Sixty days before 60

Everyone is posting their 2016 photos, and with a milestone birthday ahead, I’ve been reflecting on my own decade. If you had asked me back then what the next ten years would hold, I’m fairly certain this wouldn’t have been my answer. That year began a stretch of becoming I didn’t see coming.

Somewhere along the way, I became a John Maxwell coach and a DISC consultant. I went back to university and earned a certificate in Leadership. I started a business—or two—and stepped into arenas I hadn’t imagined. I even found myself behind a microphone, podcasting with my husband… which, if you had known me earlier, would have seemed unlikely at best.

None of it followed a straight line. None of it was predictable. It was more about saying “yes” to the gentle nudges—and realizing something important: these choices, these relationships, these small moments—I want to steward them well.

Sixty days before sixty.

It sounds like a countdown, but it feels more like an invitation: to lean in, to listen, and notice what really matters.

I used to think I’d have it all figured out by now. Not perfectly—but at least mostly.

And yet, here I am. Still working through things, with more patience and more peace than I expected. Growth doesn’t retire; if anything, it becomes more honest. I’m still learning. Still becoming.

And still discovering as I recently found out I’m 53% Scottish. Which explains a few things: my strong will, forthrightness, my tendency to hold on a little longer than I should, look for the gold in the story ...perhaps a little stubbornness isn’t always a bad thing.

It’s not just the traits I inherited that I’m appreciating, but the choices that shaped me. Like my young mom choosing to keep me, at a time when the world whispered shame for a baby born out of wedlock. Maybe it was the Scottish in her, but that took courage. And I'm thankful––it made all the rest possible.

A couple of years ago, I was walking along the beach while visiting my mom on Vancouver Island and I came across a single maple leaf washed up with the tide. I wondered how far it had traveled before landing there. For a moment, I just held it, as if I was more aware of all the ordinary things that shape a life, even when we don’t notice.

I've come to learn a lot more about my roots in the last few years and interestingly enough, it matters less than it used to. Because I know who I am, and whose I am. My faith grounds me, and also keeps me in this place of learning, ever curious. It's so true that the more I know, the less I know.

And while we’re talking about roots, I left those behind in the last decade as well. My granddaughter told me recently that she missed my brown hair and that I "look older now". She’s not wrong, and I love her honesty. I laughed, hugged her tight and told her I resisted for a long time too. But I stepped into it because I want her to know that aging is a gift—not something to hide.

There are many things I want my grandchildren to know someday. Not the polished, impressive stories—but the ones that really matter:

• Life won’t always go the way you planned—and that doesn’t mean it’s gone wrong.

• Who you become matters more than what you accomplish.

• Kindness is never wasted. Even towards yourself.

• Live your most authentic life, until you know that who you are is already enough.

• Faith doesn’t have to be loud to be real—but it will hold you steady through the storms.

This decade, even my dreams already feel different. Less about needing to be something, more about just being.

So what does 60 look like? I’m not entirely sure. I still have 60 days, after all.

But I know it’s not a finish line. If the last decade taught me anything, it’s that the most meaningful parts of life are rarely the ones you plan. They’re the ones you grow into. And sometimes, they catch you by surprise—like a maple leaf washed ashore.

Sixty days before sixty.

I’m still learning how to steward well what I’ve been given, to press into my weaknesses, and not hide behind my strengths, and to discover the purpose I’ve been entrusted with along the way.

And maybe that’s the truest measure of life: to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God through it all.

Och aye ["Oh yes"].