Exploring how tradition, faith, and lived experience shape meaning in the second half of life.

I am a woman who was born on Christmas Day. This is a detail that has always shaped how I experience the holiday season, tradition, and the idea of light itself. My mother is Jewish, and my father was of African-American and Native American descent. By birth, I am Jewish. By choice, I am a Christian. This background, combined with a childhood marked by inconsistency and time spent in foster care, has always given the holiday season a layered emotional texture. It is a mix of good and bad feelings. Having a Christmas birthday often meant it was overshadowed, lost in the shuffle of a much larger celebration.

It is from this complicated history that I came to understand the quiet power of traditions and why they matter so deeply, especially as we grow older. For someone who grew up without consistent routines, the deliberate act of creating and honoring them has become an anchor. This exploration isn’t academic. It’s deeply personal. It is also one of the reasons I value systems so highly in my own life and work. I’ve learned that traditions, especially the small, quiet ones, are the frameworks upon which we can build a life of intention, peace, and grace. I found the blueprint for this not in a business book, but in the ancient story of a holiday I had once overlooked: Hanukkah.

Tradition as an Anchor in the Storm

Why consistent rituals and practices create stability, meaning, and peace over time.

A life without consistent routines can create a deep craving for stability. Over time, I’ve come to see traditions not as rigid obligations, but as gentle, reliable anchors in the unpredictable storms of life. They are quiet rhythms that remind us that even when everything else feels chaotic, some things can remain steady.

Hanukkah is a perfect example. The central ritual is the lighting of the Hanukkah, a candelabrum with nine branches. For eight consecutive nights, candles are lit by the shamash, the attendant candle. The process is simple, but the experience is profound. Each evening, a single new flame joins the others — a quiet but defiant act. A room that was dark on the first night is, by the eighth, filled with a warm, living glow. It becomes a physical reminder that hope, tended daily, can steadily push back the shadows.

Rededication as a Lifelong Practice

How reflection, faith, and intentional living allow us to reclaim and realign our lives.

The Hebrew word Hanukkah means dedication. The holiday commemorates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after it had been desecrated by foreign rulers who outlawed Jewish worship. Against all odds, the Jewish people reclaimed their sacred space, cleansed it, and dedicated it once more to God.

That act of rededication has become a powerful personal metaphor for me. It mirrors the spiritual work of rededicating one’s own life, especially after seasons of harm, loss, or disorientation. We can reclaim what was damaged, tend to what was neglected, and make space for light again.

“God made us His living temple. Regardless of our past, what we have done before, or the condition we were in when God first found us, He redeemed us, cleansed us from darkness, and rededicated us to Himself. That, for me, is the deeper significance of Hanukkah.”

What moves me most is that rededication is not a one-time moment. It is a daily choice. A practice. A return. Each small act of alignment becomes another candle lit.

Light in a Shared Story

Where heritage, faith, and identity intersect and illuminate one another.

For many years, I experienced my Jewish heritage and my Christian faith as separate parts of my identity. Discovering that Hanukkah appears in the New Testament became a moment of unexpected integration.

In the Gospel of John (10:22–23), we are told that Jesus was in Jerusalem during the Feast of Dedication. Knowing that He honored this celebration didn’t erase difference, but it revealed connection. It showed me that the traditions of my ancestors and the faith I chose were not as distant as I once believed.

That realization brought a sense of wholeness. Instead of choosing between parts of my story, I could hold them together. Light does that. It connects what feels divided.

When So-Called Minor Moments Hold Major Meaning

Why small traditions and repeated practices shape legacy more than grand gestures.

In Jewish tradition, Hanukkah is considered a relatively minor holiday. It does not carry the same obligations as Passover or Yom Kippur. Yet its cultural and personal significance is immense.

That distinction has shaped how I think about life. The moments others overlook — small routines, simple traditions, repeated gestures — often become the most stabilizing and meaningful. Lighting candles. Playing dreidel. Sharing food fried in oil to remember a miracle. These practices matter not because they are grand, but because they are consistent.

Another tradition that shaped me deeply is Sukkot, a holiday that invites us to dwell, however briefly, in temporary shelters. For a people shaped by movement and uncertainty, Sukkot teaches that permanence is not what sustains us — presence does. That lesson landed differently for me, given a childhood marked by instability and impermanence. Sukkot quietly reminds us that even when structures are fragile, meaning, gratitude, and faith can still be cultivated.

Just as one candle does not flood a room with light all at once, small, repeated acts create illumination over time. The same is true in life. Intention compounds. Faithfulness builds.

Building a Legacy of Light

Choosing and tending traditions that carry meaning forward.

Hanukkah taught me that the most powerful traditions are not the ones we follow by default, but the ones we choose with intention. They become anchors. They become frameworks. They become legacies of light.

As we move through this season of light and reflection, I find myself asking a quieter question: what small tradition in your life provides an unexpected sense of steadiness, and how might you tend to it with more care?