A Letter to 2026: The Year I Finally Became Who God Called Me to Be

January 1, 2026

To whoever reads this—family, friends, strangers, supporters, my future wife, or the version of me that will look back on this moment years from now—I pray this meets you well. I pray it meets you honest. And I pray it meets you hungry for change.

Because as for me? This is the year I’m accepting who God has called me to be. Fully. Fearlessly. Finally.

This letter is not a performance. It’s not a pity party. It’s not a press release.
It’s simply truth.
Raw.
Real.
Redeemed.

I’ve tried living 25 different versions of myself—versions molded by trauma, by pressure, by people, by culture, by expectations, and by insecurities. But 2026… this right here… this is the year I live as the man God designed—not the man life forced me to become.

And that requires something most people don’t want to talk about: isolation.

Not loneliness.
Isolation.
Purpose-filled solitude.
The kind that strips you down, cleans you out, and refocuses your soul.

So let me write this letter to the year that’s going to stretch me, build me, break me, bless me, and bring me face-to-face with everything I prayed for.

Let me tell you exactly how I’m walking into 2026—with intention, with holiness, with discipline, and with absolutely no distractions.

THE CRITICAL SEASON OF ISOLATION

There are seasons when God hides you, and there are seasons when God exposes you. But the most dangerous season—the one that decides the next ten years of your life—is the season when God separates you.

And that’s where I am right now.

Isolation isn’t punishment. It’s preparation.

It’s God telling me, “Sit still long enough for Me to shape you. Shut out the noise so you can hear Me clearly. Starve the distractions so you can finally feed your destiny.”

So for the start of 2026, I’m going dark.
Outside of posting these blog entries, you won’t see me online.
No scrolling.
No stories.
No reels.
No comparing my life to somebody else’s highlight reel.
No feeding my spirit junk food.

Because we don’t like to admit it, but social media is shaping us in ways we’re too numb to recognize. We’re eating what we scroll. We’re digesting what we double-tap. We’re becoming what we consume.

And I’m not letting my spirit starve in 2026.

We don’t understand the power of what we feed ourselves.
The music we play.
The people we follow.
The parties we chase.
The rooms we enter.
The images we lust after.
The lyrics we memorize.

We don’t just hear those things—we imitate them.
Your spirit becomes what you snack on.

You feed yourself chaos? You live chaotic.
You feed yourself lust? You walk around lust-starved.
You feed yourself violence? You become quick-tempered and slow-thinking.
You feed yourself poison? You start calling it personality.

And I’m done with that version of me.

For the first time in a long time…
I am being intentional about what I put inside me—spiritually, mentally, emotionally.

I want a clear conscience.
I want a peaceful heart.
I want a healthy mind.
I want a strong walk with God.

And you can’t have clarity while drinking from dirty wells.

SHOWING THE HEALING OF 2025

I’m walking into 2026 healed in areas I used to hide.
2025 broke me, rebuilt me, confronted me, corrected me, and changed me.

I learned how to stop bleeding on people who didn’t cut me.
I learned how to stop loving from a place of fear.
I learned how to stop giving access to people who never earned the key.

But most of all—I learned how to sit with myself.
And that is the hardest form of healing.

In 2025, I realized I can’t pray for a healthy relationship while entertaining unhealthy attachments.
I can’t ask God for “the one” while texting five.
I can’t pray for peace while keeping people in my life who profit off my pain.
I can’t build a future with someone while still giving pieces of myself to everyone.

So I made a decision—a mature decision, a necessary decision:

I cut everybody off.

Not out of anger, but out of alignment.
Not out of bitterness, but out of boundaries.
Not because I don’t care, but because I finally care about myself.

Truthfully, if it wasn’t for business, I would’ve changed my number.
That’s how serious I am about this season.

It’s not because I’m mean.
It’s because I’m healing.
And healing requires room.

I’m also ready to love again—but not recklessly.
Not blindly.
Not emotionally unstable and spiritually malnourished.

I’m ready to love with clarity.
With purpose.
With maturity.
With God at the center.

The kind of love that finds me while I’m focused, not while I’m distracted.
The kind of love that honors my calling, not competes with it.
The kind of love that grows with me instead of draining me.

2026 is the year my heart becomes a safe place again.

EVERYBODY CAN’T GO

Here’s a hard truth:
Elevation requires elimination.

It’s lonely at the top because most people refuse to climb.

God showed me that most of the people I wanted to bring with me were never assigned to my next level. They were part of my history, not my destiny. They were part of my story, not my calling.

And you lose too much time dragging people who don’t want deliverance.

So I’m done dragging.
I’m done fixing.
I’m done babysitting grown emotions.
I’m done being loyal to people who aren’t loyal to the future God is building in me.

I love everyone.
But everyone can’t go.
And that’s okay.

Some goodbyes are God’s protection.
Some distance is divine.
Some separation is spiritual surgery.

EXPECTING GREATNESS IN 2026

Now let me speak on where I’m headed.

This year…
I’m expecting God to blow my mind. Not because I deserve it, but because I’m disciplined enough to prepare for it.

The Law Firm

We’re on track to expand, elevate, and impact even more lives.
The work is meaningful. The mission is real. The calling is heavy.
And I’m stepping into my role with new focus, new compassion, and new excellence.

My Entrepreneurship & Marketing Company

Royal Touch is growing—faster than I can sometimes manage.
But this is the year of systems.
The year of scaling.
The year of stepping out of survival mode and into CEO mode.

The Church

This one is personal.
We’ve hit ten years of ministry.

Ten years of storms, miracles, funerals, weddings, baptisms, tears, betrayal, joy, and testimonies.

But now?
Playtime is over.

I want to get back to being everything God called us to be.
Not a cute church.
Not a comfortable church.
A called church.
A powerful church.
A relevant church.
A spirit-filled church.

A church where people get healed for real.
Delivered for real.
Transformed for real.

This is the year I pastor with boldness, not burnout.
With focus, not fear.
With power, not people-pleasing.

THIS IS MY SURRENDER YEAR

2026 is the year I stop gambling with life.
No more risky habits that don’t match the reward.
No more playing small.
No more ignoring red flags—whether in people or in myself.

I’m surrendering.
All of me.
My desires.
My distractions.
My timing.
My loneliness.
My anger.
My disappointments.
My heart.
My future.

Everything.

Because when you put it all in God’s hands, you stop living in cycles and start living in purpose.

And I want that for whoever is reading this too.

You don’t have to know the whole plan.
You don’t have to understand every step.
You don’t have to see the whole staircase.

Just surrender.
Just commit.
Just trust God enough to let Him steer.

STACKING MY STONES

Last night the preacher said something that hit different:
“This is your stone-stacking season.”

In the Bible, after God brought Israel across the Jordan River, He told them to stack stones—one for each tribe—to remind them of how far He had brought them.

This year, I’m stacking my stones.
Testimony by testimony.
Victory by victory.
Breakthrough by breakthrough.
Promise by promise.

I want to look back and say:
“This is where God delivered me.
This is where God grew me.
This is where God healed me.
This is where God matured me.
This is where God showed out on my behalf.”

2026 will not just be a year I lived.
It’ll be a year I remember.
A year I build upon.
A year that becomes a marker for the next decade of my life.

TO WHOEVER IS READING THIS

If you’ve made it this far into my heart, let me end with this:

You don’t have to carry last year’s pain into this year’s promise.
You don’t have to fight battles God never assigned you.
You don’t have to entertain people who drain you.
You don’t have to keep habits that keep you hostage.

You can start over.
Right now.
Today.
January 1st—or any day you decide to surrender.

This can be your year of becoming.
Your year of clarity.
Your year of healing.
Your year of alignment.
Your year of breakthrough.
Your year of elevation.

Your year of finally accepting who God called you to be.

I’m not writing this because I have all the answers.
I’m writing this because after everything I've lived through…
everything I’ve lost…
everything I’ve survived…
everything I’ve healed from…

I finally know who I am—
and I’m becoming him boldly.

So here’s to 2026.
To discipline.
To purpose.
To love.
To ministry.
To entrepreneurship.
To clarity.
To elevation.
To isolation that produces greatness.
To letting go of what held us back.
To embracing what God is pushing us toward.

Here’s to stacking our stones.
One testimony at a time.

I’m ready.
And if you’re reading this—
I pray you’re ready too.

—Pastor Timothy D. Hayes Jr.