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If someone asked me what significant day made the difference in my life and turned me around, it would have to be this day.  This day, when the country memorializes the tragedy of the World Trade Towers and my ex-wife celebrates her birthday, was the day I was taken prisoner and detained by Federal Bureau of Prisons on the island of Puerto Rico.

For 26 months it was God and I developing a relationship, allowing Him to uproot all that ever happened to me so I could have a modicum of a chance for a decent and satisfactory life.  This day did not happen without warning, but it was necessary, because my addiction was too strong for me to handle on my own.  Although there were distractions and threats levied against me by fellow inmate and prison staff alike, I was not going to be deterred from my purpose when I agreed to let God save my life.  He did.

A year before when the towers had fallen and a year later when I showed up to my ex-wife’s door, in handcuffs and not able to take her to her birthday dinner, would be the day when I would be rebuilt and would celebrate a new birth.  It would be the day I would be given my commission, “Come in so I might heal your addictions so you may share with others what I am able to do in their lives.”  This is what drives me.  This is what I know I must do until that day when He and I again are enclosed, not in a cell, but within the bounds of Heaven, with those who were brought to safety because I was willing to be broken.

A prison cell can be the best hospital room one could ever have.  Thank you, Lord, for reserving a room for my time of critical care.