January is my birthday month, and since I was born in 1976, that means I’m fifty this month. I’m not disclosing the actual day. Not because I want to celebrate the entire month (I don’t really celebrate my birthday at all anymore) but because I hold some things private.
When I was younger, I expected that saying “I’m fifty” would somehow feel heavier than it does. I thought it might come with dramatic music, a reflective stare out the window, maybe even a small identity crisis. Instead, it mostly comes with having to flip my glasses up when I’m at my computer so I can see the screen while I type, and a surprising number of advertisements for a certain life insurance company that has clearly been tracking my life more closely than I realized.
What I didn’t expect is that 50 wouldn’t feel like falling apart or finally having it all together. It feels more like realizing you don’t actually need either of those things to live well.
When I was younger, I truly believed adulthood came with a moment of arrival. Like one day you wake up and think, Okay. I get it now. Faith is clear. Emotions are reasonable. Parenting feels confident. Ministry feels obvious. Life is tidy.
What I know now is that growing older doesn’t feel like arriving. It feels like learning how to live well while still occasionally standing in the kitchen wondering why I walked in there in the first place.
I haven’t figured everything out. But I have figured out enough to breathe easier. And that feels like grace.
In Scripture, Jubilee was never about perfection. It was about release. Debts forgiven. Slaves freed. Land returned. A reset of what had been lost, borrowed, or carried too long.
And that’s what fifty feels like to me.
Not an ending.
Not a peak.
But a holy release of what I was never meant to carry this long.
I Thought Maturity Meant Feeling Less
I used to think emotional maturity meant feeling less. Less sensitive. Less reactive. Less likely to cry over something that made perfect sense five minutes ago or not crying over things that made no sense at all.
That has not happened.
What has happened is that I understand myself better. I recognize my tells. I know when I’m tired, when I’m hungry, when I’m overwhelmed, and when I’m about to say something I’ll regret unless I pause. I recover faster than I used to. I extend myself more grace. I no longer assume something is wrong with me just because I’m human.
That’s growth, even if I still need a minute sometimes.
At fifty, I’m no longer trying to become someone who never feels deeply. I’m learning how to steward what I feel with wisdom instead of shame.
God has never asked me to outgrow my humanity. He has consistently met me right in the middle of it.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” Psalm 34:18 (NLT)
I’m grateful that God trusted me with a heart capable of feeling, loving, grieving, and hoping deeply.
Faith at Fifty Is Quieter, Stronger, and Less Interested in Impressing Anyone
Somehow, I thought faith would just be simple by now. No questions. No wrestling. Just certainty. No staring at the ceiling at night having very thoughtful conversations with God in my head.
That hasn’t happened. I still have questions. I still wrestle with things at times. And I still have late night conversations in my head. But my faith is quieter, stronger, more layered, and structured. Less performative. More rooted.
I don’t need God to explain Himself to me before I trust Him anymore. I don’t need to throw out the fleeces like I needed to when I was younger. I’ve walked with Him long enough to recognize His character. I’ve seen His faithfulness show up in ways I never could have planned or predicted. So when I don’t understand what He’s doing, I don’t panic like I used to.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.” Proverbs 3:5 (NKJV)
Faith at this stage looks like confidence without bravado. Conviction without anxiety. Trust that doesn’t require a five-year plan or a color-coded notebook.
I’m also no longer apologizing for saying, “I don’t know.” Faith was never about pretending certainty. It was always about trusting the One who does.
Parenting Didn’t Get Easier, But It Got Deeper
I really believed that by fifty I’d feel confident, calm, and absolutely sure I was doing it right.
That is adorable. Really
What I do feel is clearer. I know my kids better. I listen more. I talk less than I used to. I apologize faster. I’ve learned that most parenting moments don’t need a lecture, just presence and maybe a snack.
Parenting hasn’t gotten easier, but it has gotten deeper. And depth turns out to matter more than certainty.
“I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.” 3 John 1:4 (NKJV)
Walking in truth takes time. For them and for me. Sometimes simultaneously. Sometimes with snacks. Sometimes with a deep breath and a whispered prayer. And snacks. Snacks are important.
I’ve also learned that part of parenting is trusting God with what I cannot control. Letting go of the illusion that everything rests on me has been one of the most important things I could do as a parent. I’ll be the first to admit that I parent imperfectly, but I’m committed to parenting faithfully, honestly, and with humility.
Ministry Isn’t About Finish Lines
As a young Christian, I thought ministry would somehow feel more accomplished by now. Like there would be a sense of completion or at least a clearly labeled finish line.
What I’ve learned is that ministry is about showing up faithfully and trusting God to do what only He can do. It’s less about visible results and more about quiet obedience. Less about proving something and more about stewarding what’s in front of you.
I’m more confident in my calling and far less burdened by outcomes. I understand my role better. I hold people with open hands. I let God handle the results.
“So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase.” 1 Corinthians 3:7 (NKJV)
That truth has saved me more times than I can count.
At fifty, I’m also no longer apologizing for boundaries. They aren’t unloving. They’re necessary. They’re how ministry stays rooted instead of rushed.
I’m Learning to Honor Sabbath, Not Just Endurance
I used to believe that pushing was virtuous and stopping was something you explained later.
If I’m honest, a lot of what I once called faithfulness was really just endurance with a Christian vocabulary. Always saying yes. Always pushing through. Always proving I could handle more.
What I’ve learned is that faithfulness is not measured by how much I can carry. It’s measured by whether I’m living in alignment with how Jesus actually lived.
I know now when to push and when to stop. I understand my limits and I honor them without guilt. I care far more about sustainability than speed. Not because I’m tired of running, but because I’ve learned that God is far more interested in faithfulness over time than momentary output.
Rest isn’t optional anymore. Not because I’m older. But because Sabbath was never optional to begin with.
Jesus rested. Jesus withdrew. Jesus stepped away from crowds, demands, and expectations. Not because He was weak, but because He was obedient.
“He said to them, ‘Come away by yourselves to a secluded place and rest a while.’” Mark 6:31 (NLT)
If it was necessary for Him, it is definitely necessary for me.
I’m no longer apologizing for honoring rhythms Jesus Himself practiced. I’m not explaining my obedience. I’m living it. And there is deep peace in that.
I’ve Stopped Apologizing for Becoming More Me
I used to assume that insecurity would eventually get bored and move on.
Instead, I stopped abandoning myself.
I know who I am now. I know what matters to me. I know what drains me and what fills me back up. Yes, I still grow and refine, but I no longer chase approval like it’s my job.
“For we are God’s masterpiece.” Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)
And Scripture goes even further.
“You shall also be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.” Isaiah 62:3 (NKJV)
That verse doesn’t describe something fragile or tentative. It describes something held, honored, and intentional.
Masterpieces aren’t mass-produced. They aren’t rushed. And they aren’t required to look like anyone else’s work.
In September as I was writing a Keynote about the verse in Isaiah, I wanted to challenge myself to do something creatively that embodies the message visually. So, I designed this t-shirt and then actually ordered it for myself. My girls saw it, and wanted one because they loved it. Of course, I ordered them one because anytime my girls want something I made or something I am going to wear, it’s a SOLID YES!
Anyway, I posted about it on Facebook when they came in, and a few people asked about it, so I figured out how to make it available online. Created to Be a Crown (Isaiah 62:3) by ThatBaldChick has actually turned into a small collection of products that I’m pretty proud of because it’s all about celebrating who we are Created to be by God. It includes cards, folders, fans, bookmarks, a yard sign, and more.
I’m no longer shrinking to fit expectations God never gave me. I’m trusting that the God who holds my life also knows exactly what He’s shaping.
The Future Feels Less Urgent, and That Might Be the Best Part
I thought I’d feel more pressure to have everything mapped out by now.
What I’ve discovered is that certainty isn’t required for faithfulness.
“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalm 119:105 (NKJV)
The reformed control freak in me used to really be unnerved by the lack of lighting on the path. I wanted the whole map flood lighted. I also used to joke that the Lord said lamp because if He were a spotlight we wouldn’t go. Here’s the thing. I don’t need the whole road. I just need the next faithful step. And at this stage of life, that feels peaceful instead of unsettling.
This Is My Jubilee
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have everything figured out.
But I know who I trust.
I know where my foundation is.
I know how to listen better than I used to.
I know how to rest without apologizing.
I know how to grow without rushing.
And I know what I’m finally free to lay down.
Jubilee isn’t about perfection.
It’s about release.
“And you shall consecrate the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants.” Leviticus 25:10 (NKJV)
Fifty feels like freedom.
Freedom from unrealistic expectations.
Freedom from constant striving.
Freedom to live faithfully, joyfully, and at rest in God.
And stepping into fifty doesn’t feel like losing something. It feels like standing on solid ground, with a good cup of coffee, a little laughter, and the quiet confidence that God has been faithful every step of the way.
“He who has begun a good work in you will complete it.” Philippians 1:6 (NKJV)
So hello, fifty.
I’m still becoming.
I’m still growing.
I’m still learning.
And I’m walking into Jubilee.
If you’re anything like me, you need a playlist for everything. And I have one of those for walking into jubilee. I thought I would share it.
