The Next Right Thing: A Simple, Soulful Practice for Making Life Decisions

by Emily P. Freeman

if you remember Christ dwells within you, beside you, behind you, and before you, he will remind you of what really matters. Ask him, then listen well. Your work is your work. Your pace is your pace. Your life is your life. What a gift. ❍

We all need a friend we can trust who is willing to go deep with us, to listen, to offer feedback, and to help us either solve a problem or feel better about the fact that the problem is unsolvable.

we’re not gonna give her words. The critic only lives if we let her live. And I don’t mean the critic that is helpful and has your best interest at heart. This isn’t someone in your co-listening group or one of your No Mentors. I mean the spiteful one, the petty one, the one who said those things way back when. Maybe the one who lives in your own head. That time is past, and the only voice that critic could have now in your life? It’s yours. How would today be different or how would your next decision change if you refused to give the critic words?

So, what’s your next right thing in this moment? It’s time to call a truce. We aren’t going to change their minds. Instead, let’s change ours. Let’s stop giving that critic words. Let’s stop handing her the mic. Let’s take her seat away from the table and put it out in the hall. Our friend Jesus knows what it means to be questioned, challenged, humiliated, and critiqued. Not once ever did he allow a negative critic to change one solitary decision he made on earth.

The voice of the critic forces us to face our biggest fears and, in turn, listen hard for the voice of God. I can worry or I can work. I can get stuck or I can move on. I can get defensive or I can be free. Instead of giving the critic words, here are some new words to consider: I believe in the power of life. I believe in the holy resurrection. I believe nothing can separate me from the love of God. I believe I am set free.

God always wants us to know it’s not too late to come on back—to be gathered back to center again. What if your next right thing is to settle in right where you are and come back home to yourself? Sound strange? Consider this: the only person you’re guaranteed to be with every day of your life is you. It doesn’t get much more home than that. So maybe it’s time to make some peace.

Coming home to yourself is not always an easy thing to do. If you arrive at a house and the hostess stands on the porch shouting criticisms, judgments, and sarcasms at you, guess what you won’t want to do? Walk through the door. You will turn your back on that house every time and vow never to return. What if we stopped standing on our own front porch and bullying ourselves? What if we decided, instead, to be a gracious hostess to ourselves at the threshold of our own soul?

I wonder if you can think of a time when you felt most like yourself. Where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with? And maybe it’s also important to consider, Who were you not with? These questions can help you begin to get familiar with your own giftedness, personality, and offerings you’re made to give.

those of us who struggle with choices spend a lot of time not only going around and around the choices in our minds but also kicking ourselves for making the thing so hard in the first place. If that’s you, you’re in good company. Pick what you like, then see how it grows. If that little plant dies in a week, well, then you’ve learned something. But another outcome is also possible. What if it blooms?

accept that there may not be a perfect choice, a right choice, or an ideal. Instead, pick what you like, then see how it grows.

One of the ways we punish ourselves for not being more or better or thinner or stronger is by trying to squeeze ourselves—force ourselves, even—into all kinds of ill-fitting relationships. With other people, with ourselves, with our pants. Leeana Tankersley, Breathing Room

I confess I have had to unlearn some things I’ve always believed about spirituality and the spiritual disciplines. Aside from the false belief that I thought I needed to work for my own acceptance, I’ve also made spirituality too small. I’ve put it in a box labeled “invisible things,” which may in some ways be true but is also, in many ways, untrue. This came to the surface for me in a most unexpected way, on the floor of my bedroom as I cleaned out my closet.

Isn’t it amazing what we will do at our own expense? I’ve decided that even if I have to wear something with a stretch waistband the rest of my life, I’m not going to demean myself by wearing clothes that hurt me. . . . No more bad pants. One of the ways we punish ourselves for not being more or better or thinner or stronger is by trying to squeeze ourselves—force ourselves, even—into all kinds of ill-fitting relationships. With other people, with ourselves, with our pants.

As we turn our face to you, may we see our true selves reflected in your gaze. Open us up to a new way of practicing our life, then spin us back out into the world as people who know who we are. Surprise us with a joy we cannot explain. Give us the courage to show up as ourselves.

I enter the room as my small, false self, wrapped up in a narrative that vacillates between uncertainty and overconfidence, from They wouldn’t want to hear from me to I have been doing this so much longer than the rest of these guys. Clearly I’m a treat to be around. When I walk into a room clinging to my own false story, my body gives me hints. I get sweaty, shaky, excited, and breathless. Rather than the gathered, quiet strength available to me in Christ, I experience a physical feeling of disintegration. It’s like my body knows I’m holding back and is afraid to bring my full self to the table, settling instead on a false, partial version.

I want to image God in community through forgiveness and celebration, not in order to get acceptance but because I already have it.

Could it be possible that the person you’re competing with most is some idealized version of yourself that you can never live up to? Would you be willing to set her free? How about just for the next ten minutes?

When I walk into a room filled with people, I recognize in myself a tendency to ignore what God thinks of them and obsess over what they are thinking of me. I once heard author Shauna Niequist say, “With people, you can connect or you can compare, but you can’t do both.”

My obsession with clarity and the quick fix blinds me to all the miraculous ways Jesus works in small surprises in the midst of the long haul—through people, through connection, through his body, the church.

If we continue to insist on holding on to control, we just might miss the story happening on the other side of the window. If he says he will do far more abundantly beyond all that we could ask or think, then who am I to stop before he gets there?

The kingdom of God is here, in the midst of this life stage, in the midst of this season, in the midst of this moment right now. There may be parts of your life where you feel like you’re burying seeds again. You’re holding an idea, a relationship, a loss, or a dream in the form of a seed, and you’re daring to believe it will grow. So you dig into the cool dirt and drop that seed into the darkness, you cover it up, and you wait.

God is with us in the light of day and in the darkest night. “Even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You” (Ps. 139:12).

It started with the Garden when he gave Adam and Eve every tree except one because he wanted them to be free. Our choices shape our lives, and they shape us. But we remain in God’s hand no matter what. Let’s begin to trust ourselves as we walk with our friend Jesus.

. If you find yourself struggling with some version of the good girl who lives in your head, who tells you that if you could just try harder you would be a better version of yourself, you might enjoy my book Grace for the Good Girl. It is all about learning to let go of your try-hard life. There is also a version for teen girls (mainly high school students) called Graceful. You can find these and more at emilypfreeman.com/the-books.