almost a new year

2026 is coming—

quietly, like it always does.

Not with an announcement,

not with permission,

but with time already in its hands.

It’s coming whether we feel ready or not.

Whether this year healed us

or left us tired in places

we didn’t know could ache this long.

2026 is coming

after the losses we didn’t post about,

after the prayers we whispered instead of said out loud,

after the nights we stayed awake

replaying moments

we would give anything to relive—or undo.

It’s coming after a year

that taught us how fragile joy can feel,

how quickly seasons change,

how fast children grow,

how suddenly people become memories

instead of voices.

By now, we know better than to promise ourselves perfection.

We’ve learned that resolutions don’t always hold,

that strength doesn’t always look loud,

and that survival itself can be holy work.

2026 is coming

not asking us to be new people,

but honest ones.

Honest about what we carry.

Honest about what we’ve outgrown.

Honest about the dreams we’re still holding

and the ones we finally laid down.

It’s coming with empty pages—

not to erase the past,

but to hold it gently.

To let it inform us

without imprisoning us.

If I’ve learned anything by now,

it’s this:

time doesn’t slow down,

but we can.

We can enter the next year softer.

With gratitude in one hand

and grace in the other.

With faith that God is already there—

waiting, steady, unchanged—

even as everything else keeps moving.

2026 is coming.

And so am I.

Not rushing.

Not pretending.

Just trusting that whatever it brings,

I won’t walk into it alone.