Verghese Mathew

Not sure who the original attribution of this piece is, but I both endorse and would posit that I realized it, to my benefit, well shy of 50. Christmas feels different after fifty. Not because it loses its magic, but because it finally reveals what the magic really was all along. When I was younger, I thought Christmas was found in the noise. In the wrapping paper everywhere, the late-night putting-things-together, the crowded house, and the early mornings that came far too soon. Back then, I believed the wonder was loud. But now I know the wonder is quiet. It lives in the soft glow of the tree before the day has even started. It lives in the memories that show up without asking — some joyful, some tender, some carrying faces and names I still ache for. After fifty, Christmas becomes something reflective. Every ornament tells a story. Every recipe remembers a pair of loving hands. Every carol opens a doorway to who we used to be, before we understood how quickly time would carry everything forward. I did not realize then how fast children would grow, how parents would age, how soon “next year” would become “years ago.” But now I stand here — older, a little slower, and so much more thankful. Because Christmas after fifty is not about rushing anymore. It is about the peace that settles in when you finally understand that time itself is the blessing. It is holding the people you love just a little longer. It is letting go of what never really mattered. It is thanking God for one more December — for breath, for life, for another chance to love well. It is sitting in the stillness and realizing the greatest gifts were never wrapped or placed beneath the tree. They were the ones gathered around it — every child, every answered prayer, every ordinary moment that turned out to be holy. Maybe that is the gift of aging — you stop chasing wonder and start recognizing it. So here is to Christmas after fifty — where joy is softer, gratitude runs deeper, love stretches wider, and the meaning shines clearer than ever. And if you are reading this, may you rest in this truth: even as the years change us, God’s love remains the same. It was faithful before. It is faithful now. And it will be faithful in every Christmas yet to come.

When you started, medical notes were used to take care of patients and as not bloated billing tools. Don’t get me wrong, there are some great things, too, but this tool was not engineered to help clinical personnel love their jobs …rather, the antithesis of that.