🌿A “Word of the Year” isn’t a resolution with better PR. It’s a north star in your pocket—something you can reach for when life gets loud, messy, or exhausting. It’s not about perfection. It's about direction. 💡 Why one word works Goals can feel like homework. A word shows up in real life: - When you’re about to overcommit - When you’re reacting instead of responding - When you’re tempted to quit - When you’re choosing everyone else over yourself Your word becomes a simple question: “What would my word do here?” ✅ Quick Word-Picking Process (10 minutes) Grab a notebook or piece of paper. Write 3 lists: More of: Less of: Let go of: Circle what has the most emotional charge. That’s usually the doorway. Now ask: What’s the theme underneath?Overwhelm → Focus / SteadinessSelf-judgment → GraceClenching + holding on → ReleaseFeeling flat/numb → Joy / LoveFear + playing small → Ownership / Wildflower 🔥 The 3 Tests (to choose the right one) Pick your top 3 words and test them: 1) Bad-Day TestOn a hard day, does this word help… or shame you? 2) Whisper TestSay: “This year, I choose ___.”If your body softens or your eyes get spicy (teary), pay attention. 3) Behavior TestCan you name 3 actions this word would change? If not, it’s too vague. 🌸 Words already in our community Wildflower • Focus • Perseverance • Joy • Deep Breath • Embrace • Release • Grace • Ownership • Devoted • Steadiness • Peace • Tolerance • Love 👉If you’re choosing from these, try finishing one sentence: “This year, my word will help me practice ______.” 🧷 Make it REAL (not just pretty) Choose 1–2 anchors: - Put your word on your phone wallpaper - Write a daily question: “What would (WORD) do here?” - Pick one micro-ritual (ex, one deep breath before emails, meals, hard conversations) - Do a monthly reset: “Where did I live my word? Where did I drift?” A word becomes powerful when it changes tiny moments. That’s where your year is actually made. 👇 Comment below

You forgive them by allowing yourself to feel everything—every wave of pain, every tear, every moment of disbelief. Healing doesn’t come swiftly; it doesn’t arrive like a sudden sunrise. It creeps in slowly, like the soft glow of twilight. One moment, you’ll feel like you’ve made progress, and the next, you’re falling back into the ache. And that’s okay. Forgiveness isn’t linear—it’s messy, unpredictable, and deeply human. You forgive them by choosing you. By taking the love you once gave so freely to them and pouring it back into yourself. Unplug from their world. Unfollow their shadows. Surround yourself with people who remind you of your worth—friends who make you laugh so hard it feels like your heart might burst from joy instead of pain. Let the things you love become your safe haven. Revisit the books that feel like home, walk under the stars, and remember that life holds more beauty than you can see right now. You forgive them by stepping away—not just physically, but emotionally. Leave behind the questions that will never have satisfying answers. Stop replaying the “what ifs” and “whys” in your mind. The pain may beg for your attention, but you have to let it go, like a balloon slipping from your hand. Watch it drift away, becoming smaller and smaller until it’s no longer yours to hold. You forgive them by accepting the truth of what happened. Not because it was okay, not because it hurt any less, but because clinging to the past won’t change it. Acceptance doesn’t mean approval. It doesn’t erase the scars or absolve them of responsibility. It simply means you’ve chosen to stop reliving the moment they broke you. Acceptance is the first step to freedom. You forgive them by reclaiming your story. They may have written a painful chapter, but your life is so much bigger than that one page. There’s a whole world waiting for you—people to meet, places to explore, dreams to chase. Forgiveness is not about excusing them; it’s about releasing yourself. It’s about refusing to let the person who broke your heart have the power to keep you broken.

Hey friends—wishing you a warm, peaceful holiday season, whatever you celebrate and however you’re spending it. May it hold small moments that matter: a soft laugh, a steady breath, a hand held, a memory made. Kettle & Candle will be away for the holidays so we can rest, be with our people, and let the year settle into its rightful place. ✨ We’ll be back on Monday, January 5, 2026—with fresh gatherings, new conversations, and a beautiful year ahead. Until then… put the kettle on, be gentle with yourself, and take care of what’s truly sacred. With love, Pam 🕯️

The season is arriving the way it always does—soft at first… then suddenly everywhere. Lights in windows. Songs in grocery aisles.A kind of collective remembering. And with it comes the old pressure: lists, carts, wrapping paper, deadlines, receipts—the loud, glittering chorus of more. But under all of that…there’s a quieter invitation. To return to what can’t be bought to remember what actually lasts. Because the truest gifts of the season don’t come with bows. They come like this: - a call you almost didn’t make - a name spoken with tenderness - Forgiveness offered without a speech - a chair pulled out for someone who feels alone - a story told again… because it matters who remembers it - a moment of peace where fear used to sit - a “I’m here” that costs nothing—and means everything This time of year holds many sacred languages. Some call it Christmas. Some call it light returning. Some call it love, community, mercy, remembrance, or grace. Whatever words you use, most of us are longing for the same thing: To belong to-To be seen To be held—without having to earn it. So here’s our gentle question for Kettle & Candle this week: What is one “spiritual gift” you want to give (or receive) this season—something you can’t put in a box? If you want a few prompts to choose from, pick one: 1. A gift I’m giving this year is… (presence, patience, listening, honesty, kindness, repair) 2. A gift I’m craving is… (peace, time, forgiveness, laughter, rest, belonging) 3. One small ritual that brings me back to what matters is… 4. A person I want to reach for—before the season passes—is… (no details needed) If your season is joyful, bring that joy here. If your season is tender or complicated, bring that too. There’s room at this table for all of it. 🕯️ Put the kettle on… We’ll meet each other in the simple, sacred things.

If you’ve just joined Kettle & Candle—or you’ve been quietly peeking around the edges—this is for you. This space exists for people who know, deep down, that life is short… and want to live it wide.We talk about mortality, grief, advance care planning, and legacy—not to be morbid, but to be honest. This is not a doom-and-gloom room. This is a candlelit table where we tell the truth, ask real questions, and make real plans. Put the kettle on. You’re in the right place. What we’re doing here Inside this community, you’ll see: - 365 – A Year To Live: A year-long journey into living fully by facing our mortality, one breath at a time. - Live virtual gatherings & fireside chats. Real-time conversations where we share stories, questions, fears, and aha moments. - Short, practical workshops, especially around advance care planning: medical/financial powers of attorney, end-of-life wishes, and how to actually talk to the people you love. - Prompts, reflections, and shared resources. Small sparks to help you re-center on the day's life feels heavy—or beautifully fragile. - Some of you are here for the paperwork. Some of you are here for the soul work. Most of us will discover we need both. How to jump in today (not “someday”) Lurking is normal. Staying stuck there is optional. If you’re reading this, choose one action—today: 1. Introduce yourself. In the comments below, tell us: 2. Answer a gentle question. Pick one and answer in the comments: 3. Raise your hand for support. If you’re overwhelmed by planning, grief, or “I don’t even know where to start,” just type: “I’m here, but I’m unsure.”That’s a perfectly honest place to begin. You don’t have to be polished. You don’t have to have your life in order. You just have to be willing to take one small, human step. What you can expect from me (and from us) From me, you can expect: - Clear teaching rooted in 45+ years of walking with people at the end of life - Gentle but direct questions that nudge you out of “I’ll deal with it later.” - Practical guidance on planning (with the reminder: I’m not your lawyer or doctor; I’ll always encourage you to talk with your own professionals)