My 2026 Word of the Year.
Every January, I find myself praying for one word to carry into the new year. Not a checklist item or a resolution to keep, but a simple invitation to listen for what God might be whispering to my heart.
For more than a decade, I’ve practiced choosing One Word. Each year, the word the Holy Spirit gives me becomes a lens—a gentle thread woven through my days. Sometimes, I don’t see its meaning right away. Often, it unfolds slowly, only making sense much later.
In 2025, my word was Beauty, anchored in Psalm 27:4. Through that word, God gently showed me how I had been living—body, mind, and soul—without walls, without safety, without boundaries. That realization became the soil where the Holy Spirit planted my word for 2026.
Sanctuary
At the beginning of this year, I chose a new word: Sanctuary.
Not because I had already found it, but because I knew I could not live the rest of my life exposed. 2025 revealed so much through my word of the year... beauty. The light had done its work. It had shown me what was hidden, what was unsafe, what I had learned to tolerate, and even what I had come to call holy.
“Beauty” had exposed the ways I had lived without protection, without boundaries, without reverence for the life God had given me to steward. Once you see that clearly, you cannot go back.
But after everything is exposed, what comes next?
Where do you go when all the layers have been peeled back?
You can’t live in that place forever.
Your body can’t handle it.
Your soul can’t rest there.
We were never meant to stay uncovered.
Scripture does not end with revelation. It moves toward dwelling.
The Tabernacle in the Wilderness.
In the Book of Exodus, after Israel is brought out of Egypt and after the wilderness begins its slow work of stripping and reordering, God speaks something unexpected. He does not simply continue exposing. He gives instructions. “And let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them. According to all that I show you, that is, the pattern of the tabernacle and the pattern of all its furnishings, just so you shall make it.” (Exodus 25:8-9 NKJV)
This is the first time in the story that God speaks of a real place where He will be with His people. It isn’t just an idea. It’s a real structure, with boundaries, materials, measurements, and a pattern.
This pattern does not end in the wilderness.
It continues forward.
What was first built of wood and fabric (the Tabernacle of Moses) becomes flesh in the person of Jesus. John tells us, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” (John 1:14). The word “dwelt” in the Greek is the word for tabernacle or sanctuary. God no longer dwells in a structure made by human hands, but in the body of His Son.
And through Christ, that dwelling extends again.
Scripture tells us that we, as His people, are being built into a spiritual house, a sanctuary, and a holy priesthood (1 Peter 2:5). The pattern moves from a place to a person to a people. What was once external is now internal. What was once constructed in the wilderness is now being formed within us.
The Tabernacle of Moses in the wilderness. Exodus 25:8-9
I’m learning that sanctuary isn’t just a place I go.
It’s something I am becoming.
My body, my mind, my soul.
These places IN me are God’s house now.
As the light of 'beauty' shone into my body, mind, and soul, I realized my sanctuary wasn’t built the way God wanted. It was shaped by the world around me, by the stories I believed, by my culture and my past. And honestly, so much of it didn’t feel like a place I wanted God to live.
Something needed to change.
Sanctuary, as Scripture defines it, is not simply a feeling of peace. It is not escape or the absence of difficulty. Sanctuary is a place where God dwells, and if God is to dwell somewhere, that place must be made ready. There must be order. There must be intention. There must be a recognition that not everything or everyone belongs within its walls. This isn’t about shutting people out. It’s about making space for God out of reverence.
Last year, I learned what it was like to live without any walls. This year, I’m learning how to build them—around my heart, my mind, my life. Not walls that shut people out or make me hard, but walls that protect what is holy.
For a long time, I thought being open was the goal. I believed the more I let people in, the more loving I was. The more I endured, the more faithful I became. The more I allowed, the more Christlike I was. But that’s not how Scripture describes God’s dwelling place. The tabernacle was not without structure. Not everyone could enter every space. Not everything was permitted to cross its threshold. And yet, it was the very place where God chose to be present with His people.
This is the shift I’m living in now.
I’m not asking, 'How much can I carry?' ‘Who can I carry?’ anymore. I’m asking, 'What does God want me to build?' I’m learning that faithfulness isn’t about how much I can endure, but about lining up my life with His pattern, His presence, and what He calls sacred.
Sanctuary is not built in a moment; it is formed slowly, with attention.
Board by board.
Layer by layer.
Brick by brick.
Sometimes, it means resting when I would have pushed through.
Sometimes, it means staying quiet when I would have tried to explain.
Sometimes, it means saying no, not because I don’t care, but because I’m learning what needs to be protected.
Sometimes, it means saying goodbye.
There is grief in this work.
Not everything and not everyone remains when a sanctuary is being built.
Some things only survive where there are no boundaries.
Some relationships depend on access that was never meant to be given.
Letting those things go isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.
While there is a stripping away, other things are growing.
There’s a steadiness I didn’t have before. I feel like I’m starting to live my own life, not just bracing for what’s next.
I’m not standing out in the open anymore, waiting to be shaped by whatever comes my way.
I am becoming a place.
A dwelling.
A Sanctuary.
A life ordered, slowly and imperfectly, according to a pattern that is not my own, but is patterned after my Rabbi, Savior, and Friend . . . Jesus.
I do not have this fully built.
I am at the beginning.
Listening more than speaking.
Paying attention to what is being asked of me, not what has always been expected of me.
If you find yourself in a season after exposure, where things have been revealed and stripped, and you are unsure what comes next, you are not alone. Scripture does not leave us uncovered. The God who reveals is also the God who dwells, and He is faithful to show us how to become a place where His presence can rest . Not perfectly, but truthfully, according to His pattern.
With Grace and Peace,
Erika