As I record this on December 30th, I’m not in the space of big resolutions or grand declarations for 2025. Instead, I’m sitting with what I’ve been noticing—about aging, about faith, about what actually sustains us when life shifts beneath our feet.

At 57 (turning 58 in February), I’m discovering something unexpected: the less I try to control, the freer I feel. It’s not that life has gotten easier—it hasn’t. But I’m learning to trust more and grip less, and that shift has changed everything.

In this New Year’s reflection, I share what’s been on my heart:

✅ Why the 40s might be the hardest decade, but post-55 brings a different kind of freedom

✅ The quiet loneliness I’m witnessing in widowed parents—and what it’s teaching me about companionship

✅ How my faith has deepened not despite suffering, but through learning to surrender it

✅ Why material things matter less and lasting relationships matter infinitely more

✅ The beauty hiding in ordinary moments—if we slow down enough to see them

✅ What’s changing with this podcast in 2025 (hint: fewer topics, more life)

I’m also opening up about the realities of aging—the one-week vacation that now takes six days to recover from, the back pain that humbles me, the friend who just became a grandparent and made me realize that season isn’t far off. These aren’t complaints; they’re invitations to pay attention to what we have while we have it.

This episode isn’t about answers or advice. It’s about reflection, gratitude, and the shift that happens when you stop trying to have everything figured out. Consider this less like a lesson and more like sitting down for coffee together on a cold Sunday morning.

🔔 Remember: Your life can change in seconds through a phone call, a text, an accident. What we have is precious. The question isn’t whether we’ll face suffering—it’s whether we’ll learn to surrender it and find meaning in the ordinary days we’re given.

Thank you for listening, for being here, and for walking into this new year with me. I’ll meet you back here in January.