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

by Emily P. Freeman

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.

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

Dallas Willard says, “If a discipline is not producing freedom in me, it’s probably the wrong thing for me to be doing.”2

It’s about training my mind and my will to practice what my heart deeply believes.

And because I’m always aware of how the outer life affects the inner life, I quickly made the connection between breathing in my soul and breathing in my body.

And while I, of course, value taking care of my body and engaging in other practices to maintain my health, I also want to be honest about my own expectations of myself and be careful not to compare my health to the world’s idea of what healthy is. I have to be careful to remember that being healthy isn’t just what we can see on the outside.

Making that pile of clothes was a spiritual practice for me that day, finally taking the time to honestly confront some of the small ways I’ve been disrespecting myself by keeping clothes that didn’t fit.

But wearing better pants (or an equivalent personal choice) is an accessible way to begin to practice decision-making that has no consequence for anyone else but you. Again, this can be anything: a walk, an early arrival, a cup of coffee on the porch.

Though we may saunter into this week as people who have it all together, you see how we stumble on the inside. When will we learn to stop trying to hide from you? Gently reveal the complicated narrative of self-rejection that we have told ourselves all our lives. Bring the false stories to the surface, we pray. Because for all the ways we have experienced healing, we know there is still so much within us that remains unseen. Shine the warm light of grace into the shadows and be the courage we need to respond. Hold back shame, fear, and anger with your powerful hand and extend to us your kindness. We confess that we are seen and we are loved. This is our truest story. 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.

The people I know who are the most concerned about their individuality, who probe constantly into motives, who are always turned inwards toward their own reactions, usually become less and less individual, less and less spontaneous, more and more afraid of the consequences of giving themselves away. Madeleine L’Engle, A Circle of Quiet

It’s more like wanting to know where I fit, which is, if you can believe it, super different from wanting to fit in.

The trouble comes when I’m not sure if being like me is good enough, acceptable, or approved of by you.

When we are comparing, we cannot connect.

Don’t we all hope for connection but often choose protection instead?

But if my role is undefined, or if it’s a social situation where I don’t know people well, or if I attend a gathering where someone else in the room shares my role and the lines are unclear, I have a tendency to fly far from my center both during and after. When this scattering happens, it’s often a clue that I’m living out of my false narrative fed by the temptation

to be spectacular, relevant, and powerful.2

This is evidenced by the way I en...

If I go in guarded, then I’m focused on myself and how I am perceived. When I’m attending but not in charge of the group, I often hold back and feel unsure, not wanting to seem like I’m trying to take over. As a result, 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 experien...

We bring what we believe about ourselves and what we believe about God into every situation, gathering, and decision.

The truth is, I don’t have to let the uncertainty of my place in a room be the only voice that gets a say. How might I, in union with the Trinity, receive other people and respond as myself? How might I lean in to my identity as beloved and cooperate with the Father, Son, and Spirit by creating space for people to step out of their own false story and wake up to their unique contribution to the making-new of all creation? Even more, how might my own willingness to be vulnerable with the group be a gift, regardless of their response to me? If I walk into the room knowing who I am—beloved, abiding with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—then people are not bound to respond a certain way in order to make me feel safe.

I want to walk into rooms with presence and on purpose, aware of people for God’s sake rather than for my sake.

I want to remember that true ministry is not something we do but is the overflow of an abiding life with God.

I want to practice solitude more intentionally, to continue to get comfortable being alone with Jesus so I can more fully embrace my identity as beloved.

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

“What would it look like to trust Jesus, to be patient, to be loving, or to be content just for the next ten minutes?” That’s a next-right-thing mindset for your soul.

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.”

this reminder that you are not invisible. A reminder that God has not forgotten and that glory is everywhere

sometimes the best things that happen in life are ones we never even know are coming, much less plan for.

It’s easy to believe the myth that we are in control, especially when we have a decision to make. Turn your head from the illusion, the kind we often have when we are considering our next right thing, and see a different reality on the other side of the glass.

a story about a pastor who had a window in his office that was a one-way type of window, where he could see out but others couldn’t see in. One day, as the pastor was working, a mother passed by with her two children. She was on the phone and stopped in front of the window, looked at her own reflection while she talked, not knowing the pastor could see her. Her face revealed her obvious displeasure with what she saw. But her two kids, who also noticed themselves in the window, moved quickly on from their own reflections and instead leaned in, cupped their hands to the glass, and noticed the pastor on the other side. At precisely this point, Andrew ended the story. This is how he closed our weekend together, leaving us with the distracted mother on the phone frowning at her reflection and her two children cupping their faces to the window. I

The waffling and back-and-forth-ness bugs me about myself.

As I followed them out to their car, I sensed another invitation, this one more subtle and nearly missed. Pay attention, it said. Don’t forget to look out the window.

It’s about the endless pressure I put on myself to make the right choice, the best choice, at the right time. I forget or maybe never truly believe how often the best things that happen are, in fact, kind gifts that have nothing to do with me.

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.

May we stop insisting that everything have an explanation.

When is the last time you felt surprised by God?

I’ve decided if I had my life to live over again, I would not only climb more mountains, swim more rivers, and watch more sunsets. . . . I would not only go barefoot earlier in spring and stay out later in the fall; but I would devote not one more minute to monitoring my spiritual growth. . . . What would I actually do if I had it to do all over again? . . . I would simply do the next thing in love. Brennan Manning, The Furious Longing of God On the night of March 1, 2016, American astronaut Scott Kelly arrived safely back to earth along with two other astronauts after nearly a full year on the International Space Station.

It’s easy to forget to listen for the quietest whisper of comfort and presence from our Father who is with us in the midst of every question, every outcry, and every hope.