We’re stepping into you without a clean slate.

We’re bringing unfinished conversations, tired hearts, quiet hopes, and lessons we didn’t ask to learn but learned anyway.

Some of us are coming in stronger.

Some softer.

Some carrying grief so gently it almost looks like calm.

Some still learning that healing doesn’t always need an explanation.

We’re not asking you to be perfect.

We’re just hoping you’ll be kind.

In our work and calling, may we remember that productivity is not the same as purpose. That rest is not a weakness. That showing up faithfully—even when no one notices—still matters.

In our families, help us return to what counts. Teach us to be present, not just available. To listen without rushing. To show up for one another without keeping score.

Help us forgive more freely—not because wounds were small, but because love matters more.

Give us wisdom to repair what can be healed, and grace to accept what may never look the way we hoped.

Let our homes be places where patience lives. Where words are chosen carefully. Where love is practiced daily, not only spoken when it’s easy.

In our relationships beyond family, may we learn when to stay, when to step back, and when to let go without resentment. Not every door needs to close loudly. Not every silence needs to be filled.

In our bodies, teach us to listen. To honor limits. To stop apologizing for pain we didn’t choose. May healing come in whatever way it arrives—slow or sudden, complete or partial—and still be enough.

In our faith, may we stop performing belief and start living it. Let trust grow deeper than answers. Let prayer become less about control and more about surrender. And when You feel quiet, remind us that quiet does not mean absent.

For those who feel behind—behind in life, behind in dreams, behind in timelines they never agreed to—remind us that growth is not a race and arrival is not the goal.

Let this be a year where we choose people over distractions. Gentleness over pride. Forgiveness over winning. Love that stays, even when it costs something.

Dear 2026, meet us where we are. We’re coming as we are—with open hands, imperfect hearts, and a quiet hope that this year can shape us for the better.

Dear God,

As we step into this new year, we place every part of our lives into Your hands.

Our families—heal what is strained, soften what is guarded, and teach us how to love well, even when it’s hard.

Our work and responsibilities—help us labor with integrity and rest without guilt.

Our bodies and minds—grant strength where there is weakness, peace where there is exhaustion, and patience with the healing we cannot rush.

Our relationships—teach us how to forgive, how to listen, and how to choose grace when bitterness feels easier.

Our faith—when answers don’t come, let trust remain. When the road feels uncertain, remind us You are still near.

And for everything we cannot name, everything we carry quietly, everything we are still becoming—we ask You to walk with us through it all.

Make 2026 a year marked not by perfection, but by love, humility, healing, and Your steady presence.

Amen.

Until next time,