Happy New Year: Choosing the Better Thing

As a new year begins, many of us feel the familiar pull to do more, be more, and fix everything—often all at once. The turning of the calendar can stir hope, but it can also awaken frustration, overwhelm, and the quiet wish for more help… especially at home, where much of life truly happens.

Recently, I found myself returning to the book Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World—not out of routine, but out of necessity. The return was born from that very tension: feeling stretched thin by “all the things,” and wondering why rest felt so elusive.

In the stillness, God’s response was gentle but direct:

“You worry about many things. You can choose the better thing.”

That “better thing” was not another task or solution. It was an invitation—to spend time with Him in quiet and peace, grounded in gratitude, and connected to the love He continually offers. The promise was simple yet profound: peace would come, and help would follow.

As I reflected on this, I noticed something meaningful in the responses from a couple of our associates when I asked about their latest reads. A shared theme emerged: where we are is exactly where we are meant to be. Naming that truth—seeing it, accepting it, and saying it aloud—has a powerful way of calming the storm in our minds and bodies.

Some people seem to glide effortlessly between work and rest (my husband is a wonderful example of this). Others of us rush in as though the world might fall apart if we step away—as if God left the space vacant while we paused.

But He didn’t.

He is present when we rest.

He is present when we sleep.

He is present even when we step away.

He is holding it all together.

As we step into this new year, perhaps the invitation for all of us is not to strive harder, but to trust deeper. To increase our faith that things are unfolding as they should. To believe that rest is not absence, but alignment. And to practice choosing the better thing—again and again.

May this year be one where peace is not postponed, trust is strengthened, and we allow ourselves to be held.