Shop the fall collection ➔

Growing up, my grandparents hosted birthday parties that involved all of my dad’s aunts and uncles gathering around the kitchen table with a deck of pinochle cards dealt among them. After a few games, a “lunch” of sandwiches, cake, and hot cups of coffee would be served. 

I remember looking at the people gathered around that table—wrinkled fingers raking in cards, deep, scratchy voices calling out bids and naming trump, laughter mingled with German words I didn’t understand. The kids were never invited to the table, only allowed to watch from the outskirts. 

We were too young. And they were too old. 

Old—not in a disrespectful, rude kind of way. But old, as in from my child-sized eyes, I could see these people had experienced much of their lives already. That they were closer to the end of their stories than to the beginning.

Today, I look across the table at my own parents—now the same ages as those gathered around that table so long ago—and they don’t seem as old as the grandparents or great-aunts and uncles from my memories. Maybe it’s because I’m closer to those ages than to the years of my youth when the memories were formed . . .  

But the older I get, the less old “old” seems. 

RELATED: The View From 40 is Fabulous

I’m just shy of 40, but I watch my oldest back out of the driveway and it doesn’t feel like that long ago when I was navigating a similar path. I remember feeling brave and grown up behind the wheel of that maroon Chevy Astro minivan, like somehow the license that gave me permission to drive it catapulted me into adulthood. It seems like not that long ago I was saying goodbye to my grandma, who I worked with at a local restaurant, then calling her to let her know I had made it home safely. A lot like my daughter texts me “Headed home” when she leaves her after-school job.

It doesn’t seem like that long ago . . . until the year in today’s date reminds me it’s been over 20 years since I was actually in her shoes—or rather, her driver’s seat. 

I know I’m not a young mom anymore, and yet I don’t feel old either—at least not in the way I used to view old. 

I guess the older I get, the more I realize the image of old is changing. The picture of old is morphing from that of wrinkled hands and soft skin that sags from the cheekbones into eyes that hold wisdom, a heart that holds genuine love, hands that reach out with sincerity, and a smile that reflects years of fond memories. Old isn’t about physical appearance or limitations anymore, it’s about a shift in perspective. 

RELATED: I’m Finally Hitting My Stride

Old remembers the good old days and simpler times even as it is thrust into change and embraces it.

Old reflects on experience and places value on time and people over hustle and bustle and the gathering of all the things. 

Old appreciates a slower pace and develops a peace in the slowing down. 

Old has a better understanding of what’s important in life and makes decisions accordingly. 

Old holds wisdom that’s hard to find in the years of youth because life has not yet taught its most valuable lessons. 

RELATED: We’re Moms in our 40s and We Get it Now

Maybe it’s not that old seems less old now. Maybe it’s that I’m finally learning what it really means to grow old. 

And truly, it’s one of the most beautiful transformations. I’m beginning to understand that the end of our stories might actually be filled with the very best chapters. 

Kelsey Scism

Kelsey is a former language arts teacher, mother of five, principal’s wife, and most importantly a Christian loving our Lord. As a teacher, she loved inspiring and encouraging her students. Today, she finds inspiration in the everyday moments as a stay-at-home mom and hopes to encourage others along the way. You can check out more from her at https://lovingourlord.com or follow her on Facebook and Instagram @lovingourlordtogether.

Welcome to Periods in Your 30s and 40s

In: Health, Humor
Welcome to Periods in Your 30s and 40s www.herviewfromhome.com

Do you remember that day in the fifth grade when the boys and girls were separated for the “Sexuality and Development” talk? Some nice old lady health teacher came into your room and gave you some straight talk about how the next few years were going to go for you. It was awkward and shocking and you knew your childhood would never be the same. When you hit your mid-thirties, there should be some kind of Part Two to that conversation. All the ladies need to be rounded up, lead into a dimly lit classroom that smells vaguely of pencil...

Keep Reading

Being in Your Thirties is the Best

In: Living
Woman drinking coffee at home

I’m midway through my 37th year on this planet. In those 37 years, I’ve decided the 30s are the best years. I realize that’s a pretty bold statement from someone who (hopefully) isn’t even halfway through her life. Yet, I feel confident these years are the platform that will carry me successfully through the decades to come. Here’s what my 30s have taught me: Turning 30 isn’t that bad. To be fair, I’ve never been one who’s been bothered by numbers, but me turning 30 didn’t stop the world from turning. I figure it’s an age many aren’t afforded, so...

Keep Reading

I Like Midlife Me

In: Living
Smiling woman

I can keep straight in my head all the dates and endless elements of a dozen college application pieces for a child, but I can not figure out how to turn down the alarm on my cool new phone to save my life. I can—and do—cook mostly without recipes at this point, but I drive around with one headlight burned out because the thought of spending actual energy to go get it replaced just seems wasteful to me. I recently got excited about learning there are these vertical bin-things in which to store wrapping paper so it doesn’t get all...

Keep Reading