Do you reflect and set goals for the new year? I found myself doing just that yesterday while shopping for black-eyed peas and greens. I don’t buy them out of superstition, but to honor a tradition my mother-in-law started. Every New Year when she was alive, she’d bring black-eyed peas, collard greens, hog jowls, and cornbread to our home—a meal I’d never encountered until I married into the family. She wasn’t superstitious either, yet she never missed a year. Now I carry on the tradition in her memory, though I’ve quietly dropped the hog jowls from the menu. I could never bring myself to eat them.
My mother-in-law explained what each food symbolized, though I’ve forgotten most of the details. As best I can remember, the greens represent greenbacks in the wallet for the upcoming year. (And, boy, I sure could use some of that!) The black-eyed peas would have to be for health because there surely can’t be anything healthy about eating a hog’s cheek. Despite my opinion on the hog, it seems to be included in the meal to signify the year progressing along with good fortune. If I’m interpreting correctly, it’s the idea that making it through another year is itself a stroke of luck.
And then there’s the cornbread—golden and crumbly—which also promises prosperity for those who eat it on New Year’s Day.
Seems to me that the things in common include wealth, health, and good fortune—things that would bring comfort in any new year. Wealth? I don’t need to be rich, just enough to keep my bills paid. Health? I’d take this one in triple doses, especially now that I’m older. And good fortune? Of course—I don’t wish hardship on myself, my family, or my friends.
Food has not been my friend this holiday season. I have inflammatory arthritis, and I’m a firm believer in the saying, “We are what we eat, from our head down to our feet.” The day after Christmas, my family and I celebrated with a breakfast spread of bacon, white peppered gravy, sausage balls, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and chocolate gravy. Throughout the day, chips and dip, a cheese ball, ham and Swiss rolls, little smokies, and white-chocolate-covered puff corn sat out tempting me. And I nibbled. All. Day. Long. And the next day too.
I knew exactly what those processed, sugar-filled foods would do to me. Yet I silenced the warning in my brain with a familiar saying: “Christmas only comes once a year.” And I took another bite.
By midday Saturday, the sluggishness set in. By nighttime, the pain arrived. Sunday morning brought a migraine and what I can only describe as full-body poison—that’s what an arthritis flare feels like to me. Complete poisoning, from my head to my toes. My fingers become useless—heavy, swollen, stiff instruments that fail to work. I even dropped one of my favorite Corelle dishes in the garage that morning because my wrists were too weak to hold it.
And I did it all to myself. I knew better. I knew what the consequences would be, yet I made the choice anyway. Once I stop eating the foods that hurt me, it takes about forty-eight hours for the poison to leave my system and my body to return to normal. I wish I had Daniel’s strength to refuse those glorious-looking foods. When Daniel was faced with eating royal food, he was just a young man, not someone whose wisdom came from experience. Or perhaps he did have experience and wisdom instilled in him because of the way his parents had raised him.
Daniel was a healthy, stealthy young man, and it didn’t take the Babylonians long to realize he should be trained for the king’s service. “Then the king ordered Ashpenaz, chief of his court officials, to bring into the king’s service some of the Israelites from the royal family and the nobility — young men without any physical defect, handsome, showing aptitude for every kind of learning, well informed, quick to understand, and qualified to serve in the king’s palace” (Daniel 1:3-4).
Daniel was offered “royal food and wine” (Daniel 1:5). I bet that food looked far more tempting than the Christmas spread I succumbed to! But Daniel refused it. He convinced Ashpenaz to let him eat nothing but “vegetables and water for ten days” (Daniel 1:12). When the ten days were up, Daniel “looked healthier and better nourished than any of the young men who ate the royal food” (Daniel 1:15). In fact, he looked so much better that Ashpenaz “took away their choice food and the wine they were to drink and gave them vegetables instead” (Daniel 1:16).
I’m not sharing this to debate what anyone should or shouldn’t eat. And I don’t believe Daniel’s story is a prescription for everyone’s diet. Daniel’s story in this chapter is about honoring God. He didn’t eat the king’s food because some of it he saw as unclean, and some of it had been offered to pagan idols before it made its appearance on the King’s table. Daniel chose not to put these things in his body because he loved God. His loyalty and honor were to God.
It’s not just the food I put in my mouth that affects my body—it’s also what I allow into my mind. If I constantly fill my thoughts with negativity and darkness, my mind will cling to them. I caution kids at school all the time about what they watch and listen to. Some songs repeat messages about suicide in their chorus, and kids don’t realize that repetition creates neural pathways, embedding those thoughts deeper with every listen. The old children’s song “Oh, Be Careful Little Eyes” isn’t just a warning for kids—it’s a reminder for me, too.
I recently came across Greg Laurie’s discussion of brain rot—Oxford’s 2024 Word of the Year. Interestingly, Oxford’s 2025 Word of the Year once again addresses a negative aspect of social media: rage bait, defined as “online content deliberately designed to elicit anger or outrage by being frustrating, provocative, or offensive, typically posted in order to increase traffic to or engagement with a particular web page or social media content.”¹ It seems Oxford is tracking a troubling pattern in our digital consumption.
Regarding brain rot, Laurie pointed out that it’s actually two words: brain and rot. (I have to agree.) He defined brain rot as what “happens when we spend too much time on social media.” According to his research, “the average American spends 4 hours and 39 minutes a day scrolling. For kids and teens ages 8–18, it jumps to a whopping 7.5 hours a day!”² Guilty as charged.
As I begin this new year—following the tradition my mother-in-law started and setting fresh goals—I know exactly what I want to pursue. I don’t want brain rot to define me. I want to be mindful instead. Mindful of the memories that shape who I am. Mindful of what I eat, recognizing that some foods simply aren’t for my body. Mindful of what my eyes watch, my ears hear, and my mouth speaks. And above all, mindful of opening my Bible—spending intentional, quality time with God and listening to His voice.
What about you? As you think about the year ahead, what do you want to be more mindful of? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments below. I also want to thank you for following my blog this past year and to wish you a wonderful, prosperous, and safe 2026.
Footnotes:
¹ Oxford University Press, “The Oxford Word of the Year 2025 Is ‘Rage Bait,'” December 2, 2025, https://corp.oup.com/news/the-oxford-word-of-the-year-2025-is-rage-bait/.
² Greg Laurie, The Greg Laurie Show podcast, 2024, discussion on brain rot and social media consumption.