With the Lunar New Year comes that familiar rhythm of reflection. I’ve always enjoyed the poetry of the zodiac cycle, not as fortune telling or what must happen, but as a cultural lens, a way of noticing themes and praying into them.

Last year was the year of the snake, and truly, 2025 felt like it.

Snakes are said to represent wisdom, strategy, and shedding old skin. It was a year of highs and lows, celebrations and uncertainties, flying high and being grounded, thanksgivings and pleadings lifted up to God. It was the first year I did not send Christmas cards since the boys were born. It felt like a failure and a relief. And I was fine with both.

I am guessing life held its own contradictions for you: so much to be grateful for and so much that aches. Online, the people can look practically perfect OR as if everything is unraveling. Somehow both can leave us unsettled.

So to protect the soul while giving, I ask the Lord for: joy and empathy, submission and action, reflection and courage.

The snake year did feel reflective and quietly strategic. It was a year of asking what matters and what can fall away. I did not find a new agent and I did not sell a book. In the middle of that introspection, my debut, The House Before Falling into the Sea, received honors that still feel surreal. Winning the Freeman Book Award, being named a finalist for the Jane Addams Children’s Book Award, appearing on “best of” lists… each recognition was a gift, something for which I’m deeply grateful.

And yet, even as the book about kindness in hard times was being celebrated, I sometimes wondered whether that very theme was eroding in the broader culture. It’s a strange tension to hold gratitude and concern in the same hands.

Now we step into the year of the horse, symbolizing movement, energy, and boldness; it’s a galloping forward. If the snake invited me to shed and reflect, perhaps the horse is inviting me to move, not recklessly or impulsively, but decisively.

I don’t trust in horoscopes to determine my steps; my faith anchors me elsewhere. But I also don’t ignore the stories that’ve shaped generations before me. Instead, I ask God for wisdom within them. If this is a year of movement, then may I move wisely. If it is a year of boldness, then may that boldness be rooted in prayer.

I am a pig in the zodiac, which is said to represent generosity and steadiness. Pigs aren’t flashy. We like comfort, loyalty, and good meals with people we love. So perhaps this year is about stretching and galloping without forgetting why.

Whether or not you were born a horse, perhaps this can be a year of thoughtful courage for all of us. A year of action shaped by wisdom. A year where kindness is not eroded but strengthened. A year where we move forward, not because a chart tells us to, but because hope calls us to.

May this new year bring movement toward deeper empathy, brave faith, and joy that holds both the celebration and the ache.

What does this look like for you?