A personal devotional as I prepare for 2026

There are moments when faith feels strong—and moments when it feels painfully honest.

As I look ahead to 2026, I find myself returning again and again to two verses from the Gospel of Book of Matthew. Not because they are comforting in the usual sense, but because they tell the truth about what it means to trust God when the future feels weighty.

“And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, saying, ‘My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.’”
(Matthew 26:39, ESV)

“Again, for the second time, he went away and prayed, ‘My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.’”
(Matthew 26:42, ESV)

These prayers were spoken in Gethsemane—on the eve of the cross. Jesus knows what is coming. The cost is no longer theoretical. The weight is real.

And He prays anyway.

The Courage to Pray Honestly

Matthew 26:39 reminds me that Jesus does not start with surrender. He starts with honesty.

“If it be possible, let this cup pass from me.”

There is no pretending here. No spiritual performance. No rush to the right answer.

Jesus names the fear.
Jesus acknowledges the pain.
Jesus admits that there is a part of Him that longs for another way.

This verse gives me permission to pray prayers that are real, not polished.

As I prepare for 2026, I don’t want to skip over my fears or dress them up in religious language. There are responsibilities ahead. Decisions that will affect people I love. Unknowns that cannot be planned away.

Matthew 26:39 reminds me that faith is not pretending the cup is light. Faith is bringing the full weight of it before the Father.

The Slow Work of Surrender

Then comes Matthew 26:42.

This second prayer feels different. The request shifts.

“If this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.”

Notice what has changed. Jesus is not suddenly less afraid. The cup is still there. The cross is still coming. But something in Him has settled.

This is not resignation. This is resolved trust.

Surrender, I’m learning, is rarely instantaneous. It often comes in stages. We pray our fears first. Then, slowly, we align our hearts with God’s will.

As I head toward 2026, this verse reminds me that surrender is not about liking God’s will. It’s about trusting God’s heart.

Sometimes the prayer changes not because the situation changes, but because we do.

The Posture I Want for the Year Ahead

These two verses hold me in tension—and that’s a good thing.

• Matthew 26:39 reminds me that God can handle my honesty.
• Matthew 26:42 reminds me that God deserves my obedience.

I want to enter 2026 with both:
The courage to say, “Father, this is hard.”
And the faith to say, “Father, your will is good.”

I don’t want a faith that rushes past the struggle.
I don’t want a spirituality that skips the garden and jumps straight to resurrection.

I want the kind of faith Jesus modeled—
One that falls on its face in prayer,
One that wrestles before it yields,
One that trusts the Father even when the cup does not pass.

As the new year approaches, this is the prayer I keep returning to:

Lord, let me be honest enough to bring You my fears,
and trusting enough to place my will beneath Yours.

If that becomes the posture of my heart, then whatever 2026 holds, I know I will not walk into it alone.