“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” — John 1:14
Now that the front yard blow-ups are deflated, the wrapping paper is crumpled in the trash, and the leftovers are stuffed into the fridge, the magic of Christmas can feel like it’s slipping away. The family is still in town, but the big day has passed. So now what? What do we do with this baby who changed the world?
December 26 might feel like an afterthought—a time to relax or recover from the holiday buzz—but in Hebrew, the number 26 holds profound significance. It represents God’s covenant name, YHWH, the sacred name meaning "I AM." It’s a reminder that the God who gave us Christmas didn’t just show up for a day; he is with us forever. His presence isn’t seasonal; it’s eternal.
When Jesus was born, he embodied this truth. Isaiah’s prophecy called him Immanuel, meaning "God with us." He came not just for the grand celebration of his arrival but for the ordinary, messy, and chaotic days that followed. His presence transformed barns and stable floors into holy ground. And now, Jesus wants to transform your December 26 and every day after.
But what does that look like? What do we do with this truth when the holiday decorations are packed away? We carry it with us. God’s name, YHWH, reveals his commitment to walk with us in every season—not just during the joyful moments, but in the hard, quiet ones too.
Today, as you stare at the remnants of Christmas, remember that the story isn’t over. The God who entered the world as a baby in a manger is the same God who stays with you in the chaos of life. Take a moment to breathe in his presence. Whisper his name, YHWH, and let its meaning sink in: I AM with you.
Christmas isn’t about the decorations or even the day itself—it’s about a promise fulfilled. The Light of the world came to stay, and he’s here to walk with you through every day, every struggle, and every joy. Let December 26 be the day you remember: God didn’t just come to visit. He came to stay.
Application:
Ask Jesus to guide you, comfort you, and remind you of his presence in both the quiet and the chaos.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father, thank you for your presence in my life. You are Immanuel—God with us—not just on Christmas, but every single day. Help me to carry the truth beyond the celebrations and into the ordinary moments of life. Remind me that you are with me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
“When the time came for the purification rites required by the Law of Moses, Joseph and Mary took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord.” — Luke 2:22
The wrapping paper is stuffed into bags, the Christmas tree is starting to drop needles, and the relatives have overstayed their welcome. The excitement of Christmas has passed, and a quiet stillness settles in. Now what?
In Luke 2:22–24, Mary and Joseph faced a “what now” moment too. After the angels, shepherds, and wonder of Jesus’ birth, they returned to their humble lives. They went to the temple to consecrate Jesus, offering two doves, the sacrifice of the poor. It was a simple act, quiet and ordinary. But in that moment, they declared their trust and surrender to God’s plan.
They were dedicating their son—the Messiah—back to the God who had entrusted him to them.
Imagine Mary holding her newborn in the temple, replaying the angel’s words in her mind. The skies were no longer filled with angels, and the shepherds had gone back to their fields. The extraordinary had given way to the ordinary. Yet, in the quiet, Mary and Joseph chose obedience. They chose to trust that their small act of faith was part of God’s greater story.
As we step out of the celebration of Christmas, we too face a choice. The miracle of Christ’s birth isn’t meant to stay wrapped up in a single day—it’s meant to shape how we live every day. What does it look like to consecrate this season to God? Maybe it’s surrendering control of something you’ve been holding tightly. Maybe it’s carving out space for prayer, Scripture, serving others, or beginning to tithe.
The decorations may begin to come down, but God’s work in us continues. What if this year, instead of rushing back to routine, we paused to say, “Lord, I give you my plans, my hopes, my heart. Use them for your glory.” When we consecrate our lives to him, even the quiet, ordinary days are filled with purpose.
The God who came as a baby doesn’t want just our celebration—he wants our devotion. In the stillness after Christmas, meet him there. Let him shape your story for his glory.
Application:
Take time to assess areas in your life that need to be surrendered to God. Identify habits that you need to develop – are you attending church faithfully, serving, tithing, praying, reading the Bible?
Prayer:
Lord, as the season fades, help me to dedicate my life to you fully. Teach me to walk in obedience and honor you in everything I do. May my heart be consecrated to you each day. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish?” — Psalm 22:1
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” — Romans 5:8
“…neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” — Romans 8:39
If you’ve ever quietly wondered, Does God really care about me?, you’re not alone. One of the most-searched questions about God online is, “Why does God hate me?” Even believers find themselves asking, Does Jesus still love me when I feel discouraged, wounded, overlooked, or overwhelmed?
Our feelings can be loud—persuasive even—but they aren’t always truthful. Emotions rise and fall, and when life hurts, our hearts can convince us of things God never said.
The deeper question beneath the ache is usually this:
Am I still loved? Am I still wanted?
Scripture answers with a resounding, unshakable yes. God’s love isn’t anchored to our performance or our moods. It’s anchored to a historical, immovable reality: Jesus came for us, died for us, and rescued us while we were still running in the opposite direction.
If you want to know whether God loves you, look at the cross. Look at the lengths He went to—uninvited and undeserved—to bring you back to Himself. That is love you don’t have to earn.
The Bible calls this agape—a love that begins in the very heart of God and flows toward us without conditions. Human love fluctuates. We drift. We falter. But God’s love is rooted in His unchanging nature. He doesn’t love you because you are lovable; He loves you because He is love.
When doubts creep in, the answer isn’t to examine your own faithfulness—it’s to remember His. As theologian Geerhardus Vos beautifully said, “The best proof that He will never cease to love us is that He never began.” God’s love didn’t start. It has simply always been. And it will never stop.
Application:
Today, anchor yourself in a promise like Romans 8:38–39 or 1 John 4:9–11. Let it be the truth you speak over your feelings.
Then let that love move outward: who in your life needs a reminder—big or small—of God’s care today?
Prayer:
Father, thank You for a love that doesn’t shift with my feelings. When doubts whisper, draw my eyes back to Jesus—the proof that Your love is constant and unchanging. Help me rest in that truth and pour it out onto others. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed… His mercies are new every morning.” — Lamentations 3:22–23
December 29 is one of those days when everything finally slows down enough for reality to catch up. Christmas is over, New Year’s isn’t here yet, and you’re left in this strange pocket of time where the house is half-clean, the fridge is full of leftovers you don’t remember cooking, and someone has moved the scissors and the tape again.
This morning, I found myself doing that post-Christmas walk through the house — the one where you pick up a stray ornament, an empty gift bag, and a half-burned candle and think, “How did all of this happen in one week?”
It made me laugh, because December 29 always feels like the exhale after the big inhale.
And honestly? This “in-between day” has the potential to be one of the most important days of the entire year.
It’s could be the day when the noise quiets.
The day when we finally hear our own thoughts again.
The day when the pace lifts just enough for God to slip a hand on our shoulder and whisper,
“I’m still here. I’ve been here through every moment.”
God works in the margins — not just in the big, shiny moments but in the calm after the chaos. December 29 is one of those margins. The wrapping paper is gone, the to-do lists are shorter, and our hearts are tired enough to be honest.
Maybe this year surprised you. Maybe it strained you. Maybe it stretched you in places you never expected.
But right here, on December 29, God offers mercy that is still new… still fresh… still enough.
This isn’t a day to fix everything or plan everything.
It’s a day to breathe.
A day to remember.
A day to let God be God — in the middle, not just at the beginning or the end.
Application:
Take five minutes today to sit quietly — no goals, no resolutions, no pressure. Just stillness. Ask God to show you one place where His mercy carried you this year.
Prayer:
Father, thank You for meeting me in these quiet, ordinary moments. Help me slow down long enough to notice Your goodness and rest in Your faithfulness. As this year winds down, steady my heart with the reminder that Your mercies are new today… even on December 29. Amen.
“Search me, God, and know my heart… lead me in the way everlasting.” — Psalm 139:23–24
“Let us throw off everything that hinders…” — Hebrews 12:1
There’s something about the end of a year that feels like walking into a room with the lights finally turned on. We see the piles we ignored, the drawers we overstuffed, the things that quietly collected when life was moving too fast.
And if we’re honest—our hearts look a lot like that, too.
Every December, I do a kind of end-of-year clearance. Not because I’m organized (I’m really not), but because the stillness of these days makes me notice what I’ve been carrying. This year, while cleaning out a closet, I found things I didn’t even remember keeping—notes, old receipts, a pair of shoes I swore I had lost. And right there, on the floor with dust bunnies and memories, I felt God whisper:
“Your soul has closets like this, too.”
That’s when a word came to mind:
barar (בָּרַר) — the Hebrew word for sifting, examining, purifying, separating what’s worth keeping from what must be released.
Barar is not frantic decluttering.
It is slow, sacred sorting.
It is God gently helping us look at the year and say:
This helped me grow. I’ll keep it.
This wounded me. Lord, heal it.
This shaped me in ways I didn’t expect. Show me what stays and what goes.
This fear—this habit—this bitterness… I don’t want to carry it into a new season.
The end of a year isn’t about making resolutions; it’s about making room.
Room for joy.
Room for peace.
Room for clarity.
Room for God’s voice that often gets lost in the noise of everything we accumulate.
I once heard someone say,
“God can only fill the space we’re willing to clear.”
And doesn’t that ring true?
We aren’t sifting our hearts to judge ourselves.
We’re sifting to find the places God has been working all along—and the places He’s gently inviting us to let Him restore.
So as the year winds down, don’t rush past this holy clearance.
Let God sit with you.
Let Him open the closet doors.
Let Him help you sort what your soul has gathered—some good, some heavy, some no longer needed.
This isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
About letting God prepare the quiet places of your heart for what He already sees coming.
Application:
Find a quiet space and ask God to lead you in barar.
Write down:
• What He’s calling you to release.
• What He’s asking you to carry forward.
• What He wants to heal.
Even one sentence for each is enough.
Prayer:
Lord, as this year ends, sift my heart with Your loving hands. Show me what no longer needs to come with me, and reveal what You desire to strengthen or restore. Create space in me for Your peace, Your wisdom, and Your presence. Prepare me for the year ahead with a heart that is clear, steady, and anchored in You. Amen.
“You crown the year with Your goodness…” — Psalm 65:11
“See, I am doing a new thing…” — Isaiah 43:19
New Year’s Eve has a way of making the whole world quiet, even if just for a moment. Underneath the noise of countdowns and celebrations, there’s always this tender, honest place inside us that surfaces — a place that asks, “What did this year really make of me?”
Tonight, that question feels especially real.
I walked through my house earlier and felt the weight of the year in the most ordinary spots — the kitchen where laughter erupted, the hallway where tears were wiped away, the couch where late-night prayers were whispered when I didn’t have anything left to offer.
And as I stood there, a truth rose gently in my heart:
God was here. In every bit of it.
The moments I celebrated.
The moments I survived.
The moments no one else saw.
This time of year isn’t just a turning of the calendar; it’s a holy threshold. A place where we gather what God did, acknowledge what we still don’t understand, and let ourselves feel the mixture of both gratitude and ache.
There’s a kind of hope that comes at the end of the year — not loud or flashy, but steady. It’s the hope that grows when you realize God did not fail you this year. Not once. Even when the path wasn’t clear… even when the prayers weren’t answered in the way you hoped… even when you felt stretched thin or unsure.
Maybe you’re standing here tonight with a tired heart, or a full one, or both.
Maybe you’re walking into a new year with joy.
Maybe with fear.
Maybe with uncertainty.
But here is the truth that steadies me every New Year’s Eve:
The God who carried me through this year is the same God stepping into the next one with me.
You don’t step into tomorrow alone.
You step into it held.
And maybe that’s the most important truth of all on New Year’s Eve:
God doesn’t wait for the clock to strike midnight to begin something new in you.
He has already been weaving renewal into the quiet corners of your year — strengthening you in places you didn’t notice, healing things you didn’t even know were hurting, preparing you for things you can’t yet see.
Tonight isn’t about what you need to change.
It’s about recognizing the God who has never changed — steady in every storm, gentle in every disappointment, faithful in every joy.
As you stand on the threshold of a new year, you don’t have to muster courage you don’t feel.
You don’t have to pretend you’re ready.
You don’t have to pressure yourself to figure out everything that’s ahead.
Your confidence doesn’t come from what tomorrow holds.
Your confidence comes from Who holds you.
And He is already in your tomorrow, lighting the path, whispering peace, inviting you into a story He’s not finished writing.
Let that be the strength you carry into the new year — not your resolutions, not your plans, but His presence.
Application:
Before midnight, find one quiet moment. Sit still long enough to say two simple sentences:
“Lord, thank You for carrying me.”
“Lord, I trust You with what’s next.”
Prayer:
Father, thank You for being my steady place in every season of this year. Thank You for the moments You strengthened me, comforted me, surprised me, and held me together. As I step into a new year, calm my heart. Renew my hope. I trust You with everything that’s behind me and everything that’s ahead. Amen.
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous… for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9
“But David strengthened himself in the LORD his God.” — 1 Samuel 30:6
Before we move into this year, I want you to hear a word most people don’t know but every one of us needs:
Chazaq (חָזַק) — to take hold of God with both hands; to grow strong by clinging to Him; to steady yourself by leaning the full weight of your heart on His strength.
Not polished courage.
Not confident resolutions.
Not “I’ve got this.”
It’s the courage you find when you whisper, “I absolutely do not have this.”
And then… God meets you right there.
Chazaq is gritty, active, desperate-in-the-best-way. And as I think about walking into a new year, that word hits differently.
Because maybe you’re stepping into 2026 with mixed emotions.
Maybe you’re grateful… but a little bruised.
Hopeful… but hesitant.
Ready… but tired.
Maybe last year left some tangled knots you’re still carrying into this morning.
The conversation that didn’t end well.
The prayer you kept praying even when it hurt.
The quiet disappointment no one else saw.
The “I’ll deal with that later” that followed you into today.
And here you are — January 1 — trying to breathe deep.
Trying to start clean.
Trying to believe this year really can be different.
This is exactly where chazaq belongs.
When David “strengthened himself in the Lord,” he didn’t do it on the other side of victory — he did it in the middle of heartbreak. When Joshua stood on the threshold of a life he didn’t feel ready for, God didn’t say, “Be strong on your own.” He said, “Chazaq. I’m with you. You’re not stepping into anything without Me.”
So hear this, personally — not as a verse, not as a command, but as a tender truth:
You are not walking into this year alone.
You don’t have to pretend you’re strong.
You don’t have to manufacture bravery.
You don’t have to hold yourself up.
You can lean — fully, honestly, wearily — on God.
And He will hold every ounce of your weight.
This is chazaq.
Not strength you produce… but strength you receive.
If you feel fragile today… that’s your invitation.
If you feel hopeful today… that’s your doorway.
If you feel exhausted today… that’s your place to lean.
Let this be the year you don’t walk in trying to prove something — but walk in letting God carry you.
Application:
Put your hand over your heart.
Think of the one place you’re entering this year with fear, longing, or uncertainty.
Whisper: “Lord, chazaq me here. Strengthen me where I feel weak, and meet me right where I’m stepping in.”
Prayer:
Jesus, I bring You all of me as I enter this new year — the parts that hope, the parts that hurt, the parts that feel thin. Strengthen me with Your strength. Go before me, stay beside me, and hold me steady. Teach me to chazaq — to cling, to lean, to rest my full weight on You. I trust You with every unknown ahead. Amen.
"Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." — Philippians 1:6
Every January 1st, millions of people dust off their list of New Year’s resolutions. “This is my year,” they say with steely-eyed determination. Gym memberships skyrocket, vegetables vanish from grocery shelves, and journals overflow with promises to finally become that person—organized, disciplined, and kale-loving. By February? The gym is quiet, the donuts are back, and the only thing organized is your Netflix queue.
Here’s the thing: resolutions tap into something real—our deep desire for change. We all sense we’re not quite who we’re meant to be. It’s the echo of a truth as old as Eden: we’re created for more, yet we can’t seem to get there on our own. Every failed resolution whispers the same reminder—grit alone won’t fix what’s broken.
So, should we ditch resolutions altogether? Not exactly. The problem isn’t the goals we set—it’s where we place our confidence. Most resolutions chase external shifts: losing weight, saving money, finally tackling that stack of unread books. But lasting transformation starts deeper, in the quiet places of the heart. And here’s the truth we’d rather skip past: we don’t just need new habits; we need a new source of strength.
This is where the gospel breaks in. Real change isn’t built on willpower; it’s built on surrender. God isn’t impressed by how many pounds you drop or miles you run. He’s after your heart. He invites you to let Him do the heavy lifting—to reshape you from the inside out. Spiritual growth is slow and steady, more like planting seeds than flipping a switch. But with God’s power, change truly is possible.
So this year, set your goals—but hold them loosely. Trade striving for surrender. Invite God into every intention, every hope, every place you long to grow. Let your resolution be to rely on Him—to grow in grace, love deeper, and live with purpose. Because the most meaningful transformation won’t show up in the gym or your bank account—it’ll show up in a life yielded to Jesus.
Application:
Choose one or two goals that support your spiritual growth—five minutes of prayer a day, reading a chapter of Scripture, joining a Bible study, stepping onto a serve team, or committing to tithe faithfully. Start small. Start steady. Start with one step.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father, as I step into this new year, I bring my hopes, goals, and dreams to You. Transform my heart from the inside out so my life reflects Your purpose. And when I struggle or fall short, remind me that You are faithful to finish the work You’ve started in me. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
“Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.” — Psalm 37:5
Oswald Chambers once wrote, “Trust God, and do the next thing.” Simple. Not flashy. Not poetic. But deeply, frustratingly, wonderfully true.
By January 3, the shine of a new year is already beginning to dim. The lists we made on January 1—full of hope and determination—start to either grow longer or feel dull and overwhelming. What felt inspiring on Monday now feels like pressure. The things we swore we’d fix start looking like the same old struggles wearing a different calendar date.
That’s why Chambers’ words matter so much today. “Trust God, and do the next thing.” Not every thing. Not all the things. Not the perfectly executed thing. Just the next one. Because real spiritual growth doesn’t usually come from massive leaps—more often, it’s born in quiet, faithful steps that look small but shape us deeply.
The psalmist reminds us, “Commit your way to the Lord… and He will act.” Notice the order: we commit; He acts. Our job is obedience. His job is outcome. We don’t have to see the whole path to trust the One who laid it out.
So if your goals already feel heavy—or your list already feels impossible—release the pressure. Ask God what the next faithful step looks like, and choose that. Transformation happens slowly, but it always starts with surrender.
Application:
What one “next thing” can you do today—spiritually, emotionally, or practically—that reflects trust in God? Write it down and take that step before the day ends.
Prayer:
Lord, when my plans feel overwhelming or my lists feel too big, help me pause and trust You. Show me the next faithful step, and give me courage to take it. I commit my way to You, believing You will act in Your perfect timing. Amen.
“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.” — Proverbs 16:9
If you’ve seen the Friends episode where Ross, Rachel, and Chandler try to wedge a massive couch up a narrow stairwell, you can still hear Ross shouting it—“PIVOT! … PIVOT!!” That couch isn’t moving, feelings are fraying, and everyone is sweating. No matter how loudly Ross insists, the couch stays jammed. It’s hilarious on TV—but deeply familiar in life.
Because sometimes our plans feel exactly like that staircase.
We make lists. We set goals. We map out the future with confidence. But then something blocks the path—a complication, a closed door, an unexpected turn. We push harder, try everything, rearrange the angle, and yet somehow we’re stuck yelling “pivot” at our circumstances.
This is why Proverbs 16:9 speaks directly to our stairwell moments:
“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.”
The Hebrew word for “establishes” is כּוּן (kun)—which means to direct, to set securely, to make firm, to prepare. It’s not passive. It’s intentional. It tells us that God doesn’t just approve our steps—He actively sets them, steadies them, and shapes the path beneath our feet.
In other words, God is not the reason your “couch” is stuck.
He’s the One making sure you don’t drag it into a place it was never meant to go.
That closed door? Protection.
That detour? Preparation.
That unexpected shift? His kindness in disguise.
The frustration we feel when plans fall apart isn’t a sign God isn’t working—it’s often the sign He is. Spiritual growth looks like learning to pivot without losing peace, trusting that God sees the full staircase when we only see the next narrow step.
Psalm 37:23 echoes the same truth:
“The steps of a man are established (kun) by the Lord, when he delights in His way.”
Even your detours are held by a God who delights to guide you.
So yes—plan your course. Set goals. Dream big. But when God redirects you, know this: He’s not derailing your life—He’s securing it.
Application:
Where is God asking you to “pivot” right now?
Name one area where your plans feel jammed—career, relationships, goals, habits, transitions—and ask: Is God redirecting me? Protecting me? Preparing me? Write down one shift you sense Him inviting you to make.
Prayer:
Lord, when my plans get stuck or my path changes, teach me to trust Your hand in every pivot. Establish my steps. Secure the places where I feel unsteady. Give me wisdom to recognize Your direction and courage to follow it, even when it isn’t the path I expected. Amen.
