aging with Jesus

“Aging With Jesus…”

I used to measure life

in milestones—

first steps, first days,

firsts that felt like beginnings.

Now I measure it

in mornings He meets me,

in the steadiness of grace,

in the way He stays.

Aging with Jesus

doesn’t mean growing weaker—

it means learning

where my strength was

all along.

It’s waking up

with hands that look different,

knees that feel the years,

and a heart that trusts Him more

than it ever did before.

It’s knowing

I don’t have to hurry anymore.

He isn’t impressed by my pace.

He walks with me,

even when I need to stop.

Wrinkles become markers

of laughter He gave me,

of tears He carried with me,

of prayers He answered

in ways I didn’t expect.

Aging with Jesus

means the noise fades

but the truth gets louder.

The world asks less of me,

and He asks only

that I stay close.

I don’t fear the years ahead.

Not because they’ll be easy—

but because He’ll be there,

the same as He’s always been.

Still faithful.

Still kind.

Still holding my hand

as time moves on.

And if this body slows,

if my voice softens,

if my days grow quieter—

let them be filled

with the sound of His presence.

Because growing older with Jesus

is not losing life—

it’s finally understanding

what it was all for.

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https://thegrandparentsclub.myshopify.com/collections/all

what does it feel like to grow older?

Someone once asked me:

“What does it feel like to grow older?”

I wasn’t offended.

It just caught me off guard.

Because I don’t wake up every morning thinking, “I’m old.”

I wake up, stretch, make my tea or coffee — and start another day.

But later, when I sat with that question by myself, I realized something:

Growing older isn’t something I’m afraid of.

It’s something I’m starting to truly appreciate.

🌿 I don’t rush through life anymore.

🌿 I don’t try to keep up with everything — or everyone.

🌿 Some days I get everything done.

🌿 Some days I do nothing — and the world keeps spinning just fine.

I’ve learned not to fix things that don’t really matter.

I’ve learned that silence can be the strongest answer.

That peace is more important than being right.

And that not everyone has to understand me — and that’s okay.

Yes, along the way, I’ve lost things…

People. Moments. Parts of who I used to be.

And yes, sometimes it still hurts.

But I carry more love inside me now than I ever did.

More patience. More gentleness.

And a clearer sense of what actually matters.

I don’t pretend everything is fine when it isn’t.

I explain myself less.

And I don’t waste time worrying about what other people think of me.

🕊 If I feel like staring at the sky for an hour — I do.

If I need to cry over an old memory — I let myself.

If something makes me laugh — I laugh until I can’t breathe.

Because I know now:

Time doesn’t slow down.

And happiness doesn’t ask for permission.

So if you asked me again,

“What is it like to be older?”

I would say:

It’s freedom.

Freedom from things I once held onto too tightly.

Freedom to be myself — without rushing, without masks, without pretending.

I don’t know how much time I have left.

None of us do.

But I know this:

I won’t spend what’s left chasing perfection.

I just want to live —

calmly, honestly, and on my own terms.

And if that’s what getting older means —

I accept it with gratitude.

pray more, worry less

I’ve learned that worry grows loudest when prayer grows quiet. When my mind spirals with what ifs and worst-case scenarios, it’s usually a sign I’ve been carrying things I was never meant to hold alone.

Pray more. Worry less.

It sounds simple, but it’s deeply transformative. Every time I choose prayer over panic, I’m reminded that God is already aware, already present, already at work. Prayer doesn’t always change my circumstances right away, but it always changes me. It shifts my focus from fear to faith, from control to trust. Worry drains my peace; prayer restores it. I’m learning that the more I talk to God, the less power anxiety has over my heart.

Prayer:

Lord, help me turn to You first instead of worrying. When anxious thoughts rise, remind me to pray and trust You with every concern. Fill my heart with peace that surpasses understanding and teach me to rest in Your care today. Amen.

Surround Yourself with Women

"Surround yourself with strong women, women more beautiful than you, smarter than you, and don't envy them, admire them.

Surround yourself with good women who know how to listen, who know how to care, from whom you learn to relate to the world, women who teach you their power.

Surround yourself with women to weave an invisible web, a web for other women, so you don't let them fall, so they feel the collective hug, so they don't feel alone or crazy.

Surround yourself with women who embrace their shadow, who don't apologize for being light, who are aware of their beauty and that they are alive.

Surround yourself with irreverent and brave women, women fighters who open the way and tear down walls, women of reference, women who do not ask for permission, who build their homes with the same hands, with which they cradle and caress.

Surround yourself with women who help you live as you are, who give you confidence and affection, who remind you that they are all one."

Source: Roy Galán

Growing old isn't easy

Growing old isn’t easy.

We lose strength.

We forget things.

And with each passing day, we step a little closer to the end of this life.

But I am not afraid.

Because when this life ends, another begins.

A life where my body is restored.

Where my mind is clear.

Where every ache, every loss, every limitation is gone.

And most of all,

I will meet Jesus face to face.

That is my hope.

That is my peace.

Jesus, it's just me tonight

Jesus, it’s just me tonight.♥♥🕯

No carefully chosen words,

no strong-sounding faith,

only a heart that knows

You already understand.

I’m tired in ways sleep doesn’t fix.

Carrying things I thought I’d outgrow.

Learning that some worries linger

longer than expected.

There are days I feel steady,

and days I feel easily shaken.

But I’m discovering that faith

isn’t about feeling brave,

it’s about turning toward You

even when my hands tremble.

I’ve asked You for direction

and felt You give peace instead.

I’ve prayed for answers

and found You staying near

while questions remained.

I don’t always understand the timing,

the slow healing,

the prayers that seem unfinished.

But I’m still here.

Still choosing trust.

Still believing You are closer

than my doubts allow me to feel.

Thank You for not pulling away

when I struggled.

For holding me steady

when I appeared strong but wasn’t.

For hearing the prayers

I couldn’t put into words.

I’m learning that trusting You

doesn’t mean fear disappears,

it means I don’t carry it alone.

So here I am again.

Open hands.

A willing heart.

Asking You to guide me,

even when the path is quiet.

I don’t know everything.

But I know You do.

And for now,

that’s enough

to let my soul breathe.