It’s the start of a new calendar year, and I’m resisting the urge to rush.

Instead of asking What’s next? I’m asking a quieter, truer question—one rooted in faith and discernment:

What is mine to tend to for the long haul?

It might sound like an oxymoron, but I’m learning this is true: the slower I go, the faster I arrive.

Presence.

This isn’t a rejection of goals or six-month plans. It’s simply an acknowledgement that most of our lives are lived in the right now. Not the future. Not the past. Today.

This moment.

Over the holiday, I caught myself looking at my dog and asking a question she couldn’t answer:

When did you grow up?

I remember the day I adopted her—four pounds, six ounces, a smelly nine-month-old Yorkie mix curled in the back of a shelter cage. And now here she is, nearly three years old, fourteen and a half pounds, loving and pure.

When did that happen?

The in-between feels fuzzy. Not because it wasn’t meaningful —but because the last twenty-four months of my life felt like everything was happening all at once.

On December 31 2025, I looked over at her again and made the decision: going forward, I will be more intentional with presence. Intentional being the key word.

Creating moments that matter. Writing with purpose. Fostering a community that feels like the first snowfall on a cozy winter morning — gentle, unique, and full of wonder.

Warmth that's both tangible and transferrable.

Not chasing what’s next. Just being here with what’s now.

So while the world hit the ground running with strategies and email blasts, I chose a different pace. One that’s kinder to my nervous system. Slower, more meaningful.

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Eyes Open

I’ve been carrying this tension for months — wondering if I should stop painting. Sell my easel. Accept that a season had closed. Wondering if it was a distraction.

And then a song played. An image formed. And I picked up my brush.

I’ve been painting more lately, which usually means I’m writing less poetry. For me, those two are like an on-off switch. I’ve learned not to question God when this happens.

In that wrestling, I received clarity I didn’t know I needed — clarity that’s guiding me into this new year.

The difference (and connection) between career, gifting, calling, oil, anointing, purpose, and hobbies.

Some of this will sound like a bunch of Christianese as they say, but I’ll keep it as simple as it was revealed to me. My hope is that it offers clarity and steadiness where you’ve been searching.

Gifting

Your gifting lives where your quirks are.

It’s what God placed in your hands. Others see it clearly, while you’re more aware of the friction around it.

For example, I’m a writer with dyslexia. For years, I focused more on the challenge (or quirk) than the gift itself. I reread, revise, and labor more than some—and in earlier seasons, that resistance kept the gift from maturing fully.

There’s almost always resistance near your God-given strength.

Gifts are meant to be poured out—but first, they must be understood.

Look deeper.

This is why we need one another. Where I am weak, someone else is strong.

Calling

God wired us to work together in our calling. It’s what He wants to do in the earth through willing vessels like you and me—using the gifts He’s given us.

It’s the thread God weaves through a lifetime.

The spiritual gifts Paul names in 1 Corinthians are precursors to calling.

For example:

* Prophecy / Seer → Scribe

* Wisdom / Dreamer → Visual Artist

* Hospitality / Serving → Community Builder

* Healing / Mercy → Intercessor

* Teaching / Exhortation → Speaker

Romans 11:29 reminds us that the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable. Meaning they are given freely—whether or not we surrender them back to Him to shape.

That’s where oil and anointing come in.

Oil, Anointing, and Purpose

Oil is formed in the quiet.

It’s cultivated through quiet time with God—through scripture, stillness, and presence.

Metaphorically, it’s what begins to drip off of you when you spend time in His presence.

God places the super on your natural.

Psalm 23 says, ”You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”

From that overflow, that anointing by God, we discover purpose — not as a starting point, but as a result — it’s what we are meant to do in the earth

Purpose is where the story moves from your prayer closet into the world. It answers the question, “what do I do with my calling?”

Faith has taught me that purpose isn’t something we invent. It’s something we steward.

Career and the Kingdom

At some point, the practical question arises: But I need a career.

And that’s true. Yet all of it—every role, every skill— is by God and for God.

What you do for a living and what you do for the Kingdom may be the same—or they may complement one another beautifully.

For example:

Healing / Mercy → Intercessor → Nurse, Doctor, Therapist, Counselor, Doula

You don’t have to work for a church to serve God.

If there’s tension here, it may be an invitation to get quiet and pray:

“God, shape me into who You’ve called me to be.”

Start there. The rest will flow.

Hobbies

Hobbies are set apart in their own way.

They’re life-giving expressions of joy, curiosity, and play. I see them as a form of worship.

For me, that looks like painting, photography, gardening, hiking, and dancing.

Moments of awe.

Just me— conversations between me and God alone.

Not everything is meant to be shared. Not everything is meant to be monetized.

If everything becomes a money grab, what remains sacred?

Confusing these categories is how we burn out. Honoring their differences is how we endure.

Choosing With Discernment

There will always be invitations. Needs. Places we could show up.

So I’ve begun filtering my yeses:

* Does this align with my long-term calling—or just my short-term emotions?

* Is this sustainable?

* Will this deepen my faith, or slowly drain it?

Voluntary roles now pass a gentler, firmer test:

Does this belong in the story God is writing for me right now?

Boundaries That Protect the Call

A rule I’m carrying into this year:

Only two ongoing commitments per year outside of my career.

Everything else must be seasonal or one-off.

This isn’t limitation—it’s protection. It guards my oil. It preserves my joy. It keeps my yes honest.

I’m also giving myself permission to observe.

Sometimes faith looks like watching before moving. Listening before speaking. Letting clarity form.

A Slower, Truer Way Forward

As this new year begins, I’m choosing long-term faithfulness over constant availability.

I want my life to be rooted. My work to be intentional. My giving to be sustainable.

I want to pour from oil that has been formed, not forced. To honor my calling without confusing it with every good idea. To let hobbies remain joyful. To let my career reveal God’s goodness. To walk in purpose at God’s pace, not mine.

Not everything deserves a yes.

And sometimes, saying no—with discernment and trust—can be one of the most faithful acts we make.

May this year be marked not by hurry, but by depth.

I’ll likely go live on Substack soon to unpack this further. There is so much more to say.

I’ll write to you again soon ~

Always love,

Chérie

p.s., if you’d like to support my writing this year or send over a quick thank you, here’s the link to buy me a coffee

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Teaching I can across after posting this, might help solidify some more:

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