Dear Little Girl...The Year Of The Whole

For the past two years, before the noise begins—before the plans, the striving, the fixing, the taking down of the decorations—I come back to this quiet practice.

I write a letter to God.

Not a polished one.
Not a pretty one.

A real one.

It’s full of gratitude and grief.
Faith and fear.
Hope and hurt.

I get naked in the truth.
I name the pain.
I confess the longing.
I say the parts out loud that I usually try to carry quietly.

And then I read it back slowly.

I look for the words that keep repeating—
the ones my soul keeps circling, even when my mind doesn’t know why.

From there, I open the dictionary.
I study the meaning.
I let other words rise up—synonyms, echoes, invitations.

Then I take it all to Scripture.
Because I don’t want a word that just sounds good.
I want a word God is already speaking.

This year, the word that kept rising was Whole.

Not perfect.
Not fixed.
Not untouched.

Whole.

Whole means nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing that has to be earned back.

It means spirit, soul, and body learning to live in harmony again.
It means being honest about the fractures without letting them define you.
It means choosing safety without shrinking.
Truth without hardness.
Boundaries without guilt.

It means trusting that God can put you back together—not into who you were, but into who you are becoming.

This is the verse that held me:

“May God himself, the God who makes everything holy and whole,
make you holy and whole, put you together—spirit, soul, and body—
and keep you fit for the coming of our Master, Jesus Christ.
The One who called you is completely dependable.
If he said it, he’ll do it.”
—1 Thessalonians 5:23–24 (The Message)

That verse mattered to me because it reminds me of this truth:
Wholeness is not something I manufacture. It is something God completes.

My job is not to force healing.
My job is to stay present, honest, and willing.

This year, Whole is not about pretending things are easy or healed or resolved.
It’s about trusting that even in the middle of uncertainty, I am not fragmented.

I am whole.

Being whole means I no longer abandon myself to keep the peace.
It means I listen to my body when it signals danger or rest or truth.
It means I set boundaries not as punishment, but as protection for what is sacred.

When I live from wholeness, I don’t have to beg for safety.
I can discern it.
I can choose it.
I can wait for trust to grow where respect consistently lives.

This is the mantra I’m carrying this year:

I am whole.
I choose safety.
I allow trust to grow where respect lives.

I place these words by my bed and in my phone—
not as pressure, but as a reminder.

And every year, I wear my word.

A bracelet I keep on my wrist as a quiet witness—
not to who I hope to become,
but to who God is already forming.

My friend Loren creates these bracelets with intention and prayer,
and I love that they are made to endure real life—
water, movement, work, tears.

(You can find her on instagram (@shoploreneveryday.)

This year, the word on my wrist is Whole.

Not because life is perfect.
Not because trust is automatic.
But because I believe God is faithful to finish what He starts.

Dear Little Girl,

You don’t have to earn wholeness.
You don’t have to prove it.
You don’t have to wait for anyone else to make you safe before you become yourself.

You are already held.
Already known.
Already being put together by the God of peace.

Walk gently this year.
Stay honest.
Stay rooted.

You are whole.

🩵