A Different Kind of Fresh Start
Receiving Instead of Resolving
In a season full of goals and good intentions, this guest reflection invites us to begin the year in a quieter way.
It’s January and the season for New Year’s resolutions and good intentions. The human urge to begin a new season of life as a better version of ourselves is widespread across cultures. Whether that new year begins at Rosh Hashanah in September (Jewish), Diwali in November (Hindu), Spring Festival in February (Chinese), Songkran in April (Thailand), or in January (Gregorian), we find ourselves anticipating new and better days and a fresh start.
Where do we turn to start fresh? Often to ourselves. Health and wellness, fitness and strength, habits and routines are all up for consideration. Some changes are needed, and sometimes they’re easy to identify, though not always so easy to change. But a new year sings us a siren song that the coming year can be different than the last one, if only we’re better-behaved, more conscious of our actions, and choosing to change.
But what if the thing we need most is less striving for perfection? What if what we need is comfort, kindness, rest, or the ability to receive love? These are deep human needs, not just desires. What if there is nothing we can choose to do because what we need most isn’t within our ability to choose?
Sure, we can make space for some of these deep needs, by being less rushed, more aware, adding on a spiritual discipline (or twelve), and cutting out sugar, caffeine, alcohol, or toxic relationships. But sometimes making space isn’t enough. Those of us in non-optional roles or circumstances can’t just choose:
“This year, I’m giving up parenting my children because it’s exhausting and I
need rest.”
“This year, I’m just not going to go to work anymore because I don’t like those
people and the pace is getting me down.”
“This year, I’m only going to eat foods I source directly from farm to table,
even though I work 60 hours a week, am on a limited budget, and have others
relying on me for their care and feeding, too.”
Resolutions, however necessary, can be so unreasonable in the context of our lived experiences! Maybe adjusting your parenting strategies and the general busyness of your household is necessary; ceasing to parent at all is probably not an option. Perhaps your job is damaging your health and you need to look for another way to earn an income that is less hazardous; not showing up for work anymore will create a new host of difficulties. We could all benefit from healthier food with fewer carcinogens and microplastics, but practically speaking, our food choices are limited by our culture, socioeconomic status, time, and budgets.
My focus is changing, this year. I confess, I started early, rather than waiting for January to roll around, and I’m not keeping track in the way of habit trackers, calendars and to do lists. Oh, I have all those things. I need organizational tools.
But the focus I am choosing is the love of God for me. A woman on a podcast I heard recently said that if we could spend 15 minutes a day dwelling on the love of God for us (not for humanity in general), it would change our neurology. She spoke to the science of that and the effects that are observable on an MRI of the brain, but what struck me about the idea was the absolute wonder of the love of God for me. Not me as a member of humanity, or even as part of the body of Christ, or the much more palatable love God has for those I love. His love for me.
In all my human frailty, in the ways my nervous system has learned to protect itself, in the softness (or hardness) of my heart toward others, in the choices I make, in the way I speak to or feel about myself— God loves me there. He is delighted by me, and He says so, over and over and over again throughout the pages of Scripture. And He speaks it to me daily in a million ways, if I have the ears to hear and if my eyes are open to His movement in my world.
As we begin 2026, I challenge you to take a few minutes today, even if you never do it again, and dwell on the great love that God has for you. And if you can, do that again tomorrow, or next week, or once a month, or whenever it occurs to you. Put it on your calendar, or don’t. This isn’t another demand on your time. But it is an option to meet the deep needs of your soul.
Think about the God Who, while you were dead in your sin, loved you and chose to act to save you (Romans 5:8).
Think about the God Who delights in you (Psalm 147:11),
Who is enthroned on the praise from your mouth and heart (Psalm 22:3).
Dwell on the God Who rejoices over you with singing (Zephaniah 3:17),
Whose banner over you is love (Song of Solomon 2:4).
Think about His mercies for you that are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).
Don’t make it corporate, here in the quiet of your heart before God. Don’t move to prayer or conversation with God or others. Just rest in the great and mighty love of the Almighty God, Creator of the universe, the integrating Center of all things, Who is also Emmanuel. God with us. God with me. God with you.
Lacy Lovett is LK Houk's daughter, a writer by profession.
Lacy has a BA in Business Administration/Communications (MNU), an MA in Bioethics (TIU), and an MA in Theological Studies from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School (TIU). She is on staff at her local church, the Circulation and Production Editor for Ethics & Medicine: An International Journal of Bioethics, a medical caregiver and advocate, and a small business owner.
Lacy lives in Kansas, where she creates, writes, and prays. She longs for people to come to know the God Who creates out of sheer delight and to experience the shalom of a deep and abiding relationship with Him.
