An Old Man’s Journey to Respond Like Jesus
I’m a retired diagnostic radiologist and a retired Navy Commander with thirty years of service. For most of my adult life, I valued order, training, discipline, and responsibility because those things kept people safe. I did my best to be the kind of man who could be trusted.
I’ve been married to my wife for thirty years. We have three married daughters, six grandchildren, and now a great grandson. Life has been good and also, in the truest sense of the word, not without its troubles.
My road to salvation has been rocky.
Even though I believed in God, I did not have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ for much of my life. I knew and believed in God – but I wasn’t living in the nearness of Christ, the way you might if you really knew Him day by day. Then something changed when I was 67. My conversion occurred in 2018, and by 2019 I published a book that told my story: Let’s Humor the Old Man: An Old Man’s Journey to Salvation.
That book is not just a testimony of where I began, it’s also a testimony of where I still go when I fall.
Because my sanctification has not been smooth. It has been full of dips. I have sometimes fallen back into the “well,” and eventually I find myself crawling back up to that line leading to Heaven. If Paul the apostle could speak of a thorn in his side, then I can honestly say my thorns continue – especially anger, pride, and a push of speech. And underneath those things, often, is the same problem: self-control.
Some of the most painful truths are the ones we don’t want to face. One of mine is this: unfortunately, my anger has sometimes been directed at the very place I should have been gentlest – my faithful life. Sometimes, when I “should” be at peace, I become sharp. Sometimes, when I’m trying to do right, I end up feeling restless inside. And sometimes I end up correcting the wrong thing.
It’s humbling.
And it’s forced me to learn what I should have learned sooner: not just that I need God, but that I need God’s help in the moment – especially when anger arrives.
Anger Isn’t the Enemy; Acting From Anger Can Be
I want to be careful here. I’m not interested in pretending anger doesn’t exist. Emotions rise. Circumstances happen. My body and mind react before my spirit has time to speak.
But I’ve learned something important: anger itself is not always the problem. The real danger is what comes after it – what it teaches me to do, what it teaches me to say, and how it reshapes my heart when I refuse to surrender it.
The Bible makes this clear:
“Be angry and do not sin” (Ephesians 4:26).
For a long time, I treated anger like it was simply an acceptable response something like a lawful reaction. But the older I get, and the more I’ve walked with Christ, the more I see that anger often wants to turn into something else: bitterness, harsh words, defensiveness, prideful certainty, and the kind of silence that makes distance instead of peace.
Anger has a way of making me feel justified. It tells me I’m defending what’s right. It tells me I deserve to be heard. It tells me I’ve earned the right to respond sharply.
But God keeps bringing me back to the same lesson: the goal is not just “not sinning out loud.” The goal is becoming more like Jesus in how I respond, in what I prioritize, and in what I allow to rule me.
My Anger Often Starts as “I’m Right,” but Ends as “I’m Not Free”
One of the hardest things about anger is that it can feel powerful – like it clears the air. For me, anger often comes tangled with pride and speech.
It can show up as impatience. It can show up as urgency. And sometimes it shows up as that inner push that makes it hard to wait.
I’ve described it as a push of speech – when I feel compelled to say the next thing, defend the next point, correct the next wrong impression, or deliver my thought before I’ve prayed it through.
But after those moments, I’ve too often found myself dealing with consequences that are deeper than embarrassment.
I find myself repenting.
Repenting not as a performance, not as religious habit, but as a sincere turning of my heart back toward Jesus – because I know I’ve allowed anger to steer me. And the truth is: I’d rather be corrected by God than be “right” in my own strength.
That’s part of why my road has been rocky. When anger takes the wheel, it doesn’t just change my tone – it changes the atmosphere around my life. It changes how I interact with my wife, with my daughters, with my grandchildren. And yes, sometimes it even changes how I think about my own faith.
I don’t want that.
The “Thorn” That Teaches Me: God Didn’t Remove It Yet, So I Must Learn to Respond Differently
Paul wrote about a thorn. We don’t always get the same explanation for it, but the story teaches us this: God can work even when the thorn remains. The thorn can become a teacher rather than a prison.
For me, the thorns are anger, pride, and self-control struggles. I don’t always get instant relief. I sometimes get laps – dips into the well and I have to crawl back up.
That’s not romantic. It’s not inspiring in the way people like to hear testimonies.
But it is honest.
And honesty is where healing begins.
When anger shows up, I’m learning to listen – not only to my own feelings, but to what the Holy Spirit might be revealing. Sometimes the lesson is obvious: I’m tired. I’m stressed. I’m overwhelmed. I didn’t pause. I didn’t pray first.
Other times the lesson is more uncomfortable: pride. resentment. the desire to be understood more than the desire to love.
When I realize that, I’m confronted with the same question every time: What will I do with this moment? Will I let anger write the next paragraph of my life? Or will I let Jesus?
How I Pray When I’ve Already “Fallen” (Repentance That Leads to a Nudge)
I’ve learned that repentance is not only something you do at conversion. Repentance is something you practice in real time.
Sometimes my anger has already been directed in the wrong direction – maybe not outwardly loud, but clearly in attitude. And in those moments I find myself stopping and repenting. I ask forgiveness. I ask God to change my heart. Then I ask the Holy Spirit to give me a nudge – not just to feel guilty, but to redirect.
That phrase matters to me: redirect.
I don’t want repentance that ends in self-hatred. I want repentance that reorients me. Like turning a ship’s wheel when you realize the current has pulled you off course.
My prayer often sounds simple:
“Lord, I missed it.”
“Please forgive me.”
“Give me the nudge to turn back.”
“Help me try again – this time like Jesus.”
I’m learning that the nudge is real. Sometimes it comes as conviction. Sometimes it comes as a sudden awareness that I’ve drifted. Sometimes it comes through Scripture, or through a quiet sense that God is reminding me who I’m supposed to be.
And I have to choose whether I’ll ignore that reminder or follow it.
Scripture That Keeps Me From Pretending I’m Fine
When I’m in the middle of anger, it’s easy to justify myself. But God keeps meeting me with His Word and His truth – like light in a room I tried to keep dark.
A few passages keep returning to me:
Ephesians 4:26 – Be angry and do not sin.
This reminds me anger can rise, but sin is a choice I don’t want to make.
James 1:19 – Quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.
This challenges my push of speech. It reminds me that delay can be holy.
Colossians 3:8 – anger and malice must be put away.
Not just managed – put away. Not merely contained, but transformed.
Romans 12:18 – If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.
It reframes my responsibility. I can’t control how others respond, but I can control my posture.
Gentle conviction can be more loving than stubborn pride. That’s what I’m learning.
The Small Practice That’s Changing Me: Pause Before the Response
I wish I could tell you I’ve mastered this. I haven’t.
But I have found one practice that keeps me from worsening the damage: a pause.
When I feel heat rising, I try to stop before I respond. Sometimes it’s only a moment – one breath, one delay, one sentence held back. But that pause gives me a chance to pray silently, to ask for self-control, and to let the Holy Spirit redirect the next action.
It doesn’t always “fix” the feeling instantly. But it prevents anger from becoming direction.
And that matters.
Because anger grows when it’s fed. It grows when I replay, when I insist, when I press my point, when I refuse to soften. But it shrinks when I surrender it to Christ early enough.
What I Want to Say to Anyone With Anger as a Thorn
If you struggle with anger – and especially if your anger has sometimes surprised you, sometimes embarrassed you, or sometimes pushed you to sin – please hear this:
You are not disqualified from God’s work in your life.
God is not only for the people who never fall. He is also for the people who fall and come back. He’s for the ones who repent sincerely. He’s for the ones learning to be gentle instead of harsh, slow instead of sharp, and humble instead of defensive.
Maybe you, like me, have dips in your sanctification. Maybe you’ve had seasons where you thought you were improving – only to discover anger still lives in your heart like a thorn that returns.
If that’s you, I want you to know that crawling back up can still be progress. Repenting can still be healing. And asking the Holy Spirit for a nudge can still be a spiritual victory.
Closing Reflection: Anger Will Not Have the Final Word
I’m an old man, an old man learning.
I’ve been trained for command and clarity, but God has been training me for something different: Christlike responses. He is teaching me that leadership isn’t only about direction – it’s also about restraint. And faith isn’t only about belief – it’s about how I speak, how I act, and how I love when emotions rise.
So when anger shows up now, I try to listen. Not to obey it, not to justify it, and not to let it become my identity. I listen for what it reveals. I bring it to Jesus. I repent if I’ve sinned. Then I ask for the Holy Spirit’s nudge to redirect my heart.
Because I’m still climbing.
Sometimes I fall back. Sometimes I crawl.
But every time I turn back toward Heaven, I’m reminded of this truth: Jesus is patient. He is faithful. And He is still making me – slowly, gently, and sometimes painfully more like Him.
Barry Denzil Haney, MD