2026: In The Making
Clay, Curiosity and Courage
Hello.
Welcome to a new year. I hope you have been able to have the entrance into 2026 that you wanted. Whether that is with family, friends, parties, meals, or something more simple, quieter perhaps? However this finds you, I hope you are well and welcome to a new year with A Curious Follower.
There’s something about a new year, that tempts us towards certainty, clarity, and renewed determination. Bold declarations, and even bolder resolutions.
In 2026 I will be…
In 2026 I will do…
In 2026 I will have…
But as we step into 2026, the image that keeps returning for me, isn’t a polished plan, a perfect resolution, or even a completed picture for what 2026 will look like. The image that keeps returning for me - it’s clay.
The temptation as we cross this threshold is to think we have to have fully sculpted, kiln-fired, perfect piece of pottery to show off to the world. But as we start this new year, it is okay to start with a lump of clay. Unfinished. Still being shaped. Not yet there. Not a finished product, but something in the making.
Clay
I don’t know about you but often I feel like the first day of a new year has to be perfectly co-ordinated – what do I mean by that? I feel like we have to present to the world a kiln-fired plan for the year. An impressive piece of pottery ready to go and impress the world with its audacity. But the more I think about this and the older I get (I will only be 26 this year) I think that clay fits much better as a metaphor for the first day of the new year.
Clay is ordinary. Earthy. Unimpressive at first glance. It resists being rushed. It responds to pressure slowly. Go too fast and the clay will crumble. The design disappears. And what are you left with? Still a lump of clay.
Perhaps it is the same with life – go too fast and the design disappears. Things crumble. And we are left with what we began with – a life designed to be lived in fruitfulness, fullness, and connection.
As I enter this year, I’m increasingly aware of the gap between knowing what matters and living it. Between believing that encounter with God is vital, and intentionally slowing down enough to notice that God is already here, already among us.
If God is not distant but present – not waiting to be invited but already at work – then perhaps the invitation is not to strive harder, but to slow enough to join in.
And maybe that’s the point of a new year.
Curiosity
As I step into a new year, I am finding my curiosity off-the-charts.
I think this is part of what resolutions offer despite that over time for many they have become over-used rituals of meaningless intention. Resolutions offer an often optimistic view of what the coming year could hold. More healthy. Better job. More social. Better house. More fun. Better car. The list could go on.
But as I write this list, I notice that all of the things are focused on “better” or “more”. And yet, often we miss what needs to be less – in the rush for the more. But curiosity requires us to consider the less as well as the more. Curiosity requires us to be less interested in answers and more attentive to questions. Questions that seem to invite presence rather than demand solutions.
I’m noticing a gap between knowing that encounter with God matters, and the lived reality of intentionally making space for it. Between believing that God is already here, already among us, and actually slowing down enough to notice and join in with what God is already doing.
I keep noticing how much of life – even spiritual life – rewards speed, clarity, and output. Curiosity gently resists that. It asks us to linger a little longer. To stay with what we don’t yet understand. To trust that paying attention might be more faithful than rushing ahead.
I’m also becoming curious about what genuinely nourishes faith, and what simply adds to the noise. What resources deepen attention and connection, and which ones quietly distract us from the very presence we’re seeking. What helps the holy and the human flourish together – not as competing forces, but as intertwined realities.
I’m also holding a more vulnerable curiosity – one shaped by lived reality.
I wonder whether I’ve been living in a season of “just enough” for a while. Grateful, yes – deeply so – and yet aware of the quiet cost of always scraping by. I find myself wondering what it might look like to move from survival towards stewardship.
Not abundance for its own sake. Not excess. Just enough margin to breathe. Enough to repair what’s worn. Enough to create without constant anxiety. I don’t have answers for that yet. But I’m paying attention to the question, rather than dismissing it.
Curiosity, I’m learning, is not the opposite of faith. It’s often the doorway into it.
Courage
Of course, curiosity comes at a cost.
It takes courage to admit we don’t yet know. Courage to resist the pressure to present a finished piece of pottery when we’re still being formed. Courage to live with questions without rushing them towards conclusions.
It takes courage to trust that following God in the unknown is not foolishness – even when clarity is slow to arrive. Courage to resist jumping ship too quickly, or choosing security simply to quiet the discomfort of not knowing what’s next.
Choosing a slower pace. Choosing depth over output. Choosing faithfulness over visibility. These choices don’t always look brave from the outside. But they require courage all the same. Especially in a world – and sometimes even in Christian spaces – that rewards decisiveness, speed, and visible success.
Still In The Making
So what could this year hold?
I’m not sure.
What I do know is that I want to remain attentive. Open-handed. Willing to be shaped rather than rushed to completion. Clay teaches patience. Curiosity keeps the heart open. Courage allows us to keep going without pretending we know the end of the story. As 2026 begins, this feels like enough.
If you’re entering this year with clarity, I’m glad. And if you’re entering it unfinished, uncertain, still in the making – you’re welcome here too.
This space remains one of listening rather than declaring, of exploration rather than arrival, as we learn – together – what it might mean to follow with curiosity, honesty, and courage.
Josh | A Curious Follower