A chunky, cropped sweater with large buttons.  A How to Embroider People book. (This may not even be a thing!) A Blythe Leonard bag, the larger size, so it actually fits my laptop. And the list goes on. It’s my want list. A running list on my phone where I dump everything I think I “must have” in the moment.

I’ve never loved New Year goals or resolutions. They’ve always felt forced, like trying to sprint, you hate running. Honestly, my birthday feels more like the start of my year anyway. Instead of resolutions, I choose a word. One word to carry, sit with, wrestle through. This year, it’s a word I’ve already been living with for a while now: Intentional.

I am a terrible gift-giver. Every gift I give, I want it to mean something. I can’t just run into a store and grab whatever is near the checkout line. There’s a whole internal checklist running in my head: Can I support a local shop? Will they actually use this, or will it end up in a drawer? Is it unique? Does it remind me of them?

If you’ve ever felt the pull to do more, be more, or check one more thing off the list before you let yourself breathe, this is for you. This story explores hurry sickness, the search for real peace, and what happens when God invites you to take a holy pause. Consider this a reminder that stepping back might actually be the bravest step forward.

I’ve been sitting in a fog lately, the kind that settles in after a season of motion, of overcommitment, of striving, of burnout! Coming home from a week in Italy, surrounded by beauty and history, I should feel inspired. But truthfully? I feel disconnected. Sure, maybe it’s jetlag. But I’ve felt this before. Maybe it’s the realization that the world keeps moving without me, that my contribution isn’t as big as I thought. That stings a little more than I’d like to admit