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Posted in Life After 50, Midlife & Beyond

Things I’m Still Figuring Out at 58

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

I’m almost 58.

And apparently, I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

Which is kind of funny when you think about it.

At almost 58, I thought I’d have more of this figured out.

My finances. My future. Retirement. Friendships. My career. My purpose.

You know…the little things.

Instead, sometimes I feel like I’m standing at the beginning of it all. Except there’s one pretty significant difference between standing at the beginning at 28 and standing at the beginning at almost 58.

The number of years ahead of me is smaller than the number of years behind me.

And if I’m being completely honest, that scares me sometimes.

I sometimes wonder if there is enough time.

Enough time to get my finances where I want them. Enough time to figure out what I actually want to do. Enough time to build something meaningful. Enough time to retire someday without panicking about it. Enough time to pursue the things I’ve put off. Enough time to become the woman I always thought I would be.

And then God starts reminding me:

It’s not too late.

I’m Still Figuring Out What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

For most of my adult life, I knew what I had to do.

I had children to raise. Bills to pay. Responsibilities to take care of. A career to build. Life required me to be practical, and I became very good at doing what needed to be done. Especially when it came to my career, I’ve spent a lot of years doing what I had to do rather than doing what I actually wanted to do.

And honestly, I don’t think I’m alone in that.

There are seasons of life when your dreams have to take a back seat to responsibility.

When you’re raising kids, paying the mortgage, showing up for work, taking care of everyone else, and simply trying to keep all the plates spinning, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” isn’t exactly at the top of the list.

But now my girls are grown.

I will always be Mom. That doesn’t go away just because your children become adults. But being Mom isn’t the same kind of all-consuming priority it was when they were little.

And that leaves me with a question I haven’t really had the freedom to ask before:

What do I actually want?

Not what do I need to do.

Not what makes the most sense.

Not what am I supposed to do.

What do I want to do?

I’m still figuring that out.

I’m Still Figuring Out My Future

I honestly thought that by almost 58, I would have some of this stuff settled.

My finances.

My retirement.

My career.

My friendships.

My future.

Instead, some days it feels like I’m just getting started. And that can be unsettling. The years ahead of me are fewer than the years behind me now. That is simply a fact of getting older, but sometimes facts have a way of becoming very loud in your head.

I don’t want to waste the time I have left.

I want to build something meaningful.

I want to write.

I want to podcast.

I want to do something that matters.

I want to use the things God has given me instead of continuing to tell myself that I’ll get around to them someday.

And yes, I still have practical things to figure out too.

Money. Retirement. Career decisions. What the next season of life actually looks like. But I’m learning that maybe I don’t have to solve my entire future today.

I’m Still Learning What Total Submission Really Looks Like

This one has been a big one for me.

I talk about trusting God. I believe in trusting God.

But actually surrendering control?

Well…

That’s a little different.

I have a tendency to want a plan. Not just a plan, either. I want the steps. I want to know what happens next. I want to know how long it will take. I want to know what the outcome will be.

Honestly, I would probably be very happy if God handed me a five-page, numbered, color-coded process with a timeline and expected results.

But that’s not usually how God works.

Instead, sometimes He gives me a seed. And then He asks me to plant it. That’s where the hard part begins. I have to do the work of tending it. Watering it. Protecting it. Being patient.

Continuing to care for something even when I can’t see what it’s becoming.

And I have to trust that God knows what He’s doing even when I can’t see the whole process.

Maybe that’s what total submission actually looks like.

Not knowing everything.

Not controlling everything.

Not having a perfect process.

Just trusting God enough to take the next step.

God Keeps Reminding Me It’s Not Too Late

This is another thing He keeps bringing me back to.

It’s not too late.

I don’t know what the next few years will hold. I don’t know exactly how everything will come together. But I do know that God isn’t limited by my timeline. He’s not looking at my age and thinking, “Well, I guess we missed our opportunity.” And I’m pretty sure He’s not sitting there worried that I haven’t followed the perfect process.

Because I have absolutely not followed the perfect process.

I tend to think I need to get everything right before I begin.

Maybe the seed doesn’t have to be perfect.

Maybe I don’t have to be perfect either.

Maybe I just need to be brave enough to plant it.

I’m Still Figuring Out My Calling

For a long time, I thought calling was something you figured out once. Like God would hand you a very clear blueprint and you would suddenly know exactly what you were supposed to do with your life. I’m starting to see it differently.

Maybe calling isn’t always a job description.

Maybe sometimes it’s a desire God keeps putting in your heart.

A nudge you can’t quite ignore.

A seed.

And there are some seeds that have been growing in me for a while now.

I want to write.

I want to podcast.

I want to learn God’s Word more deeply, and I’ve found that walking through Scripture has become something I genuinely desire.

I want to know Scripture so well that it becomes part of how I think and live. I’ve written before about why I’m not Super Christian Wonder Woman, and I’m becoming increasingly comfortable with that.

I want to talk about what I’m learning.

I want to tell stories.

I want to encourage people.

I want people to feel a little less alone.

I don’t know exactly what all of that will become.

And for once, I’m trying not to demand that I know.

Maybe I can simply be faithful with what God has already put in my hands.

And Then There’s the Fact That I’m a Grandmother

Can we just pause for a minute?

I’m a grandmother.

I still find that hilarious.

There are moments when I look at Sophia and think, “How in the world am I old enough to be somebody’s grandmother?” And then I remember that I’m almost 58 and apparently the math checks out.

But there’s something else about being a grandmother that makes me laugh.

I wasn’t the perfect mom. Not even close. I made mistakes. I got things wrong. There are things I wish I could go back and do differently.

And yet my girls still love me.

They still value me.

They still want me in their lives.

They still want me to be counted among their best friends.

And one of them made me a grandmother. There’s something incredibly humbling about that. Maybe that’s another lesson I’m still learning.

Grace doesn’t require perfection.

Sometimes you get to look at the people you love and realize that despite all the things you got wrong, love remained.

That’s a pretty beautiful thing.

Maybe I’m Not Running Out of Time

Maybe that’s what I’m still learning.

I’m not guaranteed endless years. None of us are. But maybe I don’t need to spend the years I do have panicking about everything I haven’t accomplished yet. Maybe I just need to plant the seed.

Do the work.

Water it.

Protect it.

Be patient.

Trust God when I can’t see what comes next. I don’t need the entire process mapped out. I don’t need to know exactly what the harvest will look like. And I certainly don’t need to be perfect. I just need to be brave enough to take the next step.

Maybe 58 isn’t the beginning of the end.

Maybe it’s the beginning of something I didn’t have the freedom, courage, or understanding to begin before.

Maybe God isn’t finished with me yet.

Actually, I know He isn’t.

So here I am.

Almost 58.

Still figuring things out.

Still learning.

Still dreaming.

Still laughing that I’m somebody’s grandmother.

Still wondering what I’m going to be when I grow up.

And still planting seeds.

One seed. One step. One day at a time.

I’ll let God handle the harvest.

A Little Something to Think About

Maybe you’re not 58. Maybe you’re 28. Or 42. Or 70.

Maybe you’re looking at your own life and wondering how you got here, what comes next, or whether there’s still time to become the person you hoped you’d be.

If that’s you, I hope you know this:

You don’t have to have it all figured out.

You don’t need the perfect plan.

You don’t need to see the whole path.

Maybe you just need to plant the seed you already have.

What are you still figuring out?

I’d love to hear from you in the comments. Maybe we’re figuring out more of the same things than we realize. ❤️

Posted in Walking Through the Bible

Walking Through The Bible: Deuteronomy

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

I keep a journal that I write in daily. Nothing fancy – just my thoughts, what’s happening in my life, or whatever happens to be on my mind at the moment.

Every once in a while, I like to go back and read it. Sometimes, I can see how far I’ve come on certain journeys. Other times, I realize I’m still stuck in places I thought I had already moved beyond. But either way, looking back has become a useful tool for helping me move forward.

In a lot of ways, Deuteronomy felt like that to me.

As I read it, I felt like I was sitting beside Moses while he looked back over everything Israel had experienced. He knew his time on earth was coming to an end. God had already told him that he would not enter the Promised Land. Yet Moses didn’t simply walk away. Instead, he spent his remaining time reminding Israel who God was, what God had done, and what they needed to remember after he was gone.

So, as I finished Deuteronomy, these are the things that stood out to me. 

1. Faithfulness doesn’t end just because our time is almost up.

Moses knew his time was done. He knew he would die, and God had already told him so.

Yet Moses remained faithful to the work God had given him right up until the very end.

That really struck me.

We sometimes think of our purpose as something that belongs to a particular season of our lives. But Moses reminds me that as long as God gives us breath, there is still something He can ask us to do.

We don’t get to decide when our usefulness ends.

Moses didn’t.

2. God made sure the Israelites understood the assignment.

There really wasn’t much gray area.

God laid out some fierce and mighty blessings for obedience and some equally fierce and mighty consequences for disobedience.

That might sound harsh to modern ears, but I think there is something incredibly loving about making the choices and consequences clear.

God wasn’t playing games with them.

He told them what He expected. He told them what would happen. And then He let them choose.

Which brings me to the next thing I learned.

3. God gives us a choice.

Too often, I think people view Christianity as a giant list of things God is going to make us do.

“If I become a Christian, God will make me give this up.”

“God will make me start doing that.”

But that’s not what I see in Deuteronomy.

God gives us a choice.

He doesn’t force our hand. He doesn’t drag us into obedience kicking and screaming. Instead, He gives us the opportunity to choose Him, choose obedience, and ultimately choose to accept His unconditional love.

And maybe that’s what makes the choice so meaningful.

Love that is forced isn’t really love.

4. Moses reminded Israel where they had come from.

Throughout Deuteronomy, Moses recapped Israel’s journey out of Egypt and everything God had done for them.

And he didn’t leave out the ugly parts.

Israel had rebelled. They had complained. They had forgotten. They had messed up.

And yet God continued to provide.

Moses reminded them of God’s grace, His faithfulness, and His supernatural provision.

In other words, he was telling them, Don’t forget what God has already done.

That is something I need to remember, too.

Because sometimes when I’m staring at what’s wrong right now, I forget to look back at everything God has already carried me through.

5. God’s Word was meant to be passed down.

One of the things that really stood out to me was the importance placed on teaching God’s instructions to the next generation.

The Book of Instruction was to be read and taught regularly, including at the appointed seven-year gathering. The purpose wasn’t simply for the people who were there. It was about remembering, teaching, and making sure the next generation knew what God had done.

In a very loose comparison, it was their version of having God’s Word available to them, long before we had the Bibles we can pick up and read today.

That made me think about how easily we can take access to Scripture for granted.

We have it everywhere.

We can read it on our phones. We can listen to it in the car. We can have multiple Bibles sitting on a shelf.

But having access to God’s Word and actually passing it along are two very different things.

6. God Himself buried Moses.

This one stopped me.

When Moses died, God Himself buried him.

God took care of Moses even in death.

I don’t know about you, but there’s something incredibly intimate about that.

Moses had spent his life walking with God, talking with God, arguing with God, obeying God, and sometimes getting things spectacularly wrong.

And yet, at the end of his life, God was still there.

There is something beautiful about that relationship.

7. Moses loved God deeply and he talked to Him plainly.

Moses wasn’t perfect.

He faltered. He made mistakes. He became frustrated. He even lost his temper.

But through all of it, he never wavered in his love for God.

The relationship between Moses and God feels incredibly personal to me.

And that’s another thing I took away from Deuteronomy: we don’t have to talk to God like we’re writing a letter to a king.

No King James English required.

No Shakespearean vocabulary necessary.

We can talk to God plainly.

We can tell Him when we’re angry. When we’re afraid. When we’re confused. When we’re grateful. When we don’t understand what He’s doing.

Moses certainly wasn’t afraid to speak honestly with God.

And I think there’s something comforting about knowing that God doesn’t require us to put on a performance before we come to Him.

Final Thoughts

If I had to wrap up everything I learned from reading Deuteronomy in one verse, it would be this:

“Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses. Now I call on heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Oh, that you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live!”

— Deuteronomy 30:19, NLT

Moses spoke those words to the Israelites.

But when I read them, they feel like they come straight from the heart of the Father.

Choose life.

Choose God.

Choose grace.

Choose love.

Choose Jesus.

Because ultimately, that’s what I believe Deuteronomy taught me.

God has given us a choice.

And every day, in big ways and small ones, we get to decide which way we’re going to walk.

Posted in Life, Lately

Life Lately: A Journey into Grief. Again.

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

This past weekend was very busy. My daughter and her family came in for a visit, which meant a lot of Sophia time. My father and stepmom were here too, and that was such a joy because I love watching Sophia interact with them. She does it a little more each time.

When she slows down, that is.

When they left on Sunday, I was very, very tired, as I usually am after spending time with Sophia. I am a grandma, after all, and my energy levels are very different from when her mother was her age.

Very. Different.

Shelby and I ran some errands, did some cleaning, and started putting our home back into its pre-Sophia state. I had bought myself a snack and planned a long afternoon and evening in my chair, enjoying the peace and quiet, recharging my social battery, watching British mysteries, and crocheting.

And then the phone call came.

Like all phone calls like this, it split my life into more epochs. There is a before the call and an after the call.

My Uncle Jim had unexpectedly passed away.

Since then, my mind has been flooded with memories. I have been part of his life for as long as I can remember. He, along with my Aunt Ro (my angel-auntie who went to Heaven eight years ago) made up much of my childhood.

My earliest memory is of being sick while visiting them.

Over the years, Uncle Jim taught me what family meant and how much one person can do for the people they love, often at the expense of themselves. He also became one of the few men who set the standard by which I measure all the other men in my life.

As a child, I remember sitting in front of the living room fan, fresh from a cool bath after playing outside all day in the summer heat. Uncle Jim would sip an RC Cola while we watched M*A*S*H. He was a Vietnam veteran, so watching that show with him felt like catching a glimpse of what his life might have been like.

Uncle Jim also taught me the fine art of finding alternative vocabulary when certain words were forbidden. Specifically, when we were watching football. Football required a very specific collection of words that could not be repeated by us kids. I’ll spare you the actual vocabulary, but let’s just say he had a creative way of expressing his displeasure with a referee without technically using a swear word.

And then there were football games in person. Give Uncle Jim about ten minutes in the stands and he would somehow know everyone within a ten-foot radius. And I mean know them. First names, where they were from, probably what they had for breakfast. Every man was “Guy.” “Hey, Guy!” “How ya doing, Guy?” “Good game, Guy!” Put him anywhere, and somehow, he belonged.

He never hugged any of us kids without first hugging his wife. That was always reserved for her.

While my home life was atypical, theirs felt like stepping into The Dick Van Dyke Show. He even looked like Rob Petrie!

As a teenager, I lived with my mom a few doors down from Aunt Ro and Uncle Jim. It was where I turned sixteen.

Like most girls, I threw a party and invited all my “friends.” One by one, they offered excuses for why they couldn’t come. People have always come into and out of my life without much explanation, and honestly, it still happens today. I’ve learned to grow a thick skin and stick with the few people who have proven themselves true.

Shortly after the last girl called to say she wouldn’t make it, I retreated into my room…and into my imagination.

Then the doorbell rang.

Uncle Jim stood there in a suit and tie, holding a bouquet of flowers.

He had heard about my party.

We went to Baker’s Square, where I had dinner and a slice of birthday pie. He listened to all my silly dreams. He wiped away my tears. He made me laugh. He told me I was worth tens of thousands of all those girls who didn’t show up.

I knew that wasn’t true.

But it made me feel pretty darn good at the time.

He also took me to my high school junior father-daughter dinner dance. Unlike the other dads, who stood on the sidelines or sat at the tables, Uncle Jim never missed a dance.

We danced the slow ones, just like we used to when I was little and would stand on top of his feet. And when “The Twist” came on, he opened up a space and let those gangly arms and legs flail about quite unnaturally, I might add.

One would think an ambulance would need to be called.

Then came Good Morning, Vietnam.

When the movie came out, Uncle Jim told me he had heard Adrian Cronauer when he was in the service. I knew the movie would be important to him, and we were both Robin Williams fans, so naturally, we went together.

As we found our seats, I commented that I loved the song playing overhead but couldn’t remember who sang it.

Uncle Jim excused himself and left the auditorium.

I thought nothing of it until he came back, apologizing that the manager didn’t know the artist either.

Except that wasn’t quite what happened.

He had actually approached the manager just to find out the name of the artist for me.

That was Uncle Jim.

When I told him I was getting divorced, he offered to move Heaven and hell to bring me and my girls back home, where he believed we belonged.

He wasn’t perfect.

None of us are.

But over the years, I watched him do hard things.

He tried to heal from PTSD after serving in Vietnam and enduring the horrible welcome he received when he came home.

He held his wife together as they lost baby after baby.

He tried to maintain his dignity in the face of joblessness.

And finally, he knew when it was time to let go. He said goodbye to his wife of forty-seven years, held her hand, and told her it was okay to go to Jesus.

No, he wasn’t perfect.

But he was always there.

He always showed up.

He always opened his arms.

He never wanted to see anyone out in the cold or without a home.

He was the kind of man who, when eighteen-month-old me cried and cried because my Aunt Ro was going out on a date, turned the car around and told his soon-to-be girlfriend—and later his wife—to go back and “get Vikki.”

Yes.

I went with them on their very first date.

He was that kind of man.

And now he’s gone.

And somehow, I find myself grieving not only the man I lost this week, but the little girl I was when he showed up for her.

The teenager sitting alone in her bedroom on her Sweet Sixteen.

The young woman who needed someone to dance with her.

The divorced mom who needed someone to tell her that she and her girls belonged somewhere safe.

And the little eighteen-month-old who simply didn’t want Aunt Ro to leave without her.

Uncle Jim showed up for all of them.

He showed up for me.

And I think that may be what grief is doing to me right now – reminding me of just how many times one person can quietly become part of the foundation of your life.

I knew I loved him.

I just didn’t realize how much of my life he was holding up until now.

Posted in Health & Wellness

Weight Loss and Menopause

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Let’s Talk About Weight

Let’s talk about my favorite subject: weight loss.

Or weight gain, in my experience.

Or really, weight anything, which bothers me because I was not born into a family known for being “skinny.”

Now, I don’t want to turn this into a “poor me, I’m fat” post. I also don’t want to go on a rant about why fat-shaming still seems to be acceptable in the media when apparently everyone gets offended by everything else.

And I don’t want to spend this post talking about doctors who discount plus-size people the second they look at us and decide they already know what’s wrong.

Because honestly, that one deserves its own post.

How many serious health problems were missed because a doctor looked at a number on a scale and decided that explained everything?

But this post isn’t about any of that.

It’s about my struggle.

More importantly, it’s about what I’m learning in this menopause season of life.

Menopause Is a Beast

Menopause is a beast.

And I don’t think we’ve even discovered all the ways this beast can affect a woman’s body.

One of the most obvious symptoms I’ve experienced?

Weight gain.

Now, I know all the things I could and should be doing to lose weight.

Eat better.

Move more.

Drink more water.

Sleep better.

Manage stress.

And apparently stop eating Oreos like they are part of my treatment plan.

I know all of it.

But that’s not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about how the weight creeps up on you.

And then…

BOOM!

Fifty pounds has somehow taken up residence on your body.

Overnight.

Okay, maybe not literally overnight.

But it sure feels that way.

And the strangest part?

I didn’t feel like I was doing anything dramatically different from what I had done before.

Yet suddenly, there it was.

And getting it off?

That battle is real.

Because unlike weight loss before menopause, this feels like a battle of the mind and emotions as much as the body.

I’m no doctor, so let me be clear: I’m speaking strictly from my own experience.

Before Menopause, It Felt Simpler

Before menopause, losing weight felt like more of a decision.

Decide.

Find a plan.

Execute.

And, for the most part, my body cooperated.

I could lose weight much more easily than I can now.

Unfortunately, for me, and probably for many women my age, there’s another part of this equation that nobody seems to talk about enough.

Menopause + COVID + Life

Menopause started for me at 50.

And it happened at a particularly difficult time.

I had just lost my mom.

I changed jobs.

I changed housing.

And then…

BOOM.

COVID lockdowns.

Stay home.

No contact with family.

Little contact with the outside world.

No going into the office.

No normal routines.

Just me.

At home.

Day after day.

If women who weren’t going through menopause experienced depression, isolation, anxiety, and what everyone jokingly called the “COVID 20,” imagine what all of that did to someone whose hormones were already doing their own version of a demolition derby.

Looking back, I can see how much those circumstances affected me.

Fast-forward to now, and I’m struggling.

The One Thing I Haven’t Fully Given to God

Here’s where this gets personal.

This may be the one area of my life that I haven’t consistently taken to the Lord in prayer.

Oh, I’ve prayed about it.

Sort of.

I’ve prayed:

“Lord, please help me not eat this Oreo.”

“Lord, help me get up and walk more.”

And even:

“Lord, please make this broccoli taste more like a bite of chocolate.”

And then…

Nothing.

Well, not nothing.

It’s not that God didn’t hear me.

In fact, there are times when I can almost hear Him laughing.

Not because He doesn’t care.

But because I suspect He knows exactly what I’m doing.

I’m asking Him to help me while still trying to maintain control of the situation myself.

And He probably looks down at me and thinks, “Are we ready to surrender this yet, Vikki?”

Fair question, Lord.

So I’m Going Small

In all seriousness, I’m desperate to take this to the Lord and completely surrender it to Him.

God knows me.

He knows that big goals overwhelm me.

He knows that when I look at a giant mountain, I sometimes spend so much time staring at it that I forget to take the first step.

So here’s my plan:

Little goals.
Little movements.
Small changes.
One day at a time.

Has this all been done before?

Yes.

But two things are different this time.

Two Things I’m Doing Differently

1. I’m Done Chasing Numbers

I refuse to look at numbers anymore.

They bother me.

They discourage me.

And I’ve had enough doctors throw numbers at me along with medication recommendations designed to make those numbers fit into the ever-moving goalposts they call “normal.”

I don’t want my entire health journey reduced to a number on a scale.

I want to focus on being healthier.

Stronger.

More active.

Better nourished.

And able to do more of the things I want to do.

2. I’m Giving This Battle to God

This is the big one.

God has faithfully fought so many other battles with me.

Why I haven’t completely yielded this one to Him is honestly beyond me.

Maybe because some things I still think I can handle on my own.

But Scripture reminds us that God is our very present help in times of trouble.

And I need to remember that includes this.

Galatians 3:13 reminds us that Christ has redeemed us from the curse.

And Psalm 104:14–15 reminds us that God provides the earth with food for us to enjoy and that food brings nourishment and strength.

I love that.

There’s even a little skincare reference in there.

Apparently, God was ahead of the beauty industry, too.

I Don’t Have to Figure It All Out

Clearly, God wants to be involved in this part of my life.

And why I’ve been so reluctant to completely yield it to Him is something I’m still working through.

But I know this much:

I don’t have to figure everything out.

I don’t have to know exactly where this journey will lead.

I don’t have to have the perfect plan.

I just need to obey.

Take the next step.

Make the better choice.

Move my body.

Eat food that nourishes me.

Rest when I need to rest.

And rely on strength that isn’t my own.

My health is still good, and I’m grateful for that.

But I want to do better.

I want to be able to do more with my grandchildren.

I want to be there for them.

But more importantly, I want to do more for myself.

I want to feel stronger.

I want to move more freely.

I want to enjoy this season of my life instead of constantly fighting with my body.

And I want to stop treating my health like something I have to figure out all by myself.

So this time, I’m giving it to God.

One little goal.

One little movement.

One small change.

One obedient step at a time.

And if I mess up?

I’ll start again.

Because apparently, grace applies to diets, too.

Although, I really do wish with all my heart that somewhere in the Bible it specifically mentioned ice cream, chocolate, and cupcakes.

Because clearly, I have questions.

And I feel like Jesus and I could have worked that out.

Posted in Midlife & Beyond

Almost 58 and Still Figuring It Out

Posted on by Vikki Lynn Sorensen

Life is funny. Or so they say.

I remember being in high school, long ago, and thinking I would have my whole life figured out by the time I reached my 50s. Fifty seemed positively ancient back then.

Then I graduated and started working. I remember thinking, “Just a few more years, and then I’ll get married and life will begin.”

I assumed I would spend my 20s sorting everything out and then spend my 30s really living life.

Of course, life had other plans.

My 30s arrived, and I found myself in an unhappy marriage with two beautiful girls who still bring so much sparkle to my life. I remember thinking, This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

By the end of my 30s, I was divorced and living back at home, thank God. I entered my 40s trying to rebuild not only my life, but myself.

Don’t get me wrong. Divorce freed me to finally start living again, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of the most painful seasons of my life.

Just Keeping My Head Above Water

I feel like I surfed through most of my 40s.

Neither here nor there.

Just maintaining. Keeping my head above water. Doing what needed to be done and trying to figure out what came next.

Then, near the end of my 40s, life changed again.

Big.

And painful.

I lost the two women who had been my anchors.

So once again, I entered another decade rebuilding my life and rebuilding myself.

Only this time, there wasn’t anyone to make it happen for me like there had been before.

It was just me and God.

Eight Years of Growth

I’m almost 58 now, and these past eight years haven’t exactly been easy.

But something has changed.

I can honestly say I’ve probably experienced more personal growth during these years than I did in all the decades before them.

I built a life for my girls and me as we learned to heal after losing my mom and my aunt.

I watched my little girl get married to the man of her dreams.

My older daughter was diagnosed with autism and found her person for this life.

I bought a house with my sister.

I became a grandmother.

Those things are precious. They are some of the sweetest gifts God has given me.

But even those things don’t compare to the deeper work God has been doing in me.

The correction.

The pruning.

The uncomfortable moments when He lovingly shows me that some things I thought were simply who I am are actually things He wants to change.

And honestly, that has been one of the greatest gifts of this season.

Finally Saying Yes

For the first time in my life, I feel like I am fully submitted to His will, whatever that may be.

And yes, I’m saying yes.

Although I am still respectfully asking Him not to relocate me to Florida or call me to be a missionary somewhere without air conditioning, where bugs and snakes are apparently considered part of the scenery.

But other than that?

Yes, Lord.

I’m also finally beginning to release my Vulcan death grip on old hurts.

And hear me when I say this: letting go of past hurts isn’t always about just forgiving someone else. Sometimes it’s about repenting for the part I played in the story.

That one hurts.

But it’s also freeing.

For a long time, I thought healing meant getting past what other people had done to me. Now I’m realizing that healing also means allowing God to show me where I need to take responsibility, change, repent, and move forward.

That kind of honesty isn’t always comfortable.

But freedom rarely is.

So What’s the Plan?

So what’s the plan as I head toward my 60s?

Start now.

Don’t be a “one day” girl.

Be a “day one” woman.

I heard a pastor say that once, and it has stayed with me.

I have two years and two months left in my 50s, and I don’t want to end this decade the way the last two ended, with me simply surviving, maintaining, or waiting for the next thing to happen.

I want to walk into my 60s prepared.

Not perfect.

Prepared.

Strong in Mind and Body

I want to be strong.

Strong in mind.

Strong in body.

Strong in faith.

I want a healthy mind that recognizes the enemy’s attacks instead of entertaining every fearful thought that walks through the door.

I want to be like a deeply rooted tree, steady when the storms come and not swept away by every tornado of what if and what now.

I want to live in a healthy body, fueled in a way that honors God and strong enough to move easily.

I want to dance in it.

Ride bikes in it.

Get down on the floor and roll around with my grandchildren in it.

And I want to be able to do whatever God asks of me for as long as He gives me.

A Prayer Life That Moves Heaven

I want a prayer life that breaks chains and rattles walls.

I want my daughters and sons-in-law to know they have a praying mama.

More than that, I want my grandchildren to grow up knowing, My grandma prays. And when Grandma prays, Heaven moves.

I don’t want prayer to be something I squeeze into my day when everything else is finished.

I want it to be the foundation underneath everything else.

Less Fear, More Obedience

I want to become fearless about reaching people for Jesus.

Not just being a pillar in my church, but being willing to step outside the comfortable walls of church and talk to someone about Jesus without letting fear talk me out of obedience.

I want to be willing to have the conversation.

To offer encouragement.

To pray for someone.

To share what Jesus has done in my life.

And I want my words to sound less like me and more like the Father.

Freedom to Say Yes

I want to be debt free, owing no one anything except a debt of love.

Because there is a different kind of freedom that comes when you aren’t financially tied down and can say yes when God puts someone on your heart.

We are blessed to be a blessing.

And I want to be free to bless people.

I want to be closer than ever to retirement, not because I don’t want to work, but because I want the work I do to be God-ordained work.

I want to use the gifts, talents, experiences, and even the hobbies God has given me to encourage people.

I want to reach younger women.

I want to minister to older women.

I want to write.

I want to create.

I want to serve.

I want to make people laugh.

I want to tell stories that point people back to Jesus.

And I don’t want to wait until I retire to start living that way.

This Is the Part That Matters

That’s the thing I’m finally beginning to understand. The woman I want to be in my 60s isn’t going to magically appear when I blow out the candles on my 60th birthday. The life I want isn’t waiting for me somewhere in the future. It is being built right now, in the choices I make today, the things I surrender today, the hurts I finally release, the habits I build, the prayers I pray, and the obedience that sometimes feels uncomfortable.

Maybe that’s what this season of life is really about. Not starting over. Not becoming someone completely different. But allowing God to finish the work He started in me all those years ago.

I spent a lot of my younger years waiting for my life to begin. I don’t want to do that anymore. My life isn’t waiting for me somewhere in my 60s. It’s happening right now.

And for the first time, I don’t need to have the whole thing figured out. I just need to know Who is leading me.

So here I am. Almost 58. Still learning. Still growing. Still messing things up occasionally. Still asking God to please keep the snakes out of my future. But more surrendered than I’ve ever been, and ready.

Not for some perfect future version of my life.

For today. For this season. For whatever God puts in front of me next.