I have a somewhat irrational belief that I’m physically stronger and more capable than I was in my younger days. My back often reminds me this isn’t quite true… and today’s sore hamstrings remind me my aging cells no longer recover at the same rate they used to. My softish belly hides the abs that used to be clearly visible. My breathing, grunting, and sweating during WARM-UPS are inexcusable.

I am willing to pridefully discuss the feats of my past. Just ask my son about them. He’s heard all the stories… I could share about sending three people to the hospital during my wrestling career, barreling over and through the middle linebacker, throwing a football over them mountains.

Maybe there’s some embellishment there, but I have to admit- my younger self would probably send this old man to the hospital. Yet even as I type those words, I still think I could win today. True- I’m softer now… but damnit, I still think I’m stronger.

My faith has aged in a similar way.

“Pastor Danny.” Sometimes I still run into someone from my past who calls me that. It’s not who I am anymore, but it’s who I was for years. Dozens of missions trips, hundreds of sermons, a handful of counseling sessions. Baptisms, Bible studies, Sunday School classes, and loads of prayer and reading. Everything was black and white for me. Life was simple. I could pray and speak with conviction. There was very little compromise on the standards I believed I should live by. I was on a mission.

Today, I can barely pray for longer than 5 minutes. I read a few scriptures each morning. Most of my prayers are, “Fucking help me!” “Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!!” “God, help him!” I get exhausted sometimes sitting through an entire sermon. I have to sit during a lot of worship sets because of my feet and my back. I am full of doubt and skepticism.

I’ve experienced enough setbacks and disappointment to no longer have the naïve child-like faith of my youth. But I’ve walked long enough to know who I am without my faith, and there’s no way in hell that I’m going to back to being that hopeless man.

I’m softer now. I’m quick to cry for the pain another person is going through. I’m quick to feel the hurt that others are going through. I’m quick to lend a helping hand, to reach out, to love, give, and serve. I’m quick to father someone in need. I’m quick to break down in tears over the riches I have that I don’t deserve. I’m so, so, so blessed. My wife loves me. My kid loves me. They know I love them. I have treasures that others dream of. I have friends who genuinely care about me. I’m no longer strong and silent. I’m no longer stoic. I’m broken, and I love it.

I’m stronger now. My own burdens seem so small and insignificant. I look to those around me and want to help them. I see the pain my own brothers are going through, and I pray, briefly yet powerfully, for them to make it through. I want my nieces and nephews, siblings, mom, wife, and kids to know they’re more loved than they know they are. I want them to know that they’re stronger than they think they are. I can’t fix it all, but I can love them. I can’t make them better, but I can be a light.