“That I may know Him…" Philippians 3:10

As the end of 2025 drew near, my mind started drifting toward 2026 and all the things I might want to fix.
Lose the pounds I put on over the holidays.
Create better rhythms so life feels a little more orderly, a little less chaotic, more profitable.
School goals. Parenting goals. Life goals.

Things I’d like to look back on next year and congratulate myself for accomplishing.

None of those things are bad. I do need to care for my body. I do need a home that feels peaceful. I do have bills to be paid and I want to be present—to my husband, my kids, my calling. But underneath it all was something deeper and harder to admit: a desire for control.

I want my life to run smoothly. I want to anticipate outcomes. I want to manage my days in a way that leaves little room for disruption or surprise. There’s a very Type A part of me that knows what it wants—and believes that if I plan carefully enough, structure things tightly enough, I can hold life together.

But as I began listing all the new rhythms I wanted to establish this year, I already felt overwhelmed by January 1. And I had to stop and ask myself—is this really the pattern Christ has set before me?

Yesterday, our pastor wrote something that made me pause. He asked, What if 2026 is different? What if, instead of making your plans and setting your goals, you let God fill the empty space? What if you ask Him to shape what is currently without shape and form what is currently formless?

That question exposed something tender in me. God is not more pleased with me because I’m five pounds lighter or because I run my days like a high-performing CEO. Those things may be helpful but they don’t draw me closer to Him.

The apostle Paul speaks of his own resolution in Philippians 3, and its simplicity feels almost disarming: that I may know Him.
Not to accomplish more.
Not to perfect himself.
Not to prove anything.
Just—to know Christ.

What if that were my resolution this year?
What if knowing Christ mattered more than managing my life?
What if everything else I hope to do or become simply lived under that larger desire—to know Him more?

To know Him in His divine nature and in His humble humanity.
To know Him in His finished work on the cross and in the fellowship of His sufferings.
To know Him in His death and in the power of His resurrection.
To know Him as He intercedes for us even now in glory—and as the King who will one day return.

Peter exhorts believers to “grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18). Spurgeon exclaimed in my morning devotional: that to know Christ is life eternal, and to grow in the knowledge of Him is to increase in happiness!

If I truly want to experience life this year, it won’t come from a perfectly structured life. Control has its limits, and I’m still learning that. True joy is found in Jesus Himself—in knowing Him, in drawing near to Him, in sitting with the mystery of His wounds and the power of His resurrection, and in discovering that life is found not in having everything in order, but in nearness to the Lord.

I still have my lists and I still have goals. I still have high expectations for myself this year. But I’m learning to loosen my grip on them and intentionally let Christ shape and order my days.

Lord, teach us to be students of You.
Be both the subject and the teacher of our days.
Above all else this year, let us abide near the cross—seeking to know You more fully—and then go forth, shaped by that knowing, to bring Your Kingdom to earth through us.