Why I Chose Nevertheless as My 2021 Word of the Year

The week after Christmas, it seems a little like a falling off, like a sudden dissipation of the wave of anticipation we’ve been riding. We look at the gifts that have been unwrapped and regret some of the ones bought, some of the ones not bought, and it’s easy to settle into a funk when all we see is leftover wrappings, empty wrappings. Sometimes the week after Christmas can feel empty. But as we catch our breath, we find there is grace in the lull to learn again to simply be . . . and to choose what our word of the year will be.

Grace in the lull

There is a sweet grace, I’ve found, in the after-Christmas lull. In the family memories made during the break from school, in the abrupt end to the listing and buying and wrapping, in the absence of an agenda. It’s a space to breathe steady and deep. To remember that the anticipation that built, there is now a consummation, and the God we sought, He is yet here, still Emmanuel, still the always “with-us God.”

We’ve unwrapped hope, pursued Him, and we need not now let Him go.

Advent—the joyous, anticipated waiting—is just the beginning. And the slow of the post-Christmas days affords us grace to keep pressing in, keep asking for more, keep relentlessly pursuing the only One who makes our hearts fully alive.

The week after Christmas beckons us to rest. To remember that it’s our being, not our doing and our performing and our not letting anyone down, that is the place from which all of our doing ought to overflow.

We can rest, remember that we are—and He is—and that is all we ever need.

All the good He sees in us—it’s His own righteousness covering our less-than, and not-enough. But when we don’t make time to rest, we forget—and get caught up again in striving to attain which was already given.

I re-read Psalm 62, stop where verse 11 spills into verse 12:

God said to me once and for all,
“All the strength and power you need flows from me!”
And again I heard it clearly said,
“All the love you need is found in me!”

All we need is found in the God who promises to be ever with us.

The answer for remembering who we are—it’s found in Him. The strength we need to face the decisions of tomorrow—it’s found in Him. All our worth, all the good we can be in this world who so desperately needs grace, it all flows from Him who brought us into being and named us His.

So we rest.

We remember how we are already accepted, already chosen, already wholly beloved.

We savor the gift of each present moment.

And these hands that have that have been busy unwrapping, we let the hover of fragrant God-glory still them, press into the palms and open the fingers wider, open more again to Him.

He is here. In this very moment. And He will be here, too, in each moment as they come.

How to choose a word of the year

This week to catch our breath, to remember to be all about Him because He is all about you and I—it’s like a bridge between two years, and we get to choose what to carry with us as we step forward across it. The now-unwrapped, ever-lasting hope I know I have in Christ: to hold this close releases me from burdens I’ve carried, burdens I might be tempted to pick back up.

When I know this sure and steady hope, I drop the need to earn and perfect on my own, the need to prove or pretend, the need to protect or maintain. It’s Him and me, traveling light.

Traveling light—this is how I wish to enter the new year.

In this space my heart is surrendered and I lean in to listen. Then I respond.

One way I’ve made an active practice of listening and responding is choosing a word of the year. It’s a way to embrace something God wants to cultivate in me, deep on the inside. It’s a choosing of the posture of my heart before Him—to welcome the pruning and the stepping beyond fear and the trusting that the lessons He wants to grow me through is worth the slow unfolding over the course of a year.

Perhaps you’ve never chosen a word of the year. Like me, you may know plenty others who have but you’ve never felt strongly about a particular word, or you forget to choose one before New Year’s and then feel you’ve missed the opportunity.

While choosing a word of the year is not prescriptive, but a practice of simply listening and responding, I’ll guide you through how I arrive at my word of the year.

First, I bring forth my request. God, where are You at work? Where do You want to grow me next year? Is there a word You have that will guide me?

Then I listen. And keep asking. When ideas come, I hold them with open hands. Usually when I’ve landed on the right word, I somehow just know. I keep coming back to it, even if I can envision little of the journey the word would ignite.

Finally, I respond. I say yes—to God, to the word of the year. The year I grew the most from my chosen word, I put my word on the lock-screen and screensaver images on my phone. I was constantly reminded to embrace the depths of my word. And this may be helpful for you as well: make your word of the year visible. This will encourage you to not just say yes once, but again and over again throughout the year.

And even if today for you has already crossed the threshold into 2021, I encourage you to still consider a word of the year for the remainder of the year. It’s never too late, while we are yet here, to invite God in, to grant Him access to mine the deep places in your heart, to tend the garden of your heart.

Word-of-the-year from past years

This is my third year choosing a word of the year to guide me deeper into the depths of God.

I first chose the word open—a hard word for one inclined to keep a safe distance, to maintain the image of all being perfect, to help others but not admit my own need for help. Today I am more aware of when I slip into default mode and how life-giving it is to instead embrace mission-minded openness that allows the work God is doing inside me to ripple out beyond me.

Last year, I chose the word given, inspired by Ann Voskamp’s line “[be] broken and given like bread.” I’m learning that living given in the small, unseen moments grows me the most—how I learn to live more Christ-like when I choose to prefer others when I alone am privy to the internal wrestle with my selfishness or expectations or pride.

Open and given have both become pillars reminding me that I am living a purpose—joining a mission—larger than myself, and I have to get out of the way to let God more fully have His way in me.

Why I chose the word nevertheless for next year

For next year, 2021, I’ve chosen the word nevertheless. Or rather, I read the word in a verse nestled in my regular morning reading, and couldn’t get it out of my head. So I dug in, wrote a bit about it, and still, I could shake the feeling that there is more I need to learn here and that this is the word for next year God is asking me to choose.

The word nevertheless is found in an inconspicuous place, right after a string of anguished lament uttered by King David in the book of Psalms. Thirteen verses of questioning, then this:

Nevertheless, blessed be our God forever and ever. Amen. Faithful is our King!

Psalm 89:52 TPT

I wanted to dismiss nevertheless as my word for the year because I don’t want to invite in anything harder than I’ve already walked through. But this I know: when the things we feared become what we are truly facing— when “even if” becomes “right now”—I want to have trained my heart to offer gratitude nevertheless. I don’t want to offer conditional gratitude.

Like David, I want to say, “Nevertheless, blessed be our God forever and ever. Amen. Faithful is our King!” (Psalm 89:52 TPT). In everything I thought would turn out different, nevertheless, God is faithful, here, and so very, very good. In every unmet expectation, in everything I’ve built that still falls to pieces, in everything I can’t in the now fully understand—nevertheless, God is still faithful, still here, and still very, very good.

There is testimony in this: in living out gratitude in the nevertheless in proximity with others. That’s the bare bones truth of missional living—inviting God to do deep work inside me and letting others near me in close enough to know the realness of my learning to live more like Christ.

So for my own heart, but also for my family, for my neighbors, and for all who know me, I want to embark on a year-long practice of repeating, nevertheless, Lord, I still trust You. I still offer you all the very best of my praise.

A New Year’s blessing

As the dawn of next year draws ever close and you contemplate what your word of the year will be, I wanted to pray a blessing over you.

May you find sweet grace in the lull of the post-Christmas week—grace to remember that you already are in Christ and He already is, and you have nothing to earn or prove, pretend or protect. May the simple practice of listening and responding to Him be balm for the weary places in your soul. May He lead you gently, tenderly, to Him, again and over again, through the word of the year you choose for next year. In Jesus’s holy and precious name, I pray. Amen.

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