I’m currently working on creating some curriculum I’ll be teaching for a brand new program the Missouri Department of Corrections is unrolling. I’m beyond excited! I literally get to be a part of watching Isaiah 61 unfold as I watch the release from darkness for the prisoners.
As I was focusing on the life-planning section of the curriculum, my heart was heavy and emotional thinking about two people whose lives both ended in very different ways. I decided to share the story with you, too.
I want to tell you a story about two men I knew, Sandy and Doug.
Sandy was an amazing man who inspired just about everyone who met him to have a closer relationship with God.
There was this joy about him that was unexplainable. He gave wise advice, even when it wasn’t necessarily what you wanted to hear. He wouldn’t hesitate to pray with a complete stranger. He would comfort you when you were struggling and speak truth with grace when you were making decisions that didn’t line up with your values. Sandy always made sure you knew you were valuable, whether he knew you for life or for 15 seconds.
Sandy wasn’t always that way. He used to drink a lot and made plenty of poor decisions in his life. He didn’t always walk in integrity. He didn’t always honor others with his words. We all have the opportunity to take a different road in life and Sandy eventually chose to take that road, though he hit some pretty rough bumps along the way.
Doug was a funny man, always making people laugh, especially when he was on his third our fourth drink.
He had one daughter whom he loved, but he was so lost in his addiction he wasn’t capable of being present in her life. She often felt abandoned by him and longed for him to get clean and sober so they could have a relationship. Deep down inside he longed for the same thing, but often felt too stuck to pursue freedom.
Doug grew up with a hard childhood, often being beat by his mother and striving to be loved by his own alcoholic father. Instead of taking a different road in life, Doug chose to stay stuck in his addiction and refuse to take responsibility for his life. He saw every bump in life as an obstacle he was convinced he couldn’t overcome, so he chose to stay stuck.
Doug and Sandy were diagnosed with the same kind of cancer, by the same doctor, in the same week. They both had two choices to make: stay stuck in that diagnoses or fight to live.
Sandy chose life. He fought hard, but in the midst of his battle, he never stopped serving and loving on others. He eventually lost his ability to speak, so he would write notes to you. He always wanted to know how he could pray for you.
I visited Sandy in the hospital the day before he died. He wrote on his little marker board and asked me to read him the Bible. It was one of the greatest privileges of my life. As we sat together, he was ministering to one of the nurses because he wanted her to know God loved her. He was in his final hours and still focused on his relationship with God.
The next day I stood in the waiting room as Sandy took his final breaths. It was a devastating, yet joy-filled day. I knew Sandy wasn’t suffering anymore. I knew he exited this world with dignity and honor.
At Sandy’s funeral, we celebrated his life with joyful mourning. People showed up from all over the place to talk about the impact he’d made on their lives. Sandy lived his life with purpose – with a plan.
Doug chose to focus on the obstacles he couldn’t overcome. His addiction took precedence over his desire to live. Did he want to be an addict? I don’t believe so. None of us want to be addicted. Doug remained a victim of his circumstances, unwilling to fight.
On February 25, 2009, I received a phone call that my dad was dead. I later learned he didn’t die from cancer; he died from an accidental overdose. He didn’t overcome. He didn’t live his life with purpose.
[ctt template=”5″ link=”5BSd9″ via=”yes” ]Will you choose to live life on purpose? [/ctt]
At Doug’s funeral, there weren’t many people present. Many of them had been his drinking buddies in the past. I sat in an empty chapel after everyone left, holding my dad’s ashes in my hand. Besides an old holy t-shirt, a pocket knife, and a fishing pole, those were all I had left of him.
My mentor and friend, Sandy, lived for three years after his initial diagnosis. My father, Doug, only lived six months. One chose to live his life with purpose; the other didn’t choose life at all.
My mentor Michael Hyatt says, “It’s indeed possible to live well without a Life Plan, just as you can find your way to a destination without a map. But it is easier with a plan, and you are more likely to enjoy the journey.”