I was a bit

nervous as the day approached. Birthdays used to be a day to be anticipated,

relished, and enjoyed. That, of course, was a number of years ago.

When I turned

30, I was hopeful that I would no longer be considered a kid. I was serving

as an associate minister of a church in Colorado and felt that the appearance

of youth was a detriment in the ministry. I needed to look older. So,

I had grown a mustache.

When I turned

40, I was grateful that I now had an excuse to not play basketball with

the boys of the youth group. The appearance of youth had taken care of

itself during the ten-year interval. My hair was peppered with white,

added pounds had appeared out of nowhere, and the mustache was no longer

totally dark. I no longer looked 30. In fact, I looked older than 40.

But, for a pastor of a growing church, that was a good thing, I thought.

But 50 was

another matter. It caught me off guard, actually. I was away in Ambridge,

Penn., just outside of Pittsburgh, attending a doctoral class at Trinity

Episcopal School for Ministry when the big five-o hit with unexpected

force on a Monday. Now, my hair was white and, worse, thinning something

my waistline had no intention of doing. I had shaved my mustache off earlier

in the year. Several people told me that it made me look younger so I

left it off.

Surrounded

of Ministry degree, most working on their Master of Divinity, I felt old.

It didn't help that just prior to leaving Georgia for school I received

my AARP card in the mail. It was a difficult day as I considered that,

in all likelihood, the days ahead of me were fewer than the days behind

me. But, thankfully, the feelings of melancholy and self-pity passed.

Now, a year

later, back at Ambridge, I was about to add another year. I had been in

that cold country for a week and a half when, on Tuesday, Jan. 15, I could

avoid it no longer. I awoke from a sound sleep at 5:30 a.m. to my 51st

birthday.

After shutting

off the clock, I prayed what I always pray before arising and upon retiring:

O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. A missionary

to the Philippines and I were staying with a first-year seminary student

and his family so I quietly made my way to the bathroom which, on the

schedule, was mine for half an hour.

From 6:00 a.m.

to 7:45 a.m., I read a book on Celtic Christianity and let some of the

poems from the early Middle Ages speak to me. One of my favorites had

to do with a woman who offered praise to God and wished that she had a

lake full of beer to give to Jesus and his apostles so that, with all

the saints, they could drink from it forever. Ah, those Irish!

At 7:45, Sarah,

age 2, and her mother Trish presented me with a warm, buttery birthday

muffin. As I made my way to chapel, during the short walk I was reminded

of how good God had been to me and to my family over the past 30 years.

The church I serve is where I desire to serve until my death. My sons

are fine young men, I have four world-class grandchildren, and a beautiful

daughter-in-law that became the daughter we never had. My first wife is

still my only wife and, together, we have endured challenges, overcome

incredible obstacles, and experienced unnumbered miracles. By the time

I arrived for Morning Prayer, my heart was full of gratitude.

The speaker,

an African-American priest who works in the inner city of Memphis, preached

forcefully on the necessity of knowing who you are and knowing what you

are called to do. I know who I am, I thought. I am a sinner who has received

grace upon grace, mercy multiplied many times over, and blessings unbounded

and totally undeserved. My calling is to be a spiritual and natural father

to those whom God gives me as his gifts to me. I will do that, God willing,

until my last breath is drawn.

After a full

day of class (which was focused on addiction and the grace of God), I

worked in the library, returned e-mails, read some additional history

on monastic settlement in early Ireland, and wandered over to the Bamboo

Bar for a solitary meal of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and Diet

Coke, where I learned that Steve Spurrier was the new coach of the Washington

Redskins.

After a bit

more library work and reading, I returned to the home of the young seminary

couple and turned in early. I climbed into bed, read a chapter or so,

prayed for the president, all national and local leaders, my bishops,

my family, my church, and other concerns. I turned off the light and prayed,

O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. A forgiven

sinner, to be sure, but a sinner nonetheless.

Another year

older, to be sure, but much more conscious of God's present goodness than

even a year earlier. Carly Simon was wrong. These are not the good old

days. The good old days the best days lay ahead of us.

Our Father

beckons us to come into His future. I know the plans I have for you, says

the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and

a hope (Jer. 29:11 RSV).

Lead on, Lord.

This not-so-old geezer is just getting started!

[Father David

Epps is Rector of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church in Peachtree

City. He may be contacted at [email protected] or at www.ChristTheKingCEC.com .]