As I think about ending the year gently, I am reflecting on how I can be living intentionally for the year ahead.
Its funny how quickly you can lose a rhythm that once grounded you and brought you peace.
You don’t realise that it has happened until you begin to notice that you are not quite feeling yourself and start to examine what it is that has you feeling all ‘lost at sea’. You look up and realise that the currents of life have pushed you further from the shore than you had intended. Suddenly, your familiar routines and habits seem a distant memory.
The slow drift out to sea began with the ending of the season of parenting and homeschooling for me.
Make no mistake, I am beyond happy and proud of my children. They are both grown up, lovely people, and living their lives to the full. I would not want that precious season in my life to go on forever for it is right that the work, love and nurturing that we pour into their lives should yield fruit in its season. But when your whole life has been working on this most precious and most important task and it reaches its end, it can have the effect of shifting the axis of your equilibrium and throwing your off balance.
You get on with life because that is what you do but then one day, you wake up and wonder how you got to where you are … and when exactly did you stop doing XYZ which you really quite enjoyed?
As I move through these final few days of 2025 and look forward to the new year, I want to move forward differently.
I want 2026 to be lived with purpose, resting in the Lord, waiting for Him to show me my “whats next” rather than wanting answers and expecting plans to be revealed right this very instant!
I want to unclench my fists which are holding onto unseen tension, and open my hands in surrender. Resting in the One who holds my future.
As women, seasons of transition can be exhausting. We so badly want to have things sorted. Plans made, the direction of travel established. We want to know where we are going, how we are going to get there, and exactly what unexpected bumps in the road we need to be prepared for.
Well, that might just be me – I do like a good plan!
But this trait can be a hindrance and lead to a rather more difficult journey than anticipated.
…And so, I am learning that this next season requires something different from me.
Not a tighter grip.
Not a faster pace.
Not another carefully colour-coded plan.
But a softer posture.
I am beginning to see that when we insist on clarity before we are ready for it, we can rush past the quiet invitations God is placing right in front of us. Invitations to rest. To notice. To listen. To become reacquainted with ourselves again.
There is a tenderness to this inbetween space if we allow it. A holy pause. A chance to ask gentler questions than What am I meant to do next? and instead begin with Who am I becoming in this season?
I am discovering that purpose does not always arrive as a lightning bolt, although sometimes I wish it would. Sometimes it comes as a slow warming, like the light returning after winter. Almost unnoticed at first, but unmistakable once you pay attention.
These last days of December feel like an invitation to linger a little longer. To resist the urge to rush headlong into resolutions and instead give ourselves permission to reflect with kindness. Not as a project to fix, but as a life to tend.
If you find yourself here too — a little untethered, a little weary, quietly hopeful — perhaps you might like to take some time to sit with these days rather than push through them.
Creating space to listen
Here are a few gentle ways to do that. You don’t need hours, Even twenty minutes can be enough.
- Make a warm drink and sit somewhere comfortable, preferably near a window. I’m choosing to sit in my conservatory overlooking the frosty garden.
- Step outside for a slow walk and notice what winter is teaching you…bare branches, resting ground, hidden life.
- Put your phone in another room and allow the silence to feel a little awkward before it softens.
- Light a candle as a simple marker that this time matters.
Let the pace be unhurried. This is not about productivity. It is about presence.
Reflecting on the year that has been
Before looking forward, it helps to look back…gently, without judgement.
You might like to journal around questions such as:
- What energised me and inspired me in 2025?
- What drained me more than I expected?
- Where did I grow, even if it was uncomfortable?
- What am I grateful for that I don’t want to forget?
- What do I sense I am being invited to release?
Write freely. There are no right answers. I often find that clarity comes through the writing, not before it.
Now, let’s imagine 2026 with intention
Rather than asking What should I achieve? try asking How do I want to live?
Here are some prompts to help you shape the year ahead in a way that feel whole and nourishing:
- What do I want my days to feel like?
- What rhythms would support the life I long for?
- Where do I want to make more space…emotionally, spiritually, physically?
- What relationships do I want to tend more intentionally?
- What simple joys do I want to make room for again?
- Where might God be inviting me to trust him more deeply?
You could also explore different areas of life gently, without pressure:
- Home: How do I want my home to feel? What small changes would support that?
- Body: What does caring for my body look like in this season?
- Mind: What to I want to learn, read, or explore?
- Spirit: What practices help me feel rooted and attentive to God’s presence?
- Community: Where do I feel most connected, and where might I lean in a little more?
Instead of firm resolutions, you might choose a word or phrase to hold the year…something like rest, attention, steadfast, or open-handed. let it act as a quiet guide rather than a demand.
Moving forward gently
I am learning that it is possible to live with intention without having everything mapped out. To walk forward faithfully while still holding questions. To trust that the next step will become clear when it needs to.
As 2026 approaches, my hope is not for a perfectly ordered year, but for a deeply lived one. A year where I notice beauty more readily. Where I listen better to God, to others, to my own heart. Where I choose depth over hurry, and faith over certainty.
Perhaps that is enough for now.
If you find yourself standing at the edge of a new season, unsure but willing, may you know that this, too, is a good place to begin.
