Tag: grateful

Notice

Kristine Binder

Every year when Fat Tuesday rolls around, I decide I’m going to do Lent right. There’s always a brief window — usually while holding a paczki — where I become extremely optimistic about my future holiness. I am going to give up something that will make me a better person after 40 days is over…
I’ve given up soda (Dr. Pepper is my fave and still a treat!). I’ve given up chocolates and dessert. I’ve given up coffee (the Lord and I both know that one was never sustainable). I once gave up buying clothes and gave something away every day. I’ve tried the rosary. I’ve tried daily Bible reading. I’ve tried structure and discipline and holy intentions.
And some years it stuck. Most years it… didn’t. Turns out self-improvement and I have a complicated relationship.
Those who know me also know I’m not really a “church” or organized-religion person in the traditional sense. But my faith runs deep. My belief in God and Jesus is steady and personal, and I pray every day. The Memorare is one that is more like a mantra and has become the prayer I fall back on when I don’t have words of my own – especially on the days when my prayers sound less like poetry and more like, “Okay… now what?”
This year I’m not feeling any call to heroic deprivation. Honestly, I could use all the desserts…. eating my feelings has been my go-to lately, and at this point the desserts and I are in a committed relationship.
So this Lent I’m not giving up small pleasures in hopes that suffering will magically reorder my soul. This year I’m giving up the things that are actually stealing my peace.
I’m giving up pretending I am a person who can successfully give up something like food or shopping for 40 days. Growth starts with honesty. I’m giving up rehearsing old resentments….. the ones I polish and revisit like they’re part of my personality. The stories I tell myself about other people, and the even harsher ones I tell myself.
I’m giving up the voice in my head that still thinks I should be a past version of me if I just try hard enough. I am giving up the lies I have told myself for years about who and what I deserve. I’m giving up expecting immediate text responses from my kids (this may be the holiest sacrifice of all… and also the least successful). I’m giving up believing the internet is an accurate representation of the world. It isn’t. It’s an algorithm, not reality – and definitely not a spiritual director.
Mostly, I’m giving up control – the exhausting illusion that if I monitor everything closely enough, worry hard enough, and plan carefully enough, I can keep life neat, predictable, and according to my own plans. Life, as it turns out, has never once agreed to that arrangement, no matter how convincing my spreadsheets were.
So instead of subtraction or even addition, this year I’m choosing attention.
For over a year I posted every single week…… seven moments of joy from the previous week. One photo for each day. One small moment of beauty at a time. And then life got heavy. Grief, responsibility, noise, fear, logistics. Noticing got replaced with surviving…… and surviving doesn’t leave much room for wonder.
So I’m going back.
From Ash Wednesday forward, I’m keeping a daily practice of deliberately looking for what is still good. Each day I’ll share one small thing – a photo of something I find beautiful, a kind interaction with a stranger, a sentence someone said that mattered, or one honest gratitude from the day.
Nothing curated. Nothing inspirational or poster perfect. Just real evidence that goodness still exists right here, right now.
Because social media….. and honestly the world lately …. trains our brains to scan for danger. For outrage. For proof everything is broken. But God is rarely found in the shouting. God shows up in the ordinary. Jesus himself saw straight through the ugliness of humanity to the beautiful parts. He sat with the outcasts, forgave the mess, loved people anyway. I mean… the man literally died for us and for the sins of the world. That kind of love isn’t loud. It’s steady, present, and usually happening in small moments we almost miss because of the chaos around us.
Sunrise peaking through the buildings. Someone holding a door. A laugh you didn’t expect. The dog excitedly waiting for you to arrive home. The moment your mind finally goes quiet and you just smile…..usually when you weren’t even trying.
I’m not pretending life is easy. I’m not ignoring the steady stream of news. I am still grieving. I’m just refusing to miss beauty while pain and ugliness exist. Holiness, at least for me this year, might look less like discipline and more like paying attention.
This Lent I’m giving up the constant analysis, the doom-scrolling, the need to fix every outcome. And instead, I’m going to look for the goodness and presence of God.
One ordinary day at a time. One ordinary moment at a time.
If you need that too, I would love it if you would join me. It would genuinely bring me joy to see what brings you joy – what goodness you notice in the world, because most of us have no trouble agreeing on what makes us angry or frustrated. Maybe we can practice agreeing on the good, too.
Maybe none of us will emerge dramatically transformed but maybe we’ll notice more goodness, carry a little more peace, and arrive at Easter ready to celebrate with real joy when He is risen…
the kind of joy that feels earned because we actually learned to see it.

Peace,
#tutulady
#forwardisapace

Alignment

Kristine Binder

At 60, I would love to tell you I have mastered self-love — that I wake up every day fully confident, fully certain, fully comfortable in my own skin. I don’t.
Many days I am still critical. Many days I still question myself. Many days I slip into old patterns of thinking I should be more, do more, fix more.
But I am finally understanding something I wish I learned decades ago: self-love isn’t a switch that flips on. It’s a pattern you recognize.
So, on Valentine’s day, instead of asking, Do I love myself?
I asked a better question:
Where am I already loving myself?
And suddenly the evidence was everywhere.
I love myself — and my brain — enough to read and learn something new every single day. Growth is not accidental at this age. It is a decision. Curiosity is hope in action, and I am still planning a future I want to be present for.
I love myself — and my body — enough to move it with intention every day. Not as punishment. Not to become smaller. But to stay alive inside this body that has carried me through six decades of joy, heartbreak, birth, grief, laughter, and survival…no matter what it looks like.
I love myself enough to walk slowly. To practice walking meditation. To be still in a world that profits off my distraction. Stillness used to feel unproductive. Now I understand it is repair.
I love myself enough to eat foods that nourish me and foods that delight me — because balance is health too. Deprivation never healed anyone. Peace did.
I love myself enough to love Lucky, my constant companion. His love is unconditional and unspoken. He does not ask me to be younger, thinner, quieter, nicer, easier. He just loves me. And in that loving, he reminds me I am allowed to exist without performing.
I love myself enough to finally stand up for what I know is right. Even when my voice shakes. Even when it disappoints people. Even when it costs me relationships I once tried to preserve at my own expense. Silence is not kindness to yourself.
I love myself enough to allow myself to feel grief. Real grief. Not the rushed, polite version. I have lost people, versions of my life, expectations, and imagined futures. Honoring that pain is not weakness — it is loyalty to my self and my own story.
I love myself enough to surround myself with beauty. Fresh flowers. Music. Words. Reflections of sunlight. The small things that say life is still offering me moments of beauty and I am still allowed to receive them.
And yes — I love myself enough to buy the things that others think frivolous but bring me joy. Joy is not wasteful. Joy is maintenance for the soul.
So no, I don’t fully love myself yet.
But I trust myself more.
I protect my peace more.
I choose myself more.
And maybe that is what self-love actually looks like at 60 — not arrival, but alignment.
Not perfection, but permission.
Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.
I did not wait for love to find me.
I practiced giving it to the one person who has been here for every single moment of my life.
Me.

Peace,
#tutulady
#forwardisapace

Permission

Kristine Binder

“Your hair is gorgeous! Who does your hair? Is she close by?”
That’s how the conversation started in the gym locker room as I was pulling my hair into a ponytail before my workout. I was wearing the same sweatshirt all day—the one with “You are loved” written across the back. And maybe that message was quiet, unspoken permission. Permission to be kind. Permission to notice. Permission to start a conversation.
What followed was one of those easy, ordinary exchanges—hair, products, color, cuts, all the things women talk about when we’re standing in front of mirrors together. We laughed, chatted for a few minutes, and then went our separate ways to get our workouts in.
About an hour later, I walked into the sauna. And there she was again. When one of the other women left it, was just the two of us…..
She then asked how my workout went, and just like that, we picked up where we left off. And then, without warning, her voice cracked. Today was her birthday. A big one. Fifty. And she had no one to celebrate with other than her parents. The tears came quickly, the kind that have been waiting for permission to fall.
So I listened.
She talked about feeling behind, about what she thought her life “should” look like by now, about all those inner comparisons that show up on milestone birthdays. And then she said something that stopped me in my tracks—that she felt I was meant to walk into that locker room that today so she wouldn’t feel so alone on her birthday.
When it was my turn to speak, I gently reframed some of the things she was saying about herself—offering a different lens, one rooted in compassion instead of judgment. At one point she smiled and said, “I never thought about it that way.” And that moment mattered…..to both of us.
Because here’s the thing: people don’t always need answers or advice. What they need is to feel seen. To feel heard. To feel like they matter.
I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in God-incidences. Moments where paths cross on purpose, even when we don’t realize it at first. And today felt like one of those moments—one quiet reminder that showing up, listening, and letting someone know they matter can make a bigger difference than we’ll ever realize. Life is funny like that.

Peace

Kristine Binder

This morning, I woke up in my happy place. Yet, something felt different. As I sipped my coffee, gazing at the water and listening to the birds, it struck me: today is Independence Day, a day we celebrate freedom. But today, it wasn’t just about national freedom; it was about my personal freedom. For the first time in what feels like forever, I am at peace. For over half my life, I lived in fear, always bracing for the next shoe to drop, tirelessly trying to maintain peace around me. The anxiety of keeping everything and everyone in balance was a heavy burden. But now, that chapter is closed. The peace I feel now is so profound, so tangible, that it’s almost overwhelming. To anyone who has spent years wondering when the turmoil will end, take heart: it does end. There is peace after the storm. When you finally reach that moment when the world allows you to truly exhale for what feels like the first time in your adult life, it’s like a weight is lifted. The constant feeling of impending doom dissipates, and what remains is pure, unadulterated peace. Even though our country may feel scary and uncertain right now, peace is still possible. The hope for that peace is what drives us forward. Our nation’s current challenges can make it hard to believe in a peaceful future, but it’s crucial to hold onto that hope. It is hope that sustains us, fuels our resilience, and lights the way to a brighter, more peaceful tomorrow. I share my journey, the good, bad and inbetween to give others hope. Hope that things do get better. Hope that there is a way forward. Hope that a future filled with peace is possible. On this Independence Day, I celebrate not just the freedom of our nation, but the profound personal freedom that has finally brought me real peace. Peace is out there, waiting for you. Keep moving forward, and I promise that you will find it.

Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace

14

Kristine Binder

Tomorrow begins the 14 days of love challenge. For the next 14 days I will leave a note (we’ll now I create images and text them!) for each of my kids with “I love you because…” with a different reason each day.
It gets more difficult as the days progress as I try to find reasons I love them that they don’t think I see.
Try it with the people you love.
Challenge yourself.