From Communion Wine to Top-Shelf Choices

Champagne popping. Bubbles flowing.

There’s something about New Year’s Eve that suddenly makes us feel intentional.

We choose the champagne. The outfit. The location. The people we’ll toast with.

The menu that feels just right for ushering in a new year.

For one night, we care deeply about our choices.

And then - January 2nd hits - and most of the year is lived on autopilot.

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This may sound off the wall, but hear me out.

If you grew up in church, you know this truth to be universal: the wine selection at communion is terrible.

Tiny plastic cup.

Wine in theory only.

Tastes like regret and obligation.

Paired with bread that could double as packing material.

No choice.

No variety.

No personality.

You take it because it’s handed to you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how often we live our lives exactly like that.

Accepting what’s offered.

Choosing from habit instead of desire.

Sipping something subpar because it’s familiar, approved, and expected.

I don’t want my life or my work or my presence to taste like bad communion wine.

I want my choices - on New Year’s Eve and on a random Tuesday - to be intentional.

Not programmed.

Not image-driven.

Not made to fit neatly into someone else’s idea of “appropriate.”

I want choices that feel as colorful as the magazine cut-outs on the vision boards we create.

As bold as the words pasted across it.

No rules. All intuition.

Like choosing a bottle of wine because the label stops you in your tracks - and discovering the flavor inside is even better than you hoped.

Letting the outside reflect the rawness and authenticity of what’s within.

Choosing to be top shelf - not the bottom-shelf bargain deal.

Visible. At eye level.

Chosen with care.

Not tucked away.

Not a diluted version.

Full-bodied. Not apologizing for my curves, my opinions, or my energy.

After all, Jesus turned the water into wine. He didn’t water it down.

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Here’s the truth. We already know how to choose intentionally.

We do it for dinner parties. For celebrations. For moments we decide matter.

What if we chose our lives with the same level of discernment we use when selecting wine for a table full of people we love?

What if we curated our year the way we craft our vision boards -with texture, contrast, creativity, and permission to change our minds?

Living in color.

Sometimes bright. Sometimes muted.

Holding space for the deep blue of pain alongside the bright yellow of joy.

Not bypassing any of it.

Not diluting ourselves to be more palatable.

This year, my intention isn’t hustle.

It isn’t perfection.

It isn’t another neatly labeled goal.

It’s choice.

Real choice.

Full-bodied.

Unapologetic.

Memorable.

The kind that lingers.

The kind you want more of.

Here’s to crafting a year that feels as intentional as the champagne we pour to welcome it - and far richer than anything we’ve been taught to accept without question.

Happy New Year.