🌿 The 24-Hour Challenge (and the Whisper I Heard on Easter)

I was sitting in church this morning, letting the Easter message wash over me, when something quiet stirred in my heart. Not a booming revelation. Not a bolt of lightning. Just a soft, comforting whisper:

It’s time to work on this again.

And I knew exactly what “this” meant.

It’s not the kind of thing that makes headlines. It’s not scandalous or shocking. It’s that sneaky little habit I’ve carried for years: the voice of criticism. Bitterness. Cynicism.
And more specifically—the tiny, constant temptation to point out what’s wrong.

Looking for Flaws Is a Habit (And So Is Grace)

For me, it starts subtly. A thought about something someone said that could have been worded better. A mental note of a flaw I think someone should fix. A sigh over how something wasn’t done quite right.

If you look for mistakes, you’ll find them.
But if you spend your life searching for what’s wrong, you’ll miss everything that’s right.

And that’s the cost.
I start to miss the sweetness. The connection. The effort someone made. The small, sacred moments that slip by when I’m too busy mentally rewriting what someone should’ve said differently.

The 24-Hour Challenge

Years ago, I heard about a practice:
Go 24 hours without criticizing anyone or anything—including yourself.

I’ve never made it.
Not once.

Because it includes the voice in your head, too.

It sounds simple, but it’s not. Criticism is sneaky. It disguises itself as helpfulness, or honesty, or even wit. But if the tone is sharp—if it pinches or pokes—it’s not kindness.
And it’s not needed.

So every so often, I take up the challenge again. I see how long I can go before the clock resets. And it always resets. But every time I try, I become more aware. More gentle. More human.

What Changes When I Stop Criticizing

When I soften the voice of criticism—when I catch it before it takes root—everything feels lighter.

It’s like I step out of a storm cloud.
The day feels brighter.
My house feels warmer.
My shoulders relax.

And most of all, I remember:
It’s not my job to fix everything.
It never was.

A Personal Easter Renewal

Today, that whisper in church was just for me. A little invitation to notice where I’m still holding judgment in one hand while trying to live gently with the other. And I’m not writing this because I have it figured out.

I’m writing this because I’m starting again.

So if this invitation also feels like it’s for you—if you want to try a day of softness, of grace, of watching your words and thoughts with love instead of sharpness—you’re welcome to join me.

No pressure. No shame. Just curiosity.
Let’s see how far we get.

And when the voice sneaks back in (because it will), we’ll just take a deep breath, smile, and say:

Ah. There it is. Time to start again.