2026 Word of the Year
Happy New Year.
As I’m writing this on the evening of Sunday, December 28th, I’m praying that by the time you read it, you’ve welcomed the new year in a way that felt true to you: whether that meant quietly at home, early to bed, or loud and laughing with people you love. For me - I know it will be spent at home, curled up on the sofe and the Rocket Scientist and a big, black lab who believes himself to be a lap dog!
If you’ve followed along here or on social media for any length of time, you know that for the past eighteen years, I’ve chosen a word of the year. It started back in 2007 alongside one of the scrapbooking voices I admired at the time, Ali Edwards. What began as a way to anchor journaling and creative memory-keeping (aka: scrapbooking) slowly became something much more: a centering practice, a spiritual marker, and ultimately, a way of naming where I sensed God inviting me to pay attention.
The past year has been… hard. Truly. A year I would never choose again.
And yet—because this is how life works—there has been goodness woven right through the middle of the mess. I’ve continued the slow, sometimes painful work of untangling faith from false narratives and poor theology I absorbed early on. I’ve learned new language for how my brain works. I’ve sat in grief that doesn’t hurry. All of that makes this year’s word feel different. Maybe even surprising.
But it is exactly right.
2026 Word of the Year: Attend
I didn’t choose Attend because I want to do more this year.
I chose it because I want to stop missing my life.
Somewhere along the way, I learned how to be responsible, faithful, helpful, and productive—but not always how to be present. I learned how to show up for others, how to hold space, how to keep going. What I’m still learning is how to notice what’s already here.
Attend feels less like a goal and more like an invitation. An invitation to pay attention: to God, to my inner life, to the people I love, to the quiet movements that don’t announce themselves but still matter.
I’ve never loved resolutions. For me, knowing my history and my wiring, they’re often fertile ground for failure, and from that perceived failure, shame. And I’m not making room for unearned shame anymore. With this past year bringing both an ADHD diagnosis and deeper counseling work around trauma and family patterns, my desire to attend to my mental, spiritual, and emotional health isn’t about self-improvement. It’s about self-honesty.
So this invitation to Attend immediately sets my posture toward presence over pressure, practices over hustle. I’m learning to notice when I slip into hurry—and gently return to awareness instead.
As I’ve sat with this word in prayer, a few places where I sense a clear invitation to attend have risen to the surface.
Attend to God
This isn’t “attending to God” as though God needs my care or management. This is about attending to God’s presence in my life.
I want to attend to prayer: not more prayers or better prayers, but truer ones. Prayers that linger. Prayers that listen. Prayers that trust God’s nearness enough to leave space for silence. This is less about saying the right things and more about staying. As the psalmist says, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Prayer, for me, is becoming less of a production and more of a conversation.
I want to attend to God through Scripture: not as a way to gather information or build proof-text arsenals, but as a practice of presence. Reading slowly. Sitting with the Word. Allowing it to read me. Trusting that the Holy Spirit is at work when I’m paying attention, not just when I’m accumulating knowledge. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105), not a floodlight, but enough light for the next faithful step.
And I want to attend to God through faithful silence.
This is perhaps the most counter-intuitive practice for me—and the one I need most. Faithful silence isn’t empty or passive; it’s an act of trust. It’s choosing not to fill every space with words, explanations, or answers. It’s resisting the urge to immediately interpret or fix. Silence becomes a way of saying, God, I trust that You are here even when I’m not talking.
For me, this may look like sitting quietly before God for a few minutes before doing anything else: no agenda, no Scripture reading yet, no journaling. Just presence. It may look like walking without earbuds. Pausing before responding. Allowing discomfort without rushing to resolve it. Silence is where I’m learning that God is not distant or demanding, but already near, waiting, not rushing me along.
Attend to the Inner
If 2025 was the beginning of stepping inward, then 2026 feels like an invitation to go deeper.
I want to attend to my grief, my fatigue, my longings, and my joy, without ranking them or rushing past any of them. They already coexist; I might as well learn how they move together. I want to notice when one begins to crowd out the others and gently ask why.
Instead of fleeing uncomfortable emotions or trying to fix them immediately, I want to face them with curiosity. To let emotions become my companions rather than my enemies. Scripture reminds me that “the Lord is near to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18)—not asking us to tidy ourselves up first, but meeting us where we are.
Attend to People
Over the past several months, I’ve had to face a hard truth: I sometimes allow my to-do lists to dictate how I show up with people. I could spiral into guilt over that, but instead, I’m choosing to accept this as an invitation.
People are more important than productivity. Always.
Yes, there is work to be done. Responsibilities to carry. But the task part of my calling never comes before the relational part. I want to continue practicing listening, not to respond, but to understand. Entering conversations with curiosity. Choosing depth over speed. Relationships grow slowly. Love takes time.
I also know myself well enough to acknowledge my limits – my capacity. I cannot be best friends with everyone I serve or love deeply, and that’s a hard truth for me to accept. But trying to carry more than I’m meant to only leads to exhaustion. My circle is shaped by the One who knows what I can hold and attending to His leading means trusting those boundaries.
Attend to the Ordinary
And finally, I want to attend to the ordinary.
To notice Thursdays. To cultivate rhythms—both spiritual and practical. To remember that there is liturgy even in folding laundry, washing dishes, and making the bed. Ordinary practices are often what hold life together.
I want to relearn boredom: not as a problem to solve, but as space to receive. Boredom makes room for creativity. Stillness allows things to surface. Small rituals, simple habits, quiet faithfulness, these are holy, too.
Attending in these ways makes it clear that there are also things I need to leave behind.
The need to impress. The pressure to be perfect. The fear of being rejected, overlooked, or left behind.
The constant state of readiness: needing to know everything, have the right answer, always say yes. That posture is rooted in fear, not trust, and it must stay behind.
And the impulse to move quickly past pain. This one is especially hard. But I’m learning that pain doesn’t heal when it’s bypassed. Staying present—gently, honestly—is part of attending well to my own soul.
What Attending Might Look Like (Practically)
Not as a checklist. Not as another thing to get right. Just gentle practices that help me return to presence:
Sitting with Scripture before asking what it’s for
Noticing when my body quietly says no—and listening
Leaving space in conversations instead of filling every pause
Allowing joy to linger without guilt or explanation
None of this is about doing it perfectly. It’s about noticing when I drift…and coming back.
An Invitation to You
If you’re reading this, consider this an open invitation…not a directive.
What have you been rushing past?
What has been quietly asking for your attention?
What might it look like to attend to your life this year?
I don’t know what this year will hold. I know there will be grief and joy, clarity and confusion, ordinary days and holy ones. My hope isn’t to control any of it, but to be present to it.
If this year holds an invitation for me, it is simply this:
Pay attention.
To God.
To your life.
To what is quietly asking to be seen.
Here’s to 2026!
