WHERE HAVE ALL THE YOUNG MEN GONE?

More than a week ago I had a scarey experience while I was in the bathroom. It has never happened before and I was certainly unprepared for it. With my eyes barely open, at some ungodly hour in the morning, I looked into the mirror and there was some old guy in there. I kid you not!

What hair remained was gray, and there was little lingering evidence of youth etched in any of the multitude of crevaces in his aging face.

What terrified me most was that I have no idea who he was or how he got there, but I avoid mirrors at all costs now in case his image jumps out at me again.

Unlike the unwelcome stranger, I am still young, enjoying life and very much looking forward to the years that lie ahead.

Today was something of a milestone for me as it was 37 years ago that I first preached as the pastor of a congregation, in the former coal-mining town of Birtley in the north east of England. It was the last Sunday in July in 1970 (the date was actually the 26th then) and it was exactly one month after my 20th birthday.

We've come a long way from Birtley and church today bears little resemblance to church then - which of course is how it should be in a living organism. But there is one thing that has not altered whatever, I am as pumped, wired, excited, stoked - call it what you will - about what I am doing now as I ever was back there when I was starting out.

I still have an over-abundance of youthful enthusiasm.

I still dream big.

I still plan to do major things for God.

And I'll tell that to the old guy in the mirror if I ever see him again!