Pastor On A Park Bench - Rev P.D. Yetman,

12/26/2025

Christmas came, and Christmas went.

This year looked different for me.

I didn’t put up a big tree.
I didn’t pull out boxes of ornaments or decades of memories.
I didn’t wrap presents or rush through stores or send out Christmas cards, something that’s very unusual for me.

Instead, I found a small two-foot LED tree, plugged it in, and let that be enough.

This has been a hard year.
A year of change.
A year of grief.
A year of deep emotional work and adjustment.

If you’ve followed my writing or sat with me on the metaphorical park bench this year, you already know that. I haven’t been writing from theory; I’ve been writing from lived experience. This is how I’ve been working things out. Slowly. Honestly. Sometimes painfully.

So, this year, I took a page from the Grinch.

Christmas still came.
Without boxes and bags.
Without ribbons and bows.
Without packages and parcels.

Because Christmas has always been more than that.
At the end of the day, I had what mattered most.

My daughter was close, though she’s growing, finding her own life, and I know Christmas will keep changing. That carries its own kind of tenderness and grief.

The snow fell gently today.
The power stayed on.
There was no turkey cooking, no roster to clean out, no leftovers to manage, no pressure to perform.
No hustle.
No pretending.

And honestly? It felt like a return to simplicity, to calm, to gentleness.
To something closer to the Christmas of my childhood, when we didn’t have much and a full stocking was more than enough.

We all know Jesus wasn’t born on December 25.
This is simply the day we’ve chosen to remember.

I’ve watched A Christmas Carol several times this year while preparing sermons, and the line that keeps staying with me is this:
“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”

That feels right.

Christmas, at its core, is about God coming close.
Not to fix everything.
Not to erase the chaos or calm the political storms.
But to be present in the middle of it all.

God came close to remind us to love:
to love ourselves,
to love our neighbours,
to become His hands and feet in a weary world.

So, however you’re celebrating today, with children or without, with glitter and noise or quiet and stillness, with a full table or a simple one, maybe this is an invitation to begin a new tradition.

One rooted not in performance, but in presence.
I’m not rich.
But I have a roof over my head.
I’ve lived sixty years, marked by sorrow and joy, grief and resilience, questions and faith.

This year felt like a reset, unwanted at times, but necessary.

Ease hasn’t been the teacher this year.
But life lessons rarely come through easily.

Someone once said to me, “Misery makes memories.”
That may be true, but I’ve also learned this:
Hurt people hurt people.
But hurt people who heal… help people.
I’m not perfect.
I have doubts, questions, faults, and plenty still unfolding.

But I do know this:
You can’t face the future without honestly evaluating the present.
And that’s where I am.

If anything, here this year resonated with you, I’m grateful.

And as I send this out into the world, from my bench to wherever you are, I pray it meets you gently.

With love and deep gratitude for the kindness you’ve shown me this year.

What did Christmas look like for you this year, big or small, full or quiet? And as we step toward a new year, were there any words or reflections you sat with this year that stayed with you? I’d love to hear in the comments.

Go with God and Always Stay Spicy
—Rev. P, Your Pastor on a Park Bench

12/26/2025

If Christmas felt complicated, you’re not alone.

Over the past few weeks, many of you have responded to reflections about being single, tired, hopeful, unsure, and still standing.

Pastor on a Park Bench is a quiet place to pause.
No fixing. No platitudes.

If this space feels like somewhere you’d return to, you’re welcome to follow, and invite one or two friends who might need a place to sit.

To invite friends: go to the page → tap the three dots (•••) → Invite friends.

12/25/2025

These reflections all come down to one thing: showing up for one another.

As we move toward the New Year, what’s one small, realistic way you try to care for people around you?

No pressure, just ideas and conversation. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

EverythingInspirational.com

Single, Sixty, and Secure — Part Six of Six
From the Park Bench… or the Sofa (December in Canada Gets a Vote)
You Are Not Late to Your Life

Christmas Day arrives whether we feel ready or not.

For some, it comes wrapped in joy and noise and familiar traditions.
For others, it comes quietly, almost tentatively, carrying memories, absences, and unanswered prayers.

If you woke up today feeling grateful, that’s real.
If you woke up today feeling heavy, that’s real too.

Christmas does not demand a single emotional response.

You Are Not Late

One of the quiet lies that settles into the heart, especially for those who are single, is the sense of being behind.

Behind in life.
Behind in love.
Behind in the story everyone else seems to be living.

But Christmas does not celebrate arrival according to schedule.
It celebrates arrival in the middle of uncertainty.

Jesus did not arrive when the world was ready.
He arrived when people were weary, displaced, afraid, and waiting.

If your life does not look “finished” today, you are not late.
You are exactly where life is happening.

Holding the Whole World in Our Hearts

Today, my thoughts often go beyond my own living room.

I think of soldiers deployed far from home, missing Christmas morning with their children, partners, parents.
I think of spouses and families holding the household together alone, doing their best to make the day feel normal.
I think of those who are displaced, by war, by policy, by economics, by circumstance , whose Christmas looks nothing like it once did.
I think of hospital rooms, shelters, quiet apartments, group homes, and places where the day passes without much notice.

And I’m reminded that Christmas has always belonged to people like this.

To people far from home.
To people navigating loss.
To people doing their best with limited resources.
To people who did not choose the road they are on, but are walking it faithfully anyway.

This Is Where Hope Lives

Hope does not always look like celebration.

Sometimes hope looks like:

lighting a candle and letting it be enough

making a phone call you’ve been putting off

setting an extra place at the table, or sending a meal to someone else’s

stepping outside yourself, even briefly, to see who might be alone

Hope is rarely loud.
It is often practical.

Gentle Ways to Reach Out Today

If you have capacity today, not obligation, but capacity, here are a few simple, human ways to extend Christmas beyond yourself:

Send a message to someone you haven’t heard from in a while

Drop off a meal, dessert, or coffee card to a neighbour

Invite someone for a walk, even a short one

Call or write to someone who is deployed, grieving, or alone

Donate to a local shelter, food bank, or community group

Offer your presence without trying to fix anything

None of these need to be grand.

Small acts of connection matter more than polished celebrations.

For Those Spending Christmas Alone

If today finds you by yourself, hear this clearly:

You are not forgotten.
You are not failing Christmas.
You are not invisible to God.

Being alone does not disqualify you from joy, meaning, or belonging.

The Christ candle is lit, not because everything is resolved, but because light has entered the world exactly as it is.

The Story Continues

Christmas Day is not the end of the story.

It’s the beginning of a long unfolding, one that includes growth, questions, community, justice, healing, and hope that deepens over time.

Your life is not on pause until something changes.
Your life is happening now.

And it is worthy of care, attention, and love.

A Final Blessing

As this series comes to a close, my hope for you, single or partnered, joyful or grieving, is this:

May you know that you are enough today.
May you feel permission to rest.
May you notice who is near you, and who might need you.
May you trust that the light you carry, however small it feels, matters.

Go with God.
And always stay spicy.

Which means:
Stay yourself.
Stay compassionate.
Stay awake to the world around you.
And never believe the lie that your life is less because it looks different.

Merry Christmas.
You are not late.

12/25/2025

From my bench to yours!

12/25/2025

Single, Sixty, and Secure — Part Six of Six
From the Park Bench… or the Sofa (December in Canada Gets a Vote)
You Are Not Late to Your Life

Christmas Day arrives whether we feel ready or not.

For some, it comes wrapped in joy and noise and familiar traditions.
For others, it comes quietly, almost tentatively, carrying memories, absences, and unanswered prayers.

If you woke up today feeling grateful, that’s real.
If you woke up today feeling heavy, that’s real too.

Christmas does not demand a single emotional response.

You Are Not Late

One of the quiet lies that settles into the heart, especially for those who are single, is the sense of being behind.

Behind in life.
Behind in love.
Behind in the story everyone else seems to be living.

But Christmas does not celebrate arrival according to schedule.
It celebrates arrival in the middle of uncertainty.

Jesus did not arrive when the world was ready.
He arrived when people were weary, displaced, afraid, and waiting.

If your life does not look “finished” today, you are not late.
You are exactly where life is happening.

Holding the Whole World in Our Hearts

Today, my thoughts often go beyond my own living room.

I think of soldiers deployed far from home, missing Christmas morning with their children, partners, parents.
I think of spouses and families holding the household together alone, doing their best to make the day feel normal.
I think of those who are displaced, by war, by policy, by economics, by circumstance , whose Christmas looks nothing like it once did.
I think of hospital rooms, shelters, quiet apartments, group homes, and places where the day passes without much notice.

And I’m reminded that Christmas has always belonged to people like this.

To people far from home.
To people navigating loss.
To people doing their best with limited resources.
To people who did not choose the road they are on, but are walking it faithfully anyway.

This Is Where Hope Lives

Hope does not always look like celebration.

Sometimes hope looks like:

lighting a candle and letting it be enough

making a phone call you’ve been putting off

setting an extra place at the table, or sending a meal to someone else’s

stepping outside yourself, even briefly, to see who might be alone

Hope is rarely loud.
It is often practical.

Gentle Ways to Reach Out Today

If you have capacity today, not obligation, but capacity, here are a few simple, human ways to extend Christmas beyond yourself:

Send a message to someone you haven’t heard from in a while

Drop off a meal, dessert, or coffee card to a neighbour

Invite someone for a walk, even a short one

Call or write to someone who is deployed, grieving, or alone

Donate to a local shelter, food bank, or community group

Offer your presence without trying to fix anything

None of these need to be grand.

Small acts of connection matter more than polished celebrations.

For Those Spending Christmas Alone

If today finds you by yourself, hear this clearly:

You are not forgotten.
You are not failing Christmas.
You are not invisible to God.

Being alone does not disqualify you from joy, meaning, or belonging.

The Christ candle is lit, not because everything is resolved, but because light has entered the world exactly as it is.

The Story Continues

Christmas Day is not the end of the story.

It’s the beginning of a long unfolding, one that includes growth, questions, community, justice, healing, and hope that deepens over time.

Your life is not on pause until something changes.
Your life is happening now.

And it is worthy of care, attention, and love.

A Final Blessing

As this series comes to a close, my hope for you, single or partnered, joyful or grieving, is this:

May you know that you are enough today.
May you feel permission to rest.
May you notice who is near you, and who might need you.
May you trust that the light you carry, however small it feels, matters.

Go with God.
And always stay spicy.

Which means:
Stay yourself.
Stay compassionate.
Stay awake to the world around you.
And never believe the lie that your life is less because it looks different.

Merry Christmas.
You are not late.

12/24/2025

Single, Sixty, and Secure — Part Five of Six
From the Park Bench… or the Sofa (December in Canada Gets a Vote)

Christmas Eve Isn’t Easy for Everyone

Christmas Eve carries a particular kind of weight.

It’s quieter than Christmas Day, but not lighter. In some ways, it’s heavier. Christmas Eve holds anticipation, memory, longing, and absence all at once. It’s the night when expectations hum beneath the surface, and emotions we’ve kept at bay all month have a way of slipping through the cracks.

For some, Christmas Eve is beautiful. Sacred. Familiar.

For others, it’s simply hard.

The Night That Amplifies What’s Missing

Christmas Eve has a way of magnifying what isn’t there.

The empty chair becomes more noticeable.
The silence stretches a little longer.
The ache you thought you’d managed suddenly resurfaces.

If you’re single, widowed, divorced, estranged, grieving, or simply worn thin, this night can feel like a quiet reckoning. Not dramatic. Just tender. Raw in small, honest ways.

And that doesn’t mean you’re doing Christmas wrong.

It means you’re human.

The Pressure to Perform Peace

There’s often an unspoken expectation that Christmas Eve should feel holy, calm, and full of meaning.

We light candles.
We sing familiar songs.
We speak of peace on earth.

But peace isn’t something we can manufacture on demand. And pretending we feel it when we don’t only adds another layer of loneliness.

Some of us show up to Christmas Eve services carrying grief we don’t know how to name. Some stay home because the rituals feel too sharp. Some attend gatherings but feel oddly invisible in the room.

None of this disqualifies you from the story.

The Story Isn’t As Polished As We Remember

The first Christmas Eve wasn’t tidy or serene.

It was uncertain.
Unplanned.
Held together by trust rather than clarity.

Mary wasn’t surrounded by extended family.
Joseph didn’t have answers.
The stable wasn’t a symbol, it was a necessity.

If Christmas is about incarnation, about God meeting us where we actually are, then Christmas Eve is not a test of faithfulness. It’s an invitation to honesty.

For Those Sitting Alone Tonight

If you’re alone this Christmas Eve, I want to say this gently:

Being alone is not the same as being abandoned.

You are not forgotten.
You are not out of step.
You are not behind.

You are allowed to make this night gentle.

That might mean lighting a candle, or not.
Watching a movie, or turning everything off.
Praying words, or sitting quietly without them.

There is no script you need to follow to be worthy of this night.

For Those Carrying Loss

For those who are widowed, grieving, or missing someone deeply, Christmas Eve can reopen wounds that never fully close.

You are not weak for feeling it again.
Love leaves marks.
And remembering is not failure, it’s fidelity.

You don’t have to rush toward joy.
God is not offended by your ache.

A Different Kind of Peace

Peace, in the biblical sense, isn’t the absence of pain. It’s the presence of enoughness.

Enough grace for this moment.
Enough breath for tonight.
Enough strength to stay.

Peace might look like simply making it through the evening without forcing yourself to feel something you don’t.

That counts.

A Pause for Reflection

As this night settles in, I invite you to consider:

If you’re single or grieving:

What would kindness toward yourself look like tonight?

What expectations can you gently lay down?

If you’re with others:

Who might be quietly struggling in your midst?

How could presence matter more than words?

And for all of us:

What if peace doesn’t arrive as calm, but as permission to be real?

Listening matters just as much as speaking.

On This Holy Night

Christmas Eve reminds us that light doesn’t arrive all at once.

It arrives quietly.
Unexpectedly.
In the middle of ordinary, imperfect circumstances.

If tonight feels heavy, you are not failing the season.

You are standing exactly where the story begins.

Go with God.
And always stay spicy.

Which means honour your heart tonight, tell the truth gently, and trust that presence, even quiet presence, is holy.

Check back tomorrow for Part Six: You Are Not Late to Your Life.

12/23/2025

Would love to hear your thoughts

Single, Sixty, and Secure — Part Four of Six
From the Park Bench… or the Sofa (December in Canada Gets a Vote)
Who Gets Centred — and Who Gets Left Out

One of the hardest things about the holidays isn’t always what’s said.

It’s what’s assumed.

Christmas has a way of centring certain stories while quietly pushing others to the edges. And most of the time, this isn’t done intentionally. It’s simply the result of habits, traditions, and expectations that haven’t been examined in a long time.

Who do we picture when we imagine Christmas?

Who sits at the centre of the table in our minds?

And who becomes the “extra chair”?

The Subtle Ways Exclusion Happens

Exclusion doesn’t usually look like rejection. It looks like being welcomed, but not fully considered.

It looks like:

seating plans that assume couples

invitations that come with an apology

conversations that orbit around shared milestones you don’t have

traditions that quietly assume everyone’s life follows the same rhythm

You’re invited, but not exactly included.
Present, but not centred.

And that can be lonely in a way that’s hard to name, because on the surface, everything looks kind.

Being the “Single Friend”

Many single people know this role well.

You’re welcome, but you’re flexible.
You’re adaptable.
You can fit in anywhere, or so everyone assumes.

But being endlessly flexible often means being endlessly overlooked.

You adjust your plans.
You slide into whatever space is available.
You make room, sometimes without anyone noticing the cost.

And over time, that quiet adjustment can begin to feel like invisibility.

This Isn’t About Blame

It’s important to say this clearly: most people are not trying to exclude anyone.

We all inherit scripts about what family, belonging, and celebration are supposed to look like. And unless we pause to examine them, we simply keep repeating them.

This reflection isn’t about guilt.
It’s about awareness.

Because inclusion isn’t accidental.
It’s practiced.

Who Gets Centred Shapes the Community

Who we centre shapes the culture of our gatherings.

When couples are always centred, single people learn to hover.
When families are always centred, those without them learn to shrink.
When shared milestones are always the focus, those on different paths learn to stay quiet.

But the Christmas story itself doesn’t centre the powerful, the established, or the “put together.”

It centres the unexpected.
The overlooked.
The ordinary.

Which might invite us to ask: Are our tables reflecting the story we claim to celebrate?

A Gentle Shift That Changes Everything

Sometimes inclusion doesn’t require a complete overhaul, just a shift in posture.

It might look like:

planning seating that doesn’t default to couples

inviting people into traditions rather than assuming they’ll opt out

asking open-ended questions instead of comparison-driven ones

noticing who hasn’t spoken, and making space

It’s less about doing more, and more about seeing differently.

For Those Who Feel Left Out

If you’ve felt invisible at Christmas, seen but not centred, I want you to hear this:

Your presence matters.

You are not an add-on.
You are not a placeholder.
You are not “extra.”

The discomfort you feel isn’t because you’re ungrateful or sensitive. It’s because belonging matters to the human soul.

And you’re allowed to name that.

A Pause for Reflection

As we sit with this, I invite a few gentle questions:

For those who are single:

When have you felt welcomed, but not fully included?

What has helped you feel genuinely seen?

For those who are partnered or part of a family:

Who tends to orbit the edges of your gatherings?

What might it look like to centre them, not just invite them?

And for all of us:

Who feels at home in our spaces?

Who has learned to adapt quietly?

Listening matters just as much as speaking.

As Christmas Draws Near

Christmas isn’t about perfect tables or flawless gatherings.

It’s about presence.
It’s about making room.
It’s about noticing who’s already there.

And sometimes, the most faithful thing we can do is move the chairs, literally and figuratively, so no one feels like they’re sitting on the edge of the story.

Go with God.
And always stay spicy.

Which means stay awake to who’s in the room, stay honest about who gets centred, and don’t underestimate the power of making real space for one another.

Check back tomorrow for Part Five: Christmas Eve Isn’t Easy for Everyone.

12/23/2025

Single, Sixty, and Secure — Part Four of Six
From the Park Bench… or the Sofa (December in Canada Gets a Vote)
Who Gets Centred — and Who Gets Left Out

One of the hardest things about the holidays isn’t always what’s said.

It’s what’s assumed.

Christmas has a way of centring certain stories while quietly pushing others to the edges. And most of the time, this isn’t done intentionally. It’s simply the result of habits, traditions, and expectations that haven’t been examined in a long time.

Who do we picture when we imagine Christmas?

Who sits at the centre of the table in our minds?

And who becomes the “extra chair”?

The Subtle Ways Exclusion Happens

Exclusion doesn’t usually look like rejection. It looks like being welcomed, but not fully considered.

It looks like:

seating plans that assume couples

invitations that come with an apology

conversations that orbit around shared milestones you don’t have

traditions that quietly assume everyone’s life follows the same rhythm

You’re invited, but not exactly included.
Present, but not centred.

And that can be lonely in a way that’s hard to name, because on the surface, everything looks kind.

Being the “Single Friend”

Many single people know this role well.

You’re welcome, but you’re flexible.
You’re adaptable.
You can fit in anywhere, or so everyone assumes.

But being endlessly flexible often means being endlessly overlooked.

You adjust your plans.
You slide into whatever space is available.
You make room, sometimes without anyone noticing the cost.

And over time, that quiet adjustment can begin to feel like invisibility.

This Isn’t About Blame

It’s important to say this clearly: most people are not trying to exclude anyone.

We all inherit scripts about what family, belonging, and celebration are supposed to look like. And unless we pause to examine them, we simply keep repeating them.

This reflection isn’t about guilt.
It’s about awareness.

Because inclusion isn’t accidental.
It’s practiced.

Who Gets Centred Shapes the Community

Who we centre shapes the culture of our gatherings.

When couples are always centred, single people learn to hover.
When families are always centred, those without them learn to shrink.
When shared milestones are always the focus, those on different paths learn to stay quiet.

But the Christmas story itself doesn’t centre the powerful, the established, or the “put together.”

It centres the unexpected.
The overlooked.
The ordinary.

Which might invite us to ask: Are our tables reflecting the story we claim to celebrate?

A Gentle Shift That Changes Everything

Sometimes inclusion doesn’t require a complete overhaul, just a shift in posture.

It might look like:

planning seating that doesn’t default to couples

inviting people into traditions rather than assuming they’ll opt out

asking open-ended questions instead of comparison-driven ones

noticing who hasn’t spoken, and making space

It’s less about doing more, and more about seeing differently.

For Those Who Feel Left Out

If you’ve felt invisible at Christmas, seen but not centred, I want you to hear this:

Your presence matters.

You are not an add-on.
You are not a placeholder.
You are not “extra.”

The discomfort you feel isn’t because you’re ungrateful or sensitive. It’s because belonging matters to the human soul.

And you’re allowed to name that.

A Pause for Reflection

As we sit with this, I invite a few gentle questions:

For those who are single:

When have you felt welcomed, but not fully included?

What has helped you feel genuinely seen?

For those who are partnered or part of a family:

Who tends to orbit the edges of your gatherings?

What might it look like to centre them, not just invite them?

And for all of us:

Who feels at home in our spaces?

Who has learned to adapt quietly?

Listening matters just as much as speaking.

As Christmas Draws Near

Christmas isn’t about perfect tables or flawless gatherings.

It’s about presence.
It’s about making room.
It’s about noticing who’s already there.

And sometimes, the most faithful thing we can do is move the chairs, literally and figuratively, so no one feels like they’re sitting on the edge of the story.

Go with God.
And always stay spicy.

Which means stay awake to who’s in the room, stay honest about who gets centred, and don’t underestimate the power of making real space for one another.

Check back tomorrow for Part Five: Christmas Eve Isn’t Easy for Everyone.

12/22/2025

Breaking news: Amazon just delivered my Hallmark moment, wrapped in flannel. 😂
I may or may not have done the Home Alone pose to mark the occasion. 😲😱🎄😂🧣☕❄️😂

Tell me, do I open it right away, or wait till Christmas morning?

Single, Sixty, and Secure — Part Three of Six.
From the Park Bench… or the Sofa (December in Canada Gets a Vote)

This series is meant to be a conversation. If you feel comfortable, share your reflections in the comments. And if this speaks to you, consider sharing on your timeline so that others, especially those navigating singleness at Christmas, can find it too.

“So… Have You Met Anyone?” The Questions We Ask

Some questions only seem to surface at Christmas.

They usually arrive with a smile.
Often with good intentions.
Sometimes with genuine curiosity.

And yet, they land with more weight than the person asking ever intended.

“So… have you met anyone?”
“Are you bringing a plus-one?”
“Maybe next Christmas!”
“Don’t worry, it’ll happen when you least expect it.”

On the surface, these sound harmless. Kind, even. But for many single people, especially during the holidays, these questions don’t feel like conversation starters. They feel like quiet evaluations.

When Questions Carry Assumptions

Most of these questions assume a few things right away:

That singleness is temporary

That partnership is the goal

That contentment must be explained

That a life without a romantic update is somehow incomplete

They assume that if you’re single, you must be waiting for something to begin.

And that’s where the weight comes in.

Because not everyone is waiting.
Some people are healing.
Some are discerning.
Some are choosing peace.
Some are grieving.
Some are content right where they are.

A question that assumes “progress” can feel dismissive of presence.

The Emotional Labour of Answering

What often goes unnoticed is the emotional labour involved in answering these questions.

Do you give the short answer and move on?
Do you soften the truth to make others comfortable?
Do you joke to avoid getting awkward?
Do you explain… again?

For many people, the question isn’t just the question. It’s the decision about how much of yourself you have to give in response.

And at Christmas, when energy is already stretched, that labour adds up.

When Curiosity Misses the Mark

To be clear, most people aren’t trying to be intrusive. They’re working with the scripts they’ve been handed.

We’ve been taught that asking about relationships is a way of showing care. That checking in means checking progress. That love looks like movement toward coupling.

But curiosity without awareness can create shame.

It can unintentionally signal that who someone is right now isn’t quite enough.

A Gentle Invitation to Ask Different Questions

What if, instead of defaulting to the usual questions, we tried something different?

What if we asked:

“How are you really doing this season?”

“What’s been bringing you peace lately?”

“What’s been hard?”

“What’s been meaningful for you this year?”

These questions don’t assume an outcome.
They honour the person in front of you, not the story you expect them to be living.

For Those Who Are Single

If you’re single and these questions sting, I want to say this gently: you are not overreacting.

Your discomfort is data.
It tells you where boundaries matter.
It tells you when a conversation feels misaligned.

You’re allowed to redirect.
You’re allowed to keep answers short.
You’re allowed to say, “I’m actually doing okay where I am.”

You don’t owe anyone a status update.

For Those Who Are Partnered

If you’re married or partnered, this isn’t about guilt. It’s about awareness.

It might be worth asking:

What questions do I default to?

Do they assume a particular life path?

Am I making space for presence, not just progress?

Often, the most loving thing we can do is resist filling silence with expectations.

A Pause for Reflection

As we sit with this, I invite a moment of reflection:

If you’re single:

Which questions feel hardest at Christmas?

What responses protect your peace?

If you’re partnered:

What questions could you retire?

What questions might open a more profound connection instead?

And for all of us:

Are we listening for stories, or outcomes?

Listening matters just as much as speaking.

As Christmas Gets Closer

Christmas is about incarnation, about meeting people where they are, not where we think they should be.

This season may invite us to speak with more care.
To ask with a little more humility.
To listen without needing an update.

Because the truest gift is presence.

Go with God.
And always stay spicy.

Which means honour your own story, respect the stories of others, and don’t let anyone rush the work you’re doing.

This series is meant to be a conversation. If you feel comfortable, share your reflections in the comments. And if this speaks to you, consider sharing on your timeline so that others, especially those navigating singleness at Christmas, can find it too.

Check back tomorrow for Part Four: Who Gets Centred, and Who Gets Left Out.