Crying Out for a Life Preserver

“I have been delivered from the domain of darkness and transferred into the kingdom of His
beloved Son.” (Col 1:13-1)

The clear blue lucite band smoothly slid up and down the metal bar of my first abacus. It tasted
just like my transistor radio when I touched my tongue to it. I played with both for hours on end,
listening to scratchy songs on one while sliding groups of numbers in columns on the other. They
were my favorite toys. I was seven years old. I was a good kid. Then, I answered the call of the
wild in my twenties. I lived the life of a chain-smoking, jet-setting bon vivant. My Mom kept
praying for me.

Lucite is a solid transparent plastic made of polymethyl methacrylate. The chances of you
looking that up are about as slim as the chance I was going to open my Bible and look anything
up back then.

My late thirties brought the keen awareness I had waded into a modern batch of deadly
quicksand. Sinking fast, I cried out for help. God threw me a life preserver. I grabbed it. While
showering off the grit, I took a quick inventory of what I had left. Most of what wasn’t lost, I
ended up selling anyway.

False teachers abound today, telling us that God wants us to be rich and enjoy life to the fullest.
Balderdash. Humans in the flesh respond favorably to such teachings; false teachers tell them
what they want to hear. I’ve come to know Christ doesn’t call us to become rich or accumulate
stuff. Rather, He calls us to servant ministry – to give food to those who are hungry, to our
homeless brothers and sisters in Him, to visit those who are sick or are in prison. He teaches us
that “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35)

Dear Jesus Lord, my Savior and King, Thank you for giving me exactly what I need today; thank
you also for removing every single thing in my life You know I don’t need. Thank you for
pulling me out the darkness and transferring me into Your life. Thank you for that chocolate chip
recipe I found the other day, too. Amen

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