“I am not simply growing older;
I am becoming more deeply the woman God created me to be.”

Every year, as my birthday approaches, I find myself looking back.

Not simply at the years that have passed, but at the gifts I have collected along the way.

Some gifts came wrapped in joy. Others arrived disguised as disappointment, loss, change, or heartache. Some were people. Some were lessons. Some were answers to prayers. Others were prayers I am still waiting to see answered.

But this year, I have been reminded that a gift doesn’t have to be easy to be precious.

So, as I celebrate another year of life, I want to record the gifts I have collected.

The gift of being anchored.

This year taught me that being anchored doesn’t mean the waters are always calm. It means I have discovered something—or Someone—strong enough to hold me when they aren’t.

I have been stretched, shaken, disappointed, and surprised. And yet, underneath it all, God has been teaching me that my security cannot rest in circumstances, relationships, approval, or outcomes.

I am learning to be anchored in Him.

The gift of letting go.

I have had to release visions I once held tightly.

Some dreams didn’t unfold the way I imagined. Some relationships changed. Some doors closed. Some expectations had to be surrendered.

Letting go has not always felt like freedom.

But I am learning that open hands can receive what clenched fists cannot.

The gift of grief.

I didn’t expect grief to be one of my gifts.

But grief has taught me to pay attention to what matters.

It has made me softer. More compassionate. More willing to sit with someone in their pain without rushing to fix it.

I have learned that sometimes love looks like lamenting alongside someone and simply saying, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The gift of people who stayed.

This may be one of the greatest gifts of all.

This year has revealed the people who walked toward me when life became complicated.

The ones who listened without judgment. Who asked questions instead of making assumptions. Who stood beside me when they couldn’t necessarily understand everything. Who reminded me of who I was when I temporarily forgot.

I will never take those people for granted.

There is something sacred about being fully known and still being loved.

The gift of curiosity.

I have tasted the destructiveness of judgment.

I have felt what happens when conclusions are formed without conversation, when assumptions replace understanding, and when people speak before they listen.

And because I have experienced that pain, I want to become someone who does things differently.

I want to be curious.

Quick to listen. Slow to speak.

I want to ask, “Help me understand what life has been like for you.”

I want kindness to lead me into conversations that could otherwise become walls.

That has been a profound gift.

The gift of becoming a better mother.

Motherhood has humbled me this year.

I have learned that loving my children deeply does not mean I will always get it right. I can have good intentions and still cause hurt. I can love fiercely and still need to listen more carefully.

I am learning that being a mother to adult children requires a different kind of surrender.

Less fixing.

More listening.

Less control.

More trust.

And perhaps the greatest lesson of all: I don’t have to be a perfect mother to be a present one.

The gift of new beginnings.

There have been endings this year.

But endings have a way of creating space.

Space to discover who I am apart from what I thought my life was supposed to look like.

Space to laugh again.

Space to dream again.

Space to discover new friendships, new possibilities, new rhythms, and new expressions of joy.

God has reminded me that a changed life is not necessarily a ruined life.

Sometimes it is simply a life being rewritten.

The gift of courage.

I have done hard things.

I have had difficult conversations. I have faced uncomfortable truths. I have made decisions that required courage rather than certainty.

And I have discovered that courage doesn’t mean I’m not afraid.

It means I refuse to let fear make all my decisions.

The gift of deeper faith.

Perhaps this is the gift underneath all the others.

My faith has become less about having everything figured out and more about knowing Who holds me when I don’t.

I don’t have answers to every question.

I don’t understand every detour.

I don’t know how every story will end.

But I know God is still good.

Still present.

Still faithful.

Still writing.

And that is enough for today.

The gift of joy.

Somewhere along the way, I found pieces of joy I thought might be lost forever.

The belly laughs.

The spontaneous moments.

The people who make me smile.

The little things.

The anticipation of what might be next.

Joy has taught me that happiness isn’t dependent upon having a perfect life.

Sometimes joy is simply evidence that your heart is healing.

And I am grateful to be healing.

The gift of myself.

Maybe this is the most unexpected gift of all.

This year, I have been getting to know myself again.

Not the version of me defined by a role.

Not someone’s wife.

Not someone’s mother.

Not someone’s approval.

Just me.

The woman God created.

The woman who is still becoming.

The woman who has scars and stories and dreams and questions.

The woman who has fallen down and gotten back up.

The woman who is learning that she doesn’t have to shrink herself to make other people comfortable.

I am learning to receive myself with the same grace I am learning to extend to others.

And at 57, I think that’s a beautiful gift.

So, as I celebrate another trip around the sun, I don’t find myself counting possessions.

I find myself counting gifts.

People who stayed.

Lessons that changed me.

Prayers that carried me.

Tears that softened me.

Laughter that restored me.

Courage that strengthened me.

Losses that taught me.

Grace that covered me.

And a God who never left me.

This year wasn’t everything I would have chosen.

But it gave me things I would never trade.

And maybe that is what I want to remember most about 57:

I didn’t simply survive another year.

I collected gifts.

And I am walking into this next year with open hands, a grateful heart, and a deep confidence that the God who has carried me this far isn’t finished with me yet.

Here’s to collecting more beautiful treasures in year “57.”

I can’t wait to see what gifts are waiting there.