2,557 Days

August 9, 2026

“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope” (Psalm 130:5).

If I had kept the Psalms closer to my heart and read Proverbs the way a man is supposed to, I probably would have been a much wiser man. Maybe a wealthier one, too.

Years ago, Father Kelly told me I was the kind of individual who would go where angels fear to tread. I do not think he meant it as a compliment.

But God already knew that about me.

Jeremiah tells us that before God formed us in the womb, He knew us (Jeremiah 1:5). Before I took my first breath, God knew the kind of soul He was knitting together. He knew the rebellion. He knew the stubbornness. He knew I would never do particularly well inside a gilded cage.

Power, money, a gated community, comfort. People can spend their lives chasing those things and then discover that the cage is still a cage, even when the bars are made of gold.

My teammate at Alabama, Derrick Thomas, the great Kansas City linebacker, nicknamed me Bull. It stuck. Clay Whitehurst once told me at Harry’s Bar they were going to put it on my tombstone.

Maybe God knew a Bull was exactly what He was going to need.

In Atlanta, my life looked pretty good from the outside. Gated community. Nice home. The things a man is supposed to want. But inside, I was drowning. I had no real sense of purpose beyond getting up, taking care of the house, and trying to manage a family that was coming apart.

Still, something was calling me.

I began writing before I understood why I was writing. Then came April 27, 2011. A tornado tore through Alabama, taking hundreds of precious lives and leaving families, homes, and communities shattered.

Something inside me was shaken, too.

That storm put me on a course back to Alabama. My marriage, already in counseling, did not survive. I had my own sins to answer for, including my infidelity. God closed a door, but in His mercy He left another one open if I was willing to walk through it and repent.

I wish I could say I got everything right from that point forward.

I did not.

I fell again.

But Scripture is filled with people who fell. Peter denied Christ three times, yet Jesus still told him to feed His sheep (John 21:15-17). God has never required a perfect résumé before He calls someone to serve. He requires a willing heart.

Then came July 30, 2019.

I was doing P90X when my heart stopped.

There had been warnings before that day. I had passed out while exercising and experienced other close calls. But this time death was no longer some distant theological idea. I had met it.

By the morning of August 22, 2019, my father’s birthday, I was facing open-heart surgery.

I was not particularly afraid to die. I felt like I had already done that once.

My prayer was much simpler.

Lord, please do not let me die on my daddy’s birthday.

My mother was 88 years old. I could not bear the thought of her carrying that date for the rest of her life. She is 94 now.

That morning, a Black minister walked into my hospital room. My brother, who is Catholic, and my son were there with me. I cannot tell you exactly what denomination I considered myself at that moment, and facing the possibility of eternity, it did not seem particularly important.

I was a child of God facing the unknown.

The minister asked if he could pray with me. I told him I would pray with a rabbi, a Catholic priest, and a Baptist minister if I thought it would do any good.

That was my stubborn way of saying yes.

Scripture says that when we do not know what we ought to pray, the Spirit Himself intercedes for us (Romans 8:26). Looking back, I believe there are moments when God hears what is underneath the words. He knew what was underneath mine.

Days earlier, sitting at Salem’s Diner, Frank Bromberg, my A-Club brother and an Alabama track man from the old Birmingham jewelry family, looked across the table at me and said something I have never forgotten.

“Darryl, don’t die, or the Lettermen of the USA, your dream, will die with you.”

On August 22, 2019, Dr. Davies and the thoracic team at UAB put a St. Jude valve in my chest.

The old man who went onto that operating table never came back.

Seven years later, I understand something I could not fully understand then. God does not always announce Himself with thunder.

Elijah discovered that the Lord was not in the great wind, the earthquake, or the fire. After all of it came a still, small voice (1 Kings 19:11-12).

Sometimes God whispers.

Sometimes He sends a minister into a hospital room.

Sometimes He speaks through a friend sitting across from you at Salem’s Diner.

Sometimes He gives you another heartbeat.

Peter stepped out of the boat and actually walked on water. Then he looked at the storm instead of Christ and began to sink. But when Peter cried out, “Lord, save me,” Jesus immediately reached out His hand and caught him (Matthew 14:28-31).

I understand Peter a little better now.

There have been plenty of times when I looked at the wind.

There have been times when I sank.

And there have been times when my faith was not strong enough to hold onto Him.

But His hand was strong enough to hold onto me.

The dream Frank Bromberg was worried about did not die on August 22, 2019.

Lettermen of the USA is still here.

Fifteen years after that first flag football game on August 13, 2011, the organization continues serving veterans and their families. Candid, formerly GuideStar, has recognized Lettermen of the USA with its 2026 Platinum Seal of Transparency.

The dream lived because God was not finished with it.

Maybe He was not finished with me either.

On August 22, 2026, it will have been seven years since that surgery. That is 2,557 additional days of life.

I used to joke that perhaps I had earned an extension on my lease by giving back. I know better than that now. Grace is not earned. That is the whole point of grace. Paul tells us that it is by grace we have been saved through faith, and that it is the gift of God, not the result of our works (Ephesians 2:8-9).

So I cannot tell you why I received another 2,557 days when so many good men and women did not.

I can only tell you what I believe I am supposed to do with them.

Use them.

Serve with them.

Give with them.

Love people with them.

And keep casting the net.

Jesus looked at ordinary, imperfect men and said, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). He did not wait until they had everything figured out. He called them where they were and then changed them along the way.

Maybe that is what He has been doing with me all these years.

God knew the kind of soul He was making before He formed me in my mother’s womb. He knew the Bull. He knew the rebellion. He knew the sins, the failures, the storms, the operating table, and every time I would look at the wind and start to sink.

And He made me anyway.

Seven years ago, I went into an operating room not knowing whether I would see another sunrise.

I have now been given 2,557 more of them.

I do not intend to waste them.

There are still veterans who need us. There are still families carrying burdens too heavy to carry alone. There are still people drowning while the rest of the world walks past them.

And there are still fish in the sea.

So as long as God keeps this St. Jude valve beating inside my chest, I intend to keep casting the net.

One yard at a time.

Your brother in Christ and fellow Fisher of Men,

Darryl