December is always a special time of year because we anticipate the Savior’s birth, but it’s extra-special for me because it marks the anniversary of the death of someone who was a real sore trial to me: me.
Thirty years ago, I became a born-again believer in Jesus Christ, and died to myself.
I was not raised in a Christian household. The extent of my religious upbringing was dad telling me that God could be a beer can, therefore, I was not accountable to anyone and did whatever I wanted, not aware that I would eventually wreck my life and the lives of others.
“There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end, it leads to death.” (Proverbs 14:12)
For my first thirty-one years, I did what I thought was right in my own eyes, not heeding the counsel of those who tried to steer me onto a straighter road, not realizing that “in the paths of the wicked are snares and pitfalls….” (Proverbs 22:5)
I had two stated goals before my death:
#1: Live life on the edge.
#2: Find out the dark side of life.
Both were achieved in short order.
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30 Years a Slave
This old photo from my “other life” circa 1980, reminds me of my “stupid 20’s,” when I had no sense, lived for myself and cared not a whit about anybody else.
I was at a bar called 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 30th 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.
That picture, which shows up every year in my Facebook “Memories,” is a great reminder of what the Lord has done in my life…and in the lives of so many others.
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