Turning into 2026

Turning into 2026

Let me speak to you as I’m standing at the doorway of a new year with my hand on the handle, listening for the sound of heaven behind it.

Because right now—before the calendar flips—many of you are carrying prayers that feel heavy in your mouth. You’ve asked. You’ve wept. You’ve tried to stay faithful. You’ve done the “right” things. And yet it feels like your words have been rising no higher than the ceiling.

But hear me: it isn’t that God is distant. It isn’t that He has gone silent. It isn’t that He’s withholding out of cruelty.

Sometimes the frustration isn’t because heaven won’t answer… it’s because we keep aiming our prayers at the wrong target.

I’m speaking to the part of you that wants change on the outside, while God is committed to transformation on the inside. I’m speaking to the part of you that wants relief, while God is building resemblance. I’m speaking to the believer who keeps asking for outcomes, while the Father keeps offering Himself.

And I feel the Lord pressing something simple—but dangerous—into the hands of His people as we stand on the edge of 2026.

A prayer God does not despise. A prayer God does not ignore. A prayer that is always aligned with His will.

Not because it manipulates Him.

Not because it forces His hand.

But because it agrees with what He has already decided.

Because Scripture says His purpose is not merely to get you through life—it is to make you like His Son. “He… predestined [you] to be conformed to the image of His Son.” (Romans 8:29)

So if I’m praying for what God has already promised to do, I’m not praying into uncertainty—I’m praying into alignment.

And alignment is where confidence is born: “If we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.” (1 John 5:14–15)

So let me say it plainly.

Here is the prayer I’m talking about:

“Father… make me more like Jesus—whatever it takes.”

That’s the prayer.

And I know—something in you tenses up when you read those last four words.

Whatever it takes.

Because those words remove negotiation.

Those words remove conditions.

Those words remove the hidden contracts we offer God: “I’ll surrender if You do it my way… I’ll obey if it doesn’t cost me… I’ll follow as long as it feels safe.”

But I’m telling you the truth: when you pray “whatever it takes,” you step out of control and into consecration.

And if you’re bold enough to pray it before this year turns, you are not stepping into 2026 the same way you entered 2025. You’re stepping into a year where God is not just helping you survive—He’s making you resemble Christ in a way people can’t ignore.

Now let me expose why so many prayers feel unanswered—without condemnation, but with clarity.

James says it straight: “You ask and do not receive, because you ask amiss, that you may spend it on your pleasures.” (James 4:3)

Sometimes I’m asking God for comfort when He’s offering me character.

Sometimes I’m asking for shortcuts when He’s building foundations.

Sometimes I’m asking Him to fix my circumstances when He is determined to mature my soul.

I’ve prayed, “Lord, remove the pressure,” and He answered, “I’m using it.”

I’ve prayed, “Lord, change them,” and He answered, “I’m changing you.”

I’ve prayed, “Lord, make it easier,” and He answered, “I’m making you stronger.”

Because God’s goal isn’t to give me an easy life.

God’s goal is to conform me to Christ.

And that is why Romans 8 doesn’t just say God works things for good—it tells you the “good” He’s after: “to be conformed to the image of His Son.” (Romans 8:28–29)

So I’m not going to keep praying small prayers that only aim at my comfort. I’m not going to keep praying prayers that are really just spiritualized control.

I’m going to pray the prayer that lines up with the cross, the resurrection, and the whole purpose of salvation:

“Father… make me more like Jesus—whatever it takes.”

And as soon as I pray it, I can feel the garden of Gethsemane breathing in the background, because Jesus prayed it first: “Not My will, but Yours, be done.” (Luke 22:42)

That prayer didn’t remove the cup.

It redeemed the world.

And when I pray it, I can hear Paul’s hunger, not for comfort—but for Christ: “That I may know Him… and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death.” (Philippians 3:10)

So I’m not offering you a gimmick. I’m not handing you a formula. I’m inviting you into agreement with the Father’s agenda.

But this prayer is not vague. It’s not fog. If I’m serious, it has to touch real life—where my flesh fights back, where my habits live, where my reactions reveal me.

So tonight—on this threshold—let this prayer become specific. Let it reach into the five places where most believers protect themselves from transformation.

I pray: “Lord, choose my character over my comfort.”

Father, I want to be like Jesus in my inner world, not just my outer image. So I give You permission: break what needs to be broken, and build what needs to be built—whatever it takes.

Expose the pride I’ve dressed up as confidence.

Expose the insecurity I’ve disguised as humility.

Expose the control I’ve justified as “wisdom.”

Expose the people-pleasing I’ve called “being kind.”

Expose the anger I’ve blamed on others.

Expose the bitterness I’ve called “discernment.”

Put me in situations that require a Christlike response—and when my old nature rises, don’t let me excuse it. Teach me to crucify it.

Because I remember Joseph. You gave him a dream, but You trained him in a dungeon. And when the time came, Pharaoh could see what suffering had produced: discernment, steadiness, wisdom (Genesis 41:39–41).

So I will stop despising the process. I will stop rebuking every uncomfortable moment as if it must be the devil. Some of my pressure is training.

Lord, when someone interrupts my day—teach me patience.

When someone misunderstands me—teach me gentleness.

When I’m overlooked—teach me security in You.

When I’m tempted to defend myself—teach me silence and restraint.

When I’m wounded—teach me forgiveness.

Because character is not built in the absence of trouble—it’s built in the response.

I pray: “Lord, make my obedience more important than my outcomes.”

Father, I confess: I love Your promises, but I’ve resisted Your process. I’ve wanted Jericho’s walls to fall without the seven days of marching. I’ve wanted the crown without the cross.

But tonight I say it: I want to obey You more than I want the outcome I’m craving. Teach me to trust You when I don’t understand You.

Abraham didn’t obey because it made sense—he obeyed because You were faithful (Genesis 22). Israel didn’t shout because the walls were already falling—they shouted because You told them to (Joshua 6).

So I’m done negotiating what You already spoke.

If You told me to forgive, I forgive.

If You told me to give, I give.

If You told me to apologize, I humble myself.

If You told me to go, I go.

If You told me to wait, I wait.

If You told me to stop, I stop.

Because delayed obedience has never protected me—it has only prolonged my wilderness.

And I will not drag the same disobedience into 2026 and call it “waiting on God.”

I pray: “Lord, let Your glory matter more than my comfort, reputation, and plans.”

Father, use my life—not as a monument to my preferences, but as a vessel for Your purposes. I lay down my insistence on being understood. I lay down my need for applause. I lay down the idol of a “comfortable Christianity.”

Esther was safe in the palace until she realized safety without obedience is still disobedience. And she said the words every surrendered believer eventually says: “If I perish, I perish.” (Esther 4:16)

So I ask You to deliver me from living for human approval. Because Jesus didn’t live for applause—He lived to do the will of the Father.

Paul said it like a man who had been stripped of lesser gods: “What things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ.” (Philippians 3:7–8)

Lord, make me that free.

If obeying You costs me comfort, I still obey.

If obeying You costs me reputation, I still obey.

If obeying You costs me plans, I still obey.

Because I would rather be in Your will with pressure than outside Your will with ease.

I pray: “Lord, give me intimacy—not just information.”

Father, I don’t want to only know about You—I want to know You. I don’t want a prayer life that is just a list. I don’t want a relationship that only approaches You when I need something.

I want what Moses had, when You spoke to him as a friend (Exodus 33:11). I want the cry of Moses to become my cry: “Show me Your glory.” (Exodus 33:18)

I want David’s “one thing” to become my “one thing”: “One thing I have desired… that I may dwell in the house of the Lord… to behold the beauty of the Lord.” (Psalm 27:4)

So tonight, I repent of turning prayer into a transaction. I repent of treating Your presence as optional. I repent of spiritual busyness without spiritual hunger.

Teach me to worship without rushing.

Teach me to listen without filling the silence.

Teach me to linger until my spirit becomes sensitive again.

Because I’ve learned this: breakthrough may impress me, but intimacy changes me.

I pray: “Lord, I surrender my timeline to Your timing.”

Father, You are never late—You are precise. But my flesh hates waiting, and my soul tries to write calendars for heaven. So tonight I release my urgency.

I will not become bitter in the delay.

I will not interpret the silence as rejection.

I will not measure Your goodness by my speed.

You made Abraham wait, and You still kept Your word (Genesis 21). You made Joseph wait, and the dream still lived (Genesis 41). You made David wait, and the throne still came (2 Samuel 5).

So I receive the command of Scripture: “Wait on the Lord; be of good courage.” (Psalm 27:14) And I receive the promise: “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength.” (Isaiah 40:31)

Teach me to wait without quitting.

Teach me to serve without seeing.

Teach me to obey without applause.

Teach me to trust when nothing is moving—because You are always working.

And I declare this: Your delays are not Your denials. You are preparing me, positioning people, and arranging the moment. And when Your timing arrives, it will not be random—it will be God.

Now listen to me carefully.

This is why I can say this prayer “moves God” every time—not because God is emotionally manipulated, but because God is faithful to His purpose. When I pray for Christlikeness, I’m praying into His declared will. And He will answer.

But I’m also warning you—because love tells the truth:

This prayer is dangerous.

When you pray “whatever it takes,” God may confront what you’ve protected.

He may prune what you’ve clung to.

He may strip what you’ve used to cope.

He may allow pressure that exposes what’s still ruling you.

Not to harm you—to free you.

Because the Father does not just want to bless your life—He wants to possess it.

So as this year closes, I’m not going to enter 2026 asking God to simply make my life easier.

I’m entering 2026 asking God to make my life holier, cleaner, stronger, truer, more like Jesus.

And I’m telling you: the version of you that sincerely prays this prayer will not exit 2026 the same.

Not because 2026 is magic.

But because surrender invites transformation.

And transformation is exactly what God loves to do.

A closing prophetic prayer you can pray right now

Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, I come to You at the turning of the year. I lay down my negotiations. I lay down my demands. I lay down the small prayers that keep me comfortable but unchanged.

Make me more like Jesus—whatever it takes.

Break what must be broken in me. Build what must be built. Expose what I’ve been hiding. Heal what I’ve been refusing to face. Deliver me from pride, from fear, from control, from bitterness, from compromise.

Teach me to choose character over comfort. Teach me to obey You over my desired outcomes. Use my life for Your glory, even when it costs me. Draw me into intimacy until I hunger for Your presence more than Your hand. And I surrender my timeline—Your timing is perfect.

I trust You. I yield to You. I belong to You.

In Jesus’ name—amen.

Quick action plan before the year turns

1. Write this prayer somewhere visible: “Father, make me more like Jesus—whatever it takes.”

   
   
   
   

2. Pick one focus for the next 7 days: character, obedience, glory, intimacy, or timing.

   
   
   
   

3. Expect God to answer through real life: conversations, delays, pressure, interruptions—then respond like Jesus on purpose.

4. 7-Day Timeline Surrender

5. CORE CONFESSION (DAILY): “Father, I surrender my timeline to Yours.”

6. Day 1 — Release Control

7. Prayer: Lord, I release my deadlines, my pressure, and my need to control. My times are in Your hand.

8. Amen.

9. Scriptures: Psalm 31:15; Proverbs 3:5–6; Ecclesiastes 3:1

10. Day 2 — Wait Without Bitterness

11. Prayer: Father, keep my heart soft in the delay. I will wait with hope, not frustration. Amen.

12. Scriptures: Psalm 27:14; Romans 8:25; Hebrews 10:36

13. Day 3 — Obey While Waiting

14. Prayer: Holy Spirit, I will obey You now—faithful in the small, steady in the unseen. Amen.

15. Scriptures: James 1:22; Luke 16:10; Isaiah 1:19

16. Day 4 — Trust the Process

17. Prayer: Lord, I surrender the process, not just the timing. Form Christ in me—whatever it takes. Amen.

18. Scriptures: Romans 8:28–29; Philippians 1:6; James 1:2–4

19. Day 5 — Rest While God Works

20. Prayer: Father, I lay down striving. I choose stillness, trust, and peace in the silence. Amen.

21. Scriptures: Psalm 46:10; Isaiah 30:15; Exodus 14:14

22. Day 6 — Move Only When Led

23. Prayer: Lord, order my steps. Close what I’m forcing, open what You’ve ordained. I won’t run ahead. Amen.

24. Scriptures: Psalm 37:23; Isaiah 55:8–9; Colossians 3:15

25. Day 7 — Seal It With Praise

26. Prayer: Father, I praise You in advance. You make all things beautiful in their time. I trust Your “now.” Amen.

27. Scriptures: Ecclesiastes 3:11; Habakkuk 2:3; 1 John 5:14–15.

    Much love.