where I stay when life gets scary.

3. When I Don’t Abide…

These are the opposites of abide that show up in my life:

• Leave – I check out spiritually and let fear lead

• Wander – I scroll and scroll, hoping for answers

• Resist – I try to take control instead of trusting God

But abiding doesn’t mean ignoring what’s happening in the world.
It means staying close to Jesus while everything shakes.

When I abide, I stop the noise.
I breathe.
I whisper, “Lord, You are my refuge.”
And it’s enough.

What About You?

Do you have a short abide moment from this month?
A time when you chose peace instead of panic?

I’d love to hear it. Share in the comments or link your blog below. Let’s encourage each other to keep abiding—especially now. 💛

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PS I took the three photos on a sunny morning: tulips from the bouquet my husband gave me, the blue matryoshka dolls on my windowsill, and the leaves of my pelargonium—also on the windowsill

🌹Linked to Lisa's One Word 2025 March Linkup

Abide in February

She stood at the door, a little nervous. Her coat was buttoned up against the drizzle, eyes reflecting the weight of the world. “I just wanted to see your face,” she said. We spoke—briefly—of the world's heaviness: refugees, shifting alliances, tragedies that defy words. I nodded, a shiver running through me—part cold, part weight of it all.

“Strange, isn’t it?” I said, glancing back at my living room. “That when we’re inside at night, curtains drawn, it feels... safe. Almost like none of it is happening.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “even though we know it is.”

“Let’s plan a coffee soon,” I said. She nodded. "Yeah, just a quick bakkie.** I’m passing through today, so I can’t now—but we’ll make it happen."

We laughed a bit, bouncing to lighter topics for a moment—funny things, everyday life—just enough to lift the weight before she had to go. Then, with a quick wave and a smile, she was off again, hurrying down the street.

Safe Inside, Yet the World Spins

Now its evening. I’m here on the sofa, laptop balanced on my knees. The room around me glows softly—the golden hue of the lamps reflects off the ochre curtains that shut out the night. There’s a hint of pine in the air from the diffuser on the mantel, filling the space with the comforting scent of a forest. It’s peaceful here. Safe under this roof, within these walls. And yet my mind drifts beyond them, to the chaos in the world, to the ache of so many hearts.

And then—one word settles in me: Abide.

Abide in Me.

The Invitation to Abide

Such a simple phrase. Such a deep invitation.

To abide means to remain, to stay, to dwell. It’s not rushing past or glancing briefly—it’s settling in, being present. The Greek word menō carries this richness: to continue in a fixed state, to endure, to be at home. Palmer describes it as "practical and warmly personal.... a word for anyone who simply knows how to settle into a genuine relationship and enjoy the fellowship and the view." I love that. Abiding isn’t for the spiritually elite. *

❤️ It’s for anyone willing to pause, to be still, to stay close—not occasionally, but as a constant presence, rooted in Him.

Finding Refuge in Him

Tonight, as I look around this quiet room, I think about that staying. Here, under this roof, I feel safe. How much greater, then, is the safety of abiding in Him? Not a place, but a Person. My refuge isn’t ultimately these walls or this warmth—it’s Christ.

Steven Cole shares that abiding involves three things:

1. Relating to Christ—His person and purpose.
2. Rejecting attitudes and actions that He wouldn’t share.
3. Receiving the life He offers for true fulfillment. *

It’s not always easy. The world pulls, fears creep in, and sometimes it feels like the storm is just outside the window. But then I remember what was said at church last Sunday—about Elisha’s servant, eyes opened to see the hills full of horses and chariots of fire. Those who are with us are more than those who are with them. (2 Kings 6:16) What a powerful reminder: there is more going on than we see, and we are never alone.

With Us in Trouble

Psalm 91 echoes this truth:

"I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust... Because he loves Me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges My name. He will call on Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble."

With him in trouble. Not necessarily delivering us from every hardship immediately—but abiding with us through it. That changes everything.

Learning to Stay

This month, I’ve realised how much I still have to learn about abiding. And how patient my Teacher is. The best Rabbi in the world, I whispered to myself earlier this week, heart full of gratitude. The more I lean in, the more I see: abiding isn’t about striving—it’s about staying. Staying in Him. Letting His words settle into me until they feel at home in my heart, guiding my thoughts, my prayers, my desires.

When the World Feels Too Heavy

Earlier this week, I woke up to the news notifications piling up on my phone—headlines screaming of more violence, more loss. My chest tightened: How do I hold all this? How do I pray when words fall short?

I wanted to scroll away the heaviness, to busy myself with tasks. But instead, I paused. I whispered His name—just that. Jesus, help. And then, slowly, I remembered: Abide.

Something shifted. Not that the world’s chaos changed. But something inside me settled. He is my refuge... my fortress... my God, in whom I trust. It wasn’t instant peace, but a deep breath amid the noise. A reminder: He is.

That’s the thing about abiding—it’s not always this serene, candle-lit moment. Sometimes it’s choosing to stay with Him in the middle of fear, doubt, or grief. To simply say His name with your whole confused, sorrowful heart. To trust that even when your heart trembles, His hold doesn’t loosen.

Held

Tonight, darkness rests outside.
The world spins on.

But here, in this stillness, I abide.
Not just under this roof.
In Him.

Safe.
Loved.
Held.

And so are you.

───●◎●───

*    Precept Austin

**  Bakkie (Dutch): A casual cup of coffee, often shared with a friend. In the Netherlands, saying. It is a common, friendly invitation to catch up over coffee.

Stumbling into Sunrise

I set my alarm for 7:15, full of good intentions. I’ll be in the field in time to see the sunrise, I thought.

Fast forward to this morning: me, stumbling out the door, a woolly hat with a pom-pom pulled hastily over my messy hair, my face still carrying the imprint of my pillow. -5°C. Why did I think this was a good idea?

But then—deep, warm red spilling over the horizon, like embers reigniting the sky. The kind of red that makes you forget the cold for a second.

Back home, hands wrapped around a steaming latte, I posted some photos on Insta. Found a Spurgeon quote to match—he has a way with words about nature.

Maybe someone will enjoy it. Maybe just me. Either way, the sun rose. ☀️✨

📖 "But to you who fear My name, the Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in His wings; and you shall go out and leap like calves from the stall."
— Malachi 4:2 

🌞 You cannot be too low, you cannot be too unworthy; the infinite mercy of God, like the infinite light of the sun, can reach you.

🌑 "Alas, I am dark." But what night was ever too dark for the sun to turn into day?
❄️ "Alas, I am cold." But what iceberg was ever too cold for the sun to melt? What winter was ever too severe for the sun to transform into summer?

🔥 Yield yourself, you icicle, yield to the sun, and it will melt you. 🌿 Yield yourself, you dead and withered branch, to that dear sunbeam waiting to kiss you now, and it will awaken life within you and warm you until you are laden with rich fruit, to the praise and glory of the Sun of Righteousness, who has risen upon you.

🙏 May the Lord grant that it be so with us all, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

Source: The Rising Sun, Charles Haddon Spurgeon

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Do you ever wake up early to watch the sunrise? ☀️ Here, the sun rose at 7:45 this morning!