Gifting Grace

The journey to 50, I didn’t hear a voice from heaven or suddenly feel like I had everything figured out.

What I felt instead was stillness.

The kind of stillness that comes when life finally slows down enough for you to hear your own thoughts—and maybe God’s—more clearly. Turning 50 didn’t change my faith, but it changed how I listen. It changed the questions I ask and the way I sit with the answers.

And the question that kept coming back to me was simple: What now, Lord?

For most of my life, faith lived alongside responsibility. I prayed, believed, trusted—but I was also busy building, fixing, providing, pushing through. There was always something urgent. Always someone who needed me to be strong. I didn’t doubt God, but I didn’t always pause long enough to seek direction beyond “help me get through this.”

Life after 50 feels different.

There’s more room now. More quiet. And in that quiet, I’ve noticed how much of my life was driven by fear disguised as duty—fear of failing, fear of disappointing others, fear of not being enough. Turning 50 has gently forced me to confront that.

Scripture talks about seasons, and this one feels like a shifting season. Not an ending, but a pruning. God removing what no longer bears fruit so something healthier can grow.

That process isn’t comfortable.

There’s grief here too. Grief for prayers that weren’t answered the way I hoped. For paths I thought God would open that stayed closed. For years when I was faithful but still tired, obedient but still unsure. Faith doesn’t erase disappointment—it gives you a place to bring it.

I’ve learned that sorrow is part of belief.

At 50, my faith feels less about certainty and more about trust. I don’t need everything explained anymore. I just need to know I’m not walking alone. I’ve stopped asking God to rush the plan and started asking Him to refine my heart.

One of the biggest changes has been how I view success. I used to measure it by outcomes—achievements, stability, approval. Now I measure it by obedience, peace, and alignment. By whether my life reflects what I say I believe.

Turning 50 has made me more honest with God.

I no longer pretend I have endless energy. I don’t promise things I can’t sustain. I ask for wisdom more than answers. And I’ve learned that rest is not laziness—it’s biblical. Even Jesus withdrew.

Health has become part of my stewardship. This body isn’t something to fight against or ignore; it’s something I’ve been entrusted with. I care for it now not out of conceit, but gratitude. I want to be present for the years God still has planned.

Relationships have shifted too. I value depth, accountability, and grace more than ever. I’m less interested in being right and more interested in being kind. Less focused on being impressive and more focused on being faithful.

And then there’s the hope.

Faith has a way of making turning 50 feel less like running out of time and more like being repositioned. God has never been limited by age. Scripture is full of people who stepped into calling later than expected. If anything, experience makes obedience richer.

So when I ask, What now? the answer isn’t a roadmap.

• Now I listen more than I speak.
• Now I trust God with what I can’t control.
• Now I release what no longer fits this season.

Turning 50 hasn’t weakened my faith. It’s deepened it.

I don’t need to know everything that’s ahead. I just need to take the next faithful step.

And that feels enough.