Tag: 2026

2026 Goals

2026 Goals

As we are upon the beginning edges of the new year, there’s often pressure to make big declarations. Goals. Plans. Resolutions. 

But instead of asking “What are my goals for this year?” I want to ask a gentler, more grounding question: 

Where do you want to be six months from now? 

Not just in what you’ve accomplished — but in how you feel. 

More rooted? 
Less hurried? 
More attuned to God’s presence in your everyday life? 

Sometimes clarity doesn’t come from striving harder, but from slowing down long enough to listen. 

Writing to Your Future Self 

One reflective practice I’ve found meaningful is writing a letter to my future self. 

There’s a free website called futureme.org that allows you to write an email now and schedule it to be delivered to you at a date you choose — six months from now, one year from now, or further into the future. 

This practice shifts the focus from pressure to presence. It invites you to speak to the person you are becoming with compassion instead of expectation. 

When the Letter Comes from a Deeper Place 

During last year’s Awaken Silent Retreat, Danielle, the host, handed out index cards at the end of that last day and asked us to write a letter to ourselves as if our Heavenly Father were writing it to us.  

She prompted us with these questions: 

  • What does He want to share with you? 
  • What does He want you to remember from this silent retreat? 

There’s something profoundly grounding about imagining God’s voice not as demanding or disappointed, but as loving, steady, and near. 

After we wrote those letters, we sealed them into an envelope, addressed them to our home addresses, and handed them into Danielle. About 6 weeks later, the letter I wrote was delivered to my mailbox.  

When I opened it, I knew what it was but could not remember what I had written. Here’s an excerpt: 

(You may want to read this slowly.) 

Dear Carlynn, 

Remember me in the awakening in the silence weekend. In the hurry and in the noise, remember me. Hold me close and tight. That’s the way I hold you. I am never far. I walk beside you. Quiet your mind. Quiet the falsehoods the enemy throws at you. Come to me for truth. Look up. Keep seeking my face when lies creep in. I am your source of truth.  

Love, 

Your Heavenly Father 

Prompts for Your Own Letter 

If you decide to email to your future self at futureme.org — or write a letter as if God were speaking to you — here are a few prompts to guide you: 

  • What do you want your future self to remember that you know will get lost in the chaos of the year? 
  • What’s important to you right now? Why? 
  • What are your goals? Where do you see yourself 6 months from now? How does it feel? 
  • If you were having a conversation with God, how does He see you? What does He want you to remember? 
  • What does He want you to release? 
  • What does He want you to trust? 
  • How does He invite you to walk into the next season? 

You don’t need perfect words. You just need honesty and openness. 

A Gentle Invitation 

This kind of reflection — slowing down, listening, and responding — is at the heart of the work I care most about. It’s the kind of space I hope to continue creating here through writing, and eventually through coaching: a place to reflect, discern, and move forward with intention rather than urgency. 

You don’t have to rush your growth. You don’t have to have everything figured out. 

Six months from now — or one year from now — you may be surprised by what has quietly taken root simply because you chose to pause, listen, and take one faithful step at a time. 

How We Are Shaped Along the Way 

How We Are Shaped Along The Way

The turn of a new year invites reflection. 

Before we rush into goals, plans, and resolutions, let’s pause…look back with gratitude and look ahead with humility. For me, this past year has been full of learning, both personally and professionally. It’s been a gift to walk alongside friends, family, co-workers, and even acquaintances who are willing to show up honestly through challenges, in celebrating growth, and staying curious about who they’re becoming. 

There’s a Bible verse written that’s been a constant on my whiteboard for the past couple of years: 

“Iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” 

Proverbs 27:17

I love this image, and I also think it’s easy to romanticize it. 

Scripture reminds us that transformation often begins in the renewing of our minds. When familiar patterns keep surfacing, it may be God’s invitation to see differently. I shared a reflection on that kind of perspective here. 

Because iron sharpening iron isn’t gentle. It’s metal against metal. There’s friction. Pressure. Resistance. Sometimes even sparks. Sharpening happens through contact, not comfort—and that means growth can feel uncomfortable, even painful at times. 

And yet, that’s how we grow. 

Growth doesn’t happen in isolation. We are shaped in relationship—through conversation, shared experience, and the willingness to be known. When we allow others to walk alongside us, to challenge us, to speak truth with care, we are sharpened. In turn, we sharpen them. Each of us becoming more refined, more aware, more grounded because we didn’t choose the easy path of staying the same. 

As we step into a new year, none of us really know what lies ahead. We don’t know the challenges or the joys that lie ahead of us in the coming months. What we do know is that we’ll walk through it one day at a time. One conversation. One decision. One foot in front of the other. 

There’s something freeing about remembering that we don’t need the whole year figured out. We only need to be present for today.  To take each day as it comes. To stay open to learning—even when that learning stretches us. To extend grace—to ourselves and to others—especially in the places where growth feels tender. 

Matthew 6:34 – “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” 

My hope for this new year is simple: that we would continue to grow together. That we would stay grounded. That we would be willing to sharpen and be sharpened—even when it’s uncomfortable. And that we would move forward—steady, intentional, and hopeful—one step at a time. 

Here’s to a new year.  May it be marked not by hurry, but by presence. 
Not by perfection, but by progress. And not by doing it all alone—but together. 

When you look back on 2025, what moments shaped you more than you expected—and what might those moments be quietly teaching you about where you’re headed next?