I remember the first night in my own house. New wife. Mortgage payment to make each month.
I felt responsible—more than I ever had in my life.
And, honestly, there was a part of me afraid. It wasn’t a boogie man kind of fear. I’ve never been one to be that kind of afraid very much.
It was a revering kind of fear. An awe of the weight of the responsibility. The enormity of the demand in front of me.
I wanted to be a good husband. Be a provider. Protect my home. Pay for it. Keep a roof over our head.
And the night we brought a baby into our house—wow—having grown up most of my life without a father in the picture, I certainly wanted to be a good dad.
Those were normal fears of the entry into manhood. I’m sure girls feel similar fears.
Those fears are long gone. I haven’t felt them in years. We’ve kept the house. Actually had several over the years. Praise God. God blessed me as a dad. I have two pretty good children. (Actually they are excellent—seriously—two of the best men I know.) God has been so good to us.
But, fears are back—in a different kind of way. Again, not a boogie man kind of fear. I don’t fear as in a worry sense. I wouldn’t even use the word “afraid” as I would use the word “fear.” I hope that makes sense. Probably not—but it does to me.
It’s a feeling of reverence. Of seriousness. Of responsibility.
Granted, age is relative. To someone who died too young I would be an old man. Blessed with years. And to some who live long, I’m still a very young man. My grandfather lived to be a 101 years old. I’ve got some days in front of me.
But those fears, as a 50-year-old, are so unique.
Here are five real fears of a 50-year-old:
I will leave something undone. I don’t want to miss anything God has for me to do. I realize time is drawing shorter. There’s still so much left with the calling He has placed on my life. I don’t want to miss any of it.
I will start to fear change. I’ve never been resistant to change. I love it. Most of my life has been shaped by leaps of faith. I don’t want that to stop. I know change supposedly gets more difficult to accept with age. I want to defy those odds—take risks—willing to live with great moves of faith.
I won’t be prepared. I’m not afraid of death. Quite the contrary. I know my future eternity is secure. That’s a great feeling. A great comfort and hope. But chances are, I will leave people behind someday. Will I have prepared them for my exit? Will I have invested well, have my paperwork and life in order, to limit any burden potential for my children?
