It was a rainy day in Fort Smith, Arkansas, on Tuesday, May 19th.
The day started like any other.

I got up at 6 a.m., took a shower, brushed my teeth, and spoke to one of my friends.
Apparently, the night before had been a wild one.
I had indulged in all kinds of illegal activities.
I was having the time of my life.

But that all changed.

I was getting ready to fix breakfast when I took a hit from the ice.
Suddenly, the room started spinning.
I tried to catch my balance.
I fell to my knees, coughing and pounding my chest violently, but I couldn’t breathe.
I began to vomit.

And then—like a gust of cold wind brushing across your face on a winter walk—it stopped.

I stood up, confused, trying to pull myself together.
“What happened?” I asked aloud.

Then I turned—and saw myself.
Lying lifeless on the floor.
My eyes were glassy.
My mouth hung open.
I had vomited on myself.

Shock gripped me.

Was I mad?
Was I sad?

Mad, because no one forced me to get high that morning.
Sad, because I was gone from this life.
My dreams… faded.
All I wanted to be, the man I once was—disappeared with one bad choice.

Then, a memory surfaced.
A vision—
As if God was showing me a glimpse of my life.

I saw myself as a child.
Naive. Innocent.
I came from a broken home.
A father who would beat me if I sneezed too loud.
A mother who never lifted her hand but cut me down with words.
Blaming me if the dinner didn’t turn out right.
If her life didn’t go the way she wanted.

And then there was my older brother—
Relentless. A bully.
Taking joy in making me feel small.

The visions made my eyes swell with tears.

Then, like a snap of the fingers, I was shown another chapter:
My school years.

It wasn’t any better.
At school, I was bullied—mostly by the popular boys. Jocks.
I remember one day vividly—
I was getting punched in the face by the captain of the football team, Josh.
Laughter surrounded us like a cruel chorus.

And then—her voice cut through the noise.

“Amy yelled! Stop it! Josh, put Mac down and leave him alone!”

Everything froze.

Josh looked stunned.
He stared at her like she had just shattered the script.
Then, reluctantly, he let me go.

I dropped to the ground, breathless.

The kids started laughing—awkward, uncomfortable, unsure if they were supposed to find it funny or brave.

But Amy didn’t laugh.
She walked over, knelt beside me, and looked me in the eyes.
“You okay?” she asked softly.

From that day forward, in our seventh-grade year, we were inseparable.
Not boyfriend and girlfriend—but soul-deep friends.
She was my protector. My peace.

Then, the vision darkened again.

I saw the day Amy died.
A car accident.
Wrong place, wrong time.

And just like that, the only person who ever truly loved me… was gone.
My heart overdosed on the love I had for her.

It was our senior year at Northside High School.
We had plans.
College together. A future.

But that day—
That was the day my life changed for the worst.

The next vision was even more painful.

I saw myself leaving her burial site, lost, hurt, crying.
I didn’t know what to say or what to do.
The only person who had ever loved me was gone.

I remember sobbing outside Amy’s house.

Her younger brother, Matt, was there.
Good-looking. Spoiled. Cocky. Always in trouble.

I ended up in his room.
That’s where he introduced me to drugs.

And I liked the way they made me feel.
They made me numb.

I worked only to get high.
Addicted to the silence.
Addicted to the escape.

Then God showed me one final vision.
A version of my life if I had chosen another path.

That Mac—the one in the vision—stayed away from drugs.
He struggled, but he pushed through.
He became a successful architect.
The life wasn’t perfect, but it had purpose. Joy. Direction.

That’s when I realized:
God had always been there for me.
But I had never been there for Him.

God sends warnings before He sends destruction.

Then I saw my funeral.

Family and friends passed by my casket—crying.
Then Matt approached.

He leaned in and whispered:

“I’m sorry, Mac.
Tell my sister I love her… and I love you.
Even if you can’t hear me, know I’m praying for you.
Your death changed my life.”

“You taught me the three C’s of life:
Choice. Chance. Change.
You have to make the choice, to take the chance, to make a change—
if you want anything positive in this life.”

“I love you, Mac.”

And in a flash—
I was back in my body.

I woke up in a hospital.

Doctors were working feverishly to save me.
I heard one ask, “Is he even worth saving?”
Another replied, “He’s gone. Stop. Put a tag on his toes.”

Then—
A light.
Brighter than the sun.
It filled the room.

I prayed.

I begged God to intervene.
To give me one more chance.
Because I had work to do.

And like a transformation—
My spirit returned to my body.

So God did the rewind on my life.
Where I thought I was dead, He gave me a second chance to live.

God had shown me what my life would be without Him.

Today, I’m a counselor at a youth camp.
I have a wife.
And a beautiful daughter—
Her name is Amy.

I share my story with anyone who wants to hear the truth—
About abuse, addiction, and redemption.

Because I’ve learned:
The end does not define the meaning.

I thank God every single day.
And as long as I live, I will never be ashamed of Him.

He is the reason I’m on this platform.