32 Years a Slave
This old photo from my “other life” circa 1980, reminds me of my “stupid 20s,” when I had no sense, lived for myself, and cared not a whit about anybody else.
I was at Hussong’s Cantina in Ensenada, Mexico, and decided it would be a good idea to dance on top of a table.
Suddenly, two Federales grabbed my shoulders and escorted me to the shadows.
Thankfully, a Mexican local, whom I did not know, followed us into the “torture room” and negotiated my release. (I’m the smug, shirtless guy standing next to one of the arresting officiales.)
Today, December 2nd, not only marks the day that shiftless guy died in 1990, but also marks my 32nd anniversary as a Christian, a bond-slave of Jesus Christ, an unworthy servant, worm, wretch—completely dependent on my Master for life and breath and everything I have.
This picture is a great reminder of what the Lord has done in my life…and in the lives of so many others.
The Starfish
Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.
One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”
The young man paused, looked up, and replied, “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”
“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?”
The young man replied, “The sun is up, and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”
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