Fix your gaze

A quieter word for a louder new year

Well, here we are. The end of another year. So this is me, writing for the final time this year.

This time of year is loud with declarations. Words for the year. Themes. Prophecies. Strategies. Everyone trying to articulate what the next twelve months will hold.

As I was showering (because honestly, that’s where some of my most honest conversations with God happen), I asked the Holy Spirit what I should write about. And in response to my question, I didn’t hear anything complex or dramatic. Just a quiet, steady instruction:

“Tell my children to fix their gaze.”

As we step into a new year, there’s a subtle pressure to overhaul everything. New goals. New habits. New versions of ourselves. The language of momentum is everywhere - hit the ground running, don’t waste January, start strong. And while intention is not the enemy, it’s worth pausing long enough to ask a deeper question before we move forward:

What am I looking at?

Because what you fix your gaze on becomes what sustains you….

Listen, focus is not neutral. Whatever consistently holds your attention will begin to shape your expectations, your responses, and your endurance. And the truth is, none of us truly knows what this new year holds. We don’t know what will shift, what will stretch us, what will disappoint us, or what will surprise us. We can plan carefully, pray earnestly, and prepare wisely - but still, the year will unfold in ways we cannot fully predict.

I know how easily my own gaze drifts, toward outcomes, timelines, fears, and expectations I was never meant to carry. But if our gaze is fixed on the One who already knows how the year will unfold, then even when circumstances are uncertain, our footing doesn’t have to be.

Fixing our gaze doesn’t mean ignoring reality. It means choosing, again and again, to return our attention to God - in prayer, in Scripture, and in trust especially when our minds want to scatter.

Scripture reminds us of this invitation:

“Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us lay aside every hindrance and the sin that so easily ensnares us. Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” Hebrews 12:1–2

What strikes me about this passage is that endurance isn’t rooted in speed or strength — it’s rooted in sight. Keeping our eyes on Jesus.

I keep thinking about Peter. Brave enough to step out of the boat. Faithful enough to attempt the impossible. And yet, the moment his eyes shifted from Jesus to the wind around him, his confidence gave way to fear. The storm didn’t suddenly intensify. The water didn’t suddenly change. What changed was his gaze.

For me, 2026 is about learning where to look and choosing to stay there.

Because here’s what happens when we get this right: the storms still come, the waves still rise, but we don’t sink. The unexpected still happens, the plans still shift, but we don’t lose our footing. When your gaze is fixed on Jesus, you’re not rattled by what you didn’t see coming because you’re anchored to the One who did.

So as we step into this new year, I’m not making a thousand promises to myself. I’m making one commitment: to keep my eyes on Him. To filter every decision, every dream, every disappointment through the lens of His faithfulness. To let His perspective shape mine. To remember that the race isn’t about speed, it’s about endurance. And endurance comes from knowing where to look.

Maybe that’s the word for you too. Not a detailed roadmap for the next 365 days, but a simple redirect: fix your gaze. Let everything else flow from that. The goals, the growth, the healing, the breakthrough… it all starts with looking at the right thing.

So here’s to 2026. Here’s to keeping our eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith. Here’s to running with purpose, rooted in His promises, sustained by His presence.

May your gaze be steady. May your footing be sure. And may this be the year you discover what it means to walk on water not because the storm stopped, but because you never stopped looking at Him.

Happy New Year. Let’s fix our gaze and run this race well.