Word of the Year Reflection Exercise #1

So you picked a word for the year—now what?

It’s March—that month which can’t make up its mind if the season is winter or spring. Life got busy and your word got lost in the frenzy. You’re not going to feel guilty about that. Really. Life happens. You just need an inspiring word of the year reflection exercise to bring it back into focus.

If you made a Becoming Vision Board to bring your word to life, pausing to take it in for a few minutes is a good place to start. But first—there’s a question worth considering.

This is the first question I sit with when I choose my word for the year, and it opens the rest of my exploration.

When you think about embodying your word for the year,
what are you afraid of?

Sit with that a minute. Be honest with yourself.

What comes up for you? How does this feel in your body?

Do your shoulders slump a little, feeling the weight of expectation? Do you squirm, suddenly wanting to push the question aside and move on to something else? Does your stomach feel a little queasy about what this word will reveal about your shortcomings—and what it will require of you?

It doesn’t feel good, but the uneasy feeling of fear opens the path to where your growth and transformation lie. After all, your word is an invitation to become a better, freer version of you—the kind of person who is and does the kind of thing you have been wishing you could be and do. That probably ignites some sparkle at what could be possible for you.

Yet something has been stopping you. So what is that thing?

How might that resistance be part of your fear?

The year grace was my focus word, I was a little afraid of it. I started the process by doodling words on paper. What word would reflect how I wanted to see breakthrough where I had been investing my time and energy—in ministry, in family, in my client work and writing?

Cultivate. Nah, sounds meticulous.

Catalyst. Ooh, it feels like results. But it also feels like more energy than I have.

I needed a softer word.

Grace.

I didn’t even want to write the word down when it came to me.

But I did—first in simple clean letters

G R A C E

Then in elegant script.

grace

The font didn’t make a difference. I was already bracing myself inside and felt the sag of resignation. This was my word.

In the back of my mind, a subtle voice was asking uncomfortable questions.

Was this going to require me to go back to the hard place where I first learned about grace? Because the first time grace became tangible to me it arrived in rubble of my collapsed first marriage, coming face to face with my perfectionism, and the weariness of building a life through trying to earn my way into God’s favour.

I had spent years trying to be good enough. And when it all fell apart anyway, I couldn’t earn or amend my way out of the mess. Grace was what I had left. Would this year be an echo of the same—failing miserably at something and needing rely on grace to patch up my mess again?

Years later, I wasn’t exactly trying to earn God’s favor this time, but I was doing His work in my own strength without really walking in step with him.

I had been writing content but not growing an audience. Investing hours each week into ministry and seeing my coaching business get the breadcrumbs. Feeling like following online ‘gurus’ advice was a deportation from my own voice and calling and how I was wired.

So with grace as my word, is that what it would require? My inadequacies on display. Failure and extra effort picking myself up gain. Must I endure more difficulties and accept grace like a soothing spiritual reassurance? I just didn’t want to go there.

I remember praying something like: “God, I don’t want to learn this the hard way again. What do you want to show me this time?”

That prayer—reluctant and honest—turned out to be just the right place to start.

In response, I almost sensed a divine watch and see smile, and God’s whisper, “Really? Don’t you think I have more for you than that, Emily? My grace is extravagant and I want to delight you with it.”

He wasted no time proving it, and in a way I never expected—of course. My husband and I had started a bathroom reno project months earlier, learning the hard way this was neither our passion nor a skillset we felt inclined to develop. We were stuck in a mess, tired of showering at the aquatic centre or having sink baths, and reluctant to ask strangers for quotes. Then a friend with a reno business came over and survey the pitiful state of the bathroom. His client’s project had fallen through so he offered his available week to take over our bathroom. If God smirks with a twinkle in His eye, I felt he did so that day, gifting us with quality work and rescuing us from our own demise.

A week or two later, I created my Becoming Vision Board which was absolutely gorgeous—genuinely delightful to look at. Emerald green and terra cotta woven throughout. Clay jars symbolizing my receiving what God would overflow into my life. A succulent held in hands, to symbolize growth I couldn’t do on my own and how its beauty comes in new growth as well as stress. I felt peace when I looked at it, and ready to receive what God wanted to give me.

Maybe your word has nothing to do with writing. Mine didn’t. And yet.

Your word is asking you to go where you’re afraid to go. This feels vulnerable, maybe wearisome. Maybe your fear is going at a pace you can’t sustain or losing control that has protected you thus far.

The growth formation will require resolve and courage and humility. And if God is part of the invitation, maybe it feels beyond your reach. That’s actually an essential part of the journey. Because the reassurance is that you’re not on your own and the breakthroughs and transformation aren’t all on you.

Sometimes the connection between your word and your creative life or God-dream is clear and direct. Sometimes it’s subtle and won’t make sense at the time until years later.

That Year of Grace didn’t have any more huge moments I secretly hoped for. But slow growth is still growth and maturity often comes in the unassuming encounters and incremental shifts. Seeing God and his grace as extravagance He wants to delight me with began to shape my perspective. I noticed and appreciated unexpected moments of empathy and generosity. I relaxed as my internal defenses lowered.

Even now, two years later, seeing God through that lens of abundance has brought a lighter sense of freedom to my writing sessions, curiosity in developing ideas, and even openness approaching potential clients.

What if on the other side of your fear, embodying your word is preparing the soil for where the fruit you’re praying for will grow best?

Now it’s your turn. The following questions helped me explore the resistance (and yearning) I sensed around my word. Write your word on a blank page. Before you answer anything, pause and go back to the question I asked earlier: How does your word feel in your body right now? Notice that.

Then process the questions in whatever style you prefer, such as a mind map, bullet point lists or free writing in your journal. What matters is giving yourself space to be honest, even uncomfortable.

• What am I afraid of when I think of this word?

• What do I assume this word means for me? What do I think this word will require of me? Am I secretly hoping it won’t require that?

• What lessons have I already learned? How are these shaping my perspective?

• What do I really want it to mean for me—the version I’m almost scared to admit?

And the final question that will make all the difference.  First, let me clarify because I am not quite sure what your relationship with God feels like. When I pray this, I am praying to a God I believe who is good and who loves me and who wants the best for me. It’s the God we talk about in Proverbs 3:5,6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him and he will make your path straight.” Leaning into that trust is where this question comes from. Here it is.

• God, what do you want to say about this fear and what I think my word means for me?

My hope is that this exercise loosens the soil where your word is already doing its subtle work this year.

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