Daybook

Mid-January, 2026

Giving Thanks:
For first light and candlelight.
For winters that are gentler than the ones before.
For nudges—both given and received.
For adult children who still show up.
For a body that is asking to be cared for, not fixed.
For clarity that arrives quietly and then refuses to leave.

Outside My Window:
Dark gives way to first light just before seven.
Sunrise comes slowly, reluctantly, like winter itself.
The days are short—barely nine and a half hours of daylight—and I feel every minute of that loss.
Some mornings are 12 degrees and uninviting. Others hover near 40 and feel like mercy.
I don’t miss the snow. I don’t miss driving in it or hauling trash cans through it or negotiating life around it.
I know winter has its purpose—the earth resting, the water table replenishing—but knowing doesn’t always make it easier to live inside.

Clothing Myself In:
Layers.
Warmth.
A little more patience than usual.
Grace—for myself, especially.

In the Kitchen:
Dough. Levain. Packing lists. Pre-packing lists.
Baking schedules scribbled on paper first, because some things need to be worked out by hand before they’re saved anywhere digitally.
There is comfort in the rhythm of preparation, even when it’s tiring.
And relief when the event is over and the fixation lifts.

Writing
Morning pages are back.
And I’m grateful—because I know I’ll want these words later.
I’m learning to be careful with the tools I use to help me write. Research is one thing. Voice is another.
I want to rely less on shortcuts and more on the slow forming of my own thoughts.
Rely—my word this year. Quietly chosen. Not announced. Lived instead.

Reading
Old January entries from last year.
Perspective is a gift—especially when the past reminds you how far you’ve come.

Watching
The subtle way something is shifting in me.
Instead of deciding for John, I asked.
Instead of assuming no, I nudged gently—and he said yes.
We went to trivia downtown. It was local. Free. Easy.
We didn’t win. That was never the point.
What mattered was leaving the house, being part of our town, sharing time with our kids, choosing something other than the television.
It’s the kind of ease I want more of.

Listening
To my body.
To wisdom that says habits—not drastic measures—are what’s needed now.
To the quiet but persistent truth that my health isn’t something I’ll get to later. It’s now.

Making
Decisions.
Canceling appointments that no longer align.
Choosing not to outsource care for my body when the work ahead is actually small—and mine to do.
Considering whether money planned for promotion might be better spent on strengthening the body that carries me through all of this life.

In the Company of Others:
Time with Rachel—walks, conversations, gentle insistence.
Time with adult kids.
Babysitting that stretches my limits and reminds me I still need to honor them.
Friendships that are worth protecting, even when life is full.
Prayer—spoken, whispered, and quietly surrendered.

The Week Ahead
Unpacking the van.
Putting the house back in order so I can leave it—and return to it—with peace.
Florida on the horizon.
A husband at home holding down the fort (and grandkids).
More discernment. Less rushing.

Closing Thought
Winter is hard.
Change is subtle.
But something is taking root anyway.

God is good.
He is in control.
And I am learning—slowly, thankfully—to rely.