Thief In The House: Ordinary Life

Reflecting on the past 32 plus years going from the chaos of an addict, my involvement in a casino heist to standing beside grieving families as a hospice chaplain has shown me how time and self-examination can shape a person. In 1992, on a crisp Monday morning, I sat outside the Stardust Casino, waiting for my father, who was our getaway driver to pull into the parking lot of the casino. My mind was focused, adrenaline surging, no time to reflect. Life was risk and reward. Looking back, it’s easy to see the bigger picture

We all have stories we wrestle with, trying to make sense of where we've been and where we're going. Some we tell with confidence, others we struggle to put into words.

This is one of mine.

By 2017, I found myself preaching in a small Methodist church in Vinton, Louisiana—a world away from the chaos of Vegas. Standing before a congregation, delivering messages of hope and redemption, I realized how much had changed. It wasn’t just the location; it was me. Time had forced me to confront my past and decide on a new direction. And yet, living a stable, ordinary life—rooted in service and accountability—was far harder than the risky life I once knew. There were no adrenaline highs, only responsibility, patience, and vulnerability.

September 2024, I stand at another crossroads. After years in hospice care, helping families navigate grief and loss, I’m unsure of what’s next. I’m not young anymore, and many of the skills I once relied on no longer serve me. 

Life teaches us lessons we couldn’t grasp in the moment. I was hyper focused and what I believed God was teaching me at that point in the road. Each time I had a minor epiphany or understanding of a scripture I thought it was earth shattering. I was arrogant thinking I was privileged to God’s voice and instruction. Hospice and prison underscored the value of time and spending it well Not to cram as much in as possible but enjoying each moment as it arrives. It taught me that it’s not the big events that matter most. It’s the little things, the ordinary things, that count when it all comes to an end. And it’s what I need now as I figure out my next steps.