What’s ahead

As we step into 2026, I believe the Lord is reinforcing something He has been speaking for a while—not to repeat Himself, but to strengthen us for what’s ahead. Some words return because God is trying to get our attention; others return because God is preparing to act. And I hear the Spirit bringing this truth back into focus: “Do not say, ‘I will repay evil’; wait for the Lord, and he will deliver you.” This is not a call to silence your pain—it’s a call to trust God with justice, while He leads you into rebuilding, renewal, and restoration. 

I remember when the Lord first pressed this into my spirit for 2023—not as a “nice idea,” but as kingdom instruction for a season where heaven intended to settle accounts, restore what was shaken, and rebuild what looked beyond repair.  And what I’ve learned over the years is this: when God speaks something that’s anchored in His Word, it doesn’t expire like a calendar page. Heaven doesn’t operate on our timelines. God speaks in patterns and purposes. He repeats what matters—because He’s not just informing us; He’s forming us.

That anchor Scripture is simple, sharp, and deeply confronting:

“Do not say, ‘I will repay evil’; wait for the Lord, and he will deliver you.” (Proverbs 20:22) 

At first glance, that verse can feel like restraint. Like God is telling you to swallow what you really want to say. Like He’s commanding you to stay quiet while you’re bleeding inside. But the Holy Spirit doesn’t lead us into denial—He leads us into trust. Proverbs 20:22 is not heaven telling you to become passive. It’s heaven commanding you to stop touching what belongs to God.

Because the moment I decide, “I’ll repay them,” I step into a seat I was never built to carry. I become my own judge, jury, and executioner. And there is a weight to that seat—an unseen weight—that will crush you slowly. It will drain the life out of your worship. It will poison your prayer life. It will distort your discernment. It will turn your inner world into a courtroom, where you rehearse offenses like evidence—again and again—until you can’t hear God clearly anymore.

So the Lord says, “Do not say it.” Don’t plan it. Don’t rehearse it. Don’t entertain it. Don’t let your imagination feed on revenge like it’s a meal. Wait for the Lord.

And right there is where I felt both the tenderness and the fire of God. Waiting is not God ignoring injustice. Waiting is God positioning you to watch what He does best. Waiting is not God excusing evil. Waiting is God refusing to let evil recruit you into becoming like it.

Some of us have been wronged in ways that still sting when we remember. You were misrepresented. You were slandered. You were betrayed. You were sidelined. You were stolen from—time, opportunity, finances, peace, reputation. And the natural man rises up and says, “I’ll handle this.” But heaven responds with a different kind of authority: “Wait for the Lord, and He will deliver you.” 

That means deliverance is not only possible—it’s promised. It means God sees what you couldn’t prove. It means God heard what was whispered behind doors you were never invited into. It means God knows the motives people hid behind smiles. And it means the Lord is able to bring justice without contaminating your spirit in the process.

And I sensed the Lord saying something else in that prophetic flow: He was bringing forth the harvest of what people had sown.  Not only in obvious ways, but in hidden ways—private decisions, secret motives, quiet compromises, unseen faithfulness. He was promising exposure of darkness and blessing to the righteous. 

Let me say this plainly, because people often misunderstand the heart of God: God doesn’t expose darkness because He enjoys humiliating people. He exposes darkness because darkness destroys people. He pulls the cover back because He loves truth. He reveals what’s hidden so repentance can become possible, healing can become accessible, and the innocent can breathe again.

And if you’ve been carrying the ache of injustice, hear this: Proverbs 20:22 is not a “shut up and take it” verse. It’s a deliverance strategy. It’s God saying, “Don’t dirty your hands trying to dismantle what I will dismantle.”

There are seasons when the Holy Spirit invites you to take your hands off the situation, because your hands were never meant to carry vengeance. Your hands were meant to carry oil. Your hands were meant to build, bless, pray, serve, and heal. Your hands were meant to lift up the weary—not to throttle the guilty.

And that’s why the Lord began to speak clearly about what He was doing next: Restoration. Rebuilding. Renewal.  Not just emotionally—practically. I sensed it like a blueprint being rolled out over lives, families, ministries, and even whole communities.

A rebuilding year for businesses, churches, ministries, and families.  A year where God restores the ministry calling on individuals who were shaken through discouragement—especially after the disorientation and pressures many carried through Covid. 

And I could see it so clearly: people who once burned with purpose, now sitting in the shadows of “maybe later.” People who used to pray with boldness, now whispering, “I don’t know if I can do that again.” People who used to lead, now watching from the back row—still loving Jesus, still faithful at heart, but quietly bleeding confidence.

And the Holy Spirit wasn’t condemning them. He was touching them. He was calling them back to themselves—not their old personality, but their true spiritual identity.

I saw it happening “one by one”—not through mass hype, not through emotional manipulation, not through shallow excitement, but through personal awakenings.  Like God walking into the room where you hid your calling, putting His hand on your heart, and saying, “You’re not done. You’re not disqualified. You’re not forgotten. Get up.”

And the phrase that came to me again and again was this:

“Respond to the call of the Holy Spirit.” 

Not respond to pressure. Not respond to people’s expectations. Not respond to fear. Respond to the Holy Spirit.

Because when He calls, He doesn’t just invite—He equips. He doesn’t just stir—He sustains. And when you respond to His leading, He will open and close the necessary doors. 

But here is the part that makes the word confrontational: each person has to choose to respond.  God will not drag you into destiny while you cling to comfort. He will woo you. He will invite you. He will strengthen you. But you still have to answer.

Some people are praying for change while still living with the same inner agreements. The same old fears. The same excuses. The same unresolved wounds. But the Holy Spirit does not only change circumstances—He changes people. And if I want the road to open, sometimes God has to deal with what’s inside me that keeps me from walking it.

I sensed the call would look different for different people: for some it would be a new job, for some a move to a new place, for some a return to studies, training, and preparation.  And for some, it would be the trembling but undeniable step into the fivefold ministry—not the title-chasing version, but the burden-bearing version. 

It’s time to step up.

Not into ego. Not into performance. Not into “look at me.” But into obedience.

And I sensed something else, woven into this same rebuilding: as people responded to the Holy Spirit, relationships would be mended.  Because when you become attentive to the Spirit, He doesn’t only guide your steps—He purifies your motives. He helps you listen. He teaches you how to speak with truth and love. He gives you grace where you used to carry hardness.

This is what the Spirit does. He restores callings, relationships, finances, businesses—not by magic, but by alignment.  When you align with Him, you begin making decisions heaven can breathe on.

And I felt the Lord emphasize this strongly: walking with the Holy Spirit would be extremely important.  Not as a Christian cliché, but as survival. As clarity. As wisdom. As protection.

Because in seasons of rebuilding, distraction is expensive. Offense is expensive. Unhealed emotions are expensive. Pride is expensive. Delay is expensive. A hardened heart is expensive. When God is building, you cannot afford to keep pulling down your own future with yesterday’s anger.

So the Spirit calls you closer—not to complicate your life, but to make your path clear.

And then I sensed the Lord speak with a phrase that surprised me with how simple it was:

“I want to build bridges.” 

New bridges between churches, bridges between people—bridges that won’t be held up by politics or popularity, but by the weight-bearing beams of love, trust, grace, and faith. 

I could feel it: where division had become normal, God wanted unity that was spiritual—not manufactured. Where suspicion had replaced family, God wanted reconciliation that was real—not performative. Where people had withdrawn into isolation, God wanted connection—not codependency, but covenant.

Because the kingdom advances through relationship. The gospel travels on the feet of people who trust each other enough to walk together.

And then the Spirit took the picture deeper, and this part hit me hard.

I saw someone chopping open a present—like cutting through something sealed, something stubborn, something that would not open easily.  And I knew what it meant: heaven was opening pathways that had felt blocked. But it wouldn’t feel instant. It would feel like effort. It would feel like pressure. It would feel like persistence.

Then I saw a road being built through a bamboo forest. The process was not quick. The trunks had to be cut down, and then the roots had to be removed before the road could become visible and accessible. 

That picture taught me something I will never forget: sometimes you think you’re “not progressing,” but you’re actually in the phase where God is dealing with roots.

Trunks are what you can see—obvious obstacles, obvious resistance, obvious problems. But roots are what you don’t see: mindsets, patterns, generational habits, hidden fears, unhealed wounds, deep assumptions, self-protection, old survival strategies.

And if God only removes the trunks and leaves the roots, the bamboo grows back. The cycle repeats. You end up back in the same place, just with new names on the same issues.

So the Spirit was saying, “I’m not only clearing what you see. I’m uprooting what keeps coming back.”

And this is where the Lord dealt with me personally: sometimes I beg God to change the situation, but the Spirit is trying to change the posture of my heart inside the situation. Sometimes the road does not open until my inner agreements break. Sometimes the breakthrough is delayed not because God is withholding, but because God is healing me deeply enough to carry what I’m asking for.

And then the Holy Spirit dropped a sentence into my spirit that felt sobering—and honest:

“Any new endeavor has casualties.” 

I’m not talking about God delighting in loss. I’m talking about the reality that when you obey God into something new, some things cannot follow you.

Some relationships won’t survive the transition because they were built around the old version of you. Some friendships were never covenant—they were convenience. Some people loved you when you were smaller, quieter, easier to influence. But when you step into your assignment, it exposes what’s real.

Some habits won’t survive because your new calling requires a new discipline. Some comforts won’t survive because you can’t carry comfort and calling with the same grip. Some patterns won’t survive because God is not only giving you a new season—He’s demanding a new standard.

And this is why Proverbs 20:22 is so strategic. Because vengeance is one of the most common casualties of transition. People step toward their destiny, and the enemy tries to bait them into offense. The devil knows: if he can get you to repay evil, he can dirty your spirit. If he can get you to hold bitterness, he can dull your discernment. If he can get you to become reactive, he can make you abandon the path while you feel justified.

But the Spirit says: “Wait for the Lord.”

Because the Lord does not need your rage to produce His justice.

He does not need your sharp words to expose the truth.

He does not need your revenge plan to bring deliverance.

He needs your obedience. Your clean hands. Your surrendered heart. Your willingness to keep walking when your emotions want to build a camp around the offense.

This is where I’ve had to learn a hard truth: sometimes God’s deliverance looks like Him delivering me—from the inner prison of needing to be vindicated on my timeline.

And if I’m honest, the reason we want to repay evil is not always because we love justice. Sometimes it’s because we want relief. We want to feel powerful again after feeling powerless. We want the pain to have a target. We want someone to pay, because we’re tired of paying emotionally.

But God’s way is higher. He says, “Give that to Me.” And the reason He says it is not to belittle your pain, but to protect your soul.

Because bitterness makes you smaller.

Offense makes you heavy.

Vengeance makes you blind.

But trust makes you free.

And I believe the Lord is reinforcing this in 2026 because many are about to step into rebuilding—and you cannot rebuild while carrying revenge bricks in your hands. You cannot build bridges while burning people in your heart. You cannot walk the new road while dragging old roots behind you.

This is the year to let God uproot what kept growing back.

This is the year to let Him clear not only the obvious obstacles, but the hidden systems in your inner world that have delayed your peace.

This is the year to respond to the Holy Spirit—not with excuses, not with delay, not with half obedience—but with that simple surrender that heaven can breathe on: “Yes, Lord.”

And if you do, don’t be surprised if the first thing God restores is not what you expected.

Sometimes the first restoration is the return of spiritual hunger.

Sometimes the first rebuilding is the repair of your prayer life.

Sometimes the first renewal is joy showing up again in your worship.

Sometimes the first bridge is a conversation you’ve been avoiding.

Sometimes the first deliverance is your heart finally letting go of the need to make it right yourself.

Because God doesn’t just want to change your season. He wants to change your spiritual atmosphere.

So I’m choosing it again—fresh for 2026.

I will not repay evil.

I will not speak revenge.

I will not rehearse the offense until it becomes an idol.

I will wait for the Lord.

And I will watch Him deliver me, lead me, rebuild me, restore what was stolen, and open roads through forests that looked impossible.

Because when God builds a road, it isn’t only a road through circumstances.

It’s a road through you. Much love.

Declarations

• I declare that in 2026 I will not take vengeance into my own hands; I will wait for the Lord, and He will deliver me.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that my heart will remain clean, my hands will remain pure, and my spirit will not be contaminated by bitterness or revenge.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that God is bringing forth the harvest of what has been sown—exposing darkness and honoring righteousness.

  
  
  
  

• I declare restoration, rebuilding, and renewal over my life, my family, my church, my calling, and my assignments.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that discouragement will not own my future; I will respond to the call of the Holy Spirit with obedience and courage.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that the Holy Spirit is clearing the trunks and uprooting the roots—removing what keeps “growing back” in my life.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that God is building bridges—relationships marked by love, trust, grace, and faith—and I will not sabotage His work with offense.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that every new endeavor God assigns to me will be protected by His wisdom; I will release what cannot follow me into the new.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that the Lord is opening roads where there were no roads, making a way where the path looked impossible.

  
  
  
  

• I declare that my life will be aligned with heaven, and what God rebuilds in me will stand—stronger, purer, and more fruitful than before.