12/23/2025
Christmas changes after 50 years…
Not because it loses its shine—
but because you finally see
where it was shining all along.
When I was younger,
I thought Christmas lived
in the doing.
The lists.
The errands.
The rushing from one moment
to the next.
I thought the magic depended
on how full the house was,
how loud the morning felt,
how much we packed
into a single day.
I didn’t know then
that magic gets quieter with age.
Now it shows up
before anyone else wakes.
In the soft glow of the tree
reflecting years I’ve lived.
In the silence that isn’t empty—
just full of remembering.
After 50, Christmas carries layers.
Each ornament is a chapter.
Each tradition remembers
who started it
and who kept it going.
Each song brings back a version of myself
I didn’t know I’d miss.
You start noticing
how many Christmases are behind you,
and how precious the ones ahead have become.
I didn’t understand before
how quickly children grow into adults,
how parents turn into memories,
how a year slips past
without asking permission.
But here I am now—
moving slower,
listening more,
holding tighter.
Because Christmas after 50
isn’t measured in excitement.
It’s measured in gratitude.
It’s lingering in hugs.
It’s saying the prayer twice.
It’s letting the dishes wait
so the moment doesn’t have to.
It’s realizing the gifts that mattered most
were never wrapped.
They were the voices at the table.
The people who came back home.
The ones who are no longer here—
but still somehow present.
And maybe that’s the gift of growing older.
You stop trying to recreate the past
and start honoring it.
You stop chasing the feeling
and start recognizing the blessing.
So here’s to Christmas after 50—
where joy is softer,
faith is steadier,
love is deeper,
and meaning feels close enough to touch.
And if you’re here reading this,
may you know this truth:
the same God who carried you
through every December before
is still with you now.
Still faithful.
Still present.
Still making all things sacred—
even the quiet ones.
