People of the Second Chance: A Guide to Bringing Life-Saving Love to the World - Hardcover

Foster, Mike

 
9781601428547: People of the Second Chance: A Guide to Bringing Life-Saving Love to the World
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1601428545 ISBN 13: 9781601428547
Verlag: WaterBrook, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

A powerful message of hope for anyone burdened by regret and everyone who longs for a fresh start.

What if I told you that you and your not-so-perfect story have been invited to experience the joy of second chance living. Your critics and nay-sayers and those negative voices in your head have defined who you are and stolen your hopeful future for far too long!

The insecurity, shame, and judgment—That stops today.

This simple guide will show you how your imperfect life matters in ways you never thought possible. It will help you see your scars, flaws, and failures as unfair advantages and gifts that you can bring to the world.  Foster's examination of hope is one part challenge, two parts encouragement. He forces the reader to ask the following questions: How did I lose it? How do I get? How do I give it? Each question is broken down into core concepts that are essential to a life devoted to the power of second chances: awareness, discovery, ownership, forgiveness, acceptance and freedom.

Packed full of unfiltered honesty and simple next steps, this manifesto for prodigals, imperfectionists, and hopesters will help you discover beauty in the brokenness.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Mike Foster is the Chief Chance Officer at People of the Second Chance. He has dedicated his life to helping people relaunch their lives with a sense of hope and purpose. He has been featured on Good Morning America, The 700 Club, and in The New York Times.

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Introduction - Three Seconds

People of the Second Chance live in the humble arrogance of being God’s beloved.

I am a second chancer. And it only took three seconds of my life to make me long for that role.

It was a Memorial Day weekend on the Colorado River, and I was nineteen years old. I joined some families from church who were doing their annual water-ski trip. The Rogers and MacGregor families put on a water-skiing extravaganza each year and invited a few friends. I got to be a chosen friend that year.

We woke early the first morning and water-skied for a few hours. Everyone fared well except for me, a newbie. When I skied, I looked more like a drunk giraffe than a musclebound water aficionado. I gave it my best shot, but I’m certain I swallowed more water than I skied on.

Everyone on the boat played cool about my tragic shortcomings in the ski department. No flat-out mocking. Just some heavy sighing and huffing with a dash of disdain.

My pride was bruised, but I kept up a good image. I’ve always been good at image managing and pretending to be okay. I learned early on that it’s best to be strong and smile your way through subpar performances. Nothing to see here, folks. I’m fine. No weakness at all. None. Let’s just move along.

Furthermore, I couldn’t let any of those girls in Christian bikinis know I wasn’t potential boyfriend material. Know what I mean?

Ryan MacGregor, my friend who invited me on the trip, sensed my ego had been bumped around a little. He figured it would be good for me to give boat driving a shot. I could redeem my honor and build up what was left of my bruised ego. I needed a second chance. So Ryan asked, “Hey, Mike, you want to drive the boat?”

I honestly thought, How hard could this boat-driving thing be? It’s got a steering wheel. I know how to do steering wheels.

I said, “Sure, Ryan. Count me in.”

He explained that he would get the boat going. There is an art to pulling a skier out of the water, and as the rookie driver, I wasn’t quite ready for that.

We started cruising up the river. John, our skier, zipped back and forth behind the boat. He skied like a graceful water gazelle, lightly jumping from one wave to another, so unlike the intoxicated-giraffe style I had demonstrated earlier that morning.

The warm wind blew in our faces. I felt alive.

Ryan gave me the look and said, “Okey-dokey, Mike. Your turn!” He scooted away from the wheel and pointed for me to take over. I did. Now I was driving, studly as can be. I was good with steering wheels. I hoped those Christian girls were noticing.

After a few moments our skier motioned that he wanted to turn around and go the other way. Ryan said, “Okay, Mike, we need to turn the boat and go back down the river. Just turn the wheel slowly and evenly, and you should be good to go.”

So I began to turn the wheel and drive the boat into what I thought was clear water.

But it wasn’t clear water.

There was a skier from another boat in my path. He had dropped into the water, waiting for his boat to pick him up. I didn’t see him until it was too late. I couldn’t turn our boat in time. And I hit him.

It happened in just three seconds, yet it felt like an eternity. Ryan quickly cut the engines and dove into the water and swam toward the skier I had just hit. The skier’s head flopped forward. His body bobbed on the water like a rag doll. A pool of red blood surrounded him. His life was draining into the water.

Panic. Fear. The Christian girls were now screaming.

And I just wanted to run.

Run as far and fast as I could from what I had done. Run from myself. Run from life. Run from what everyone was now thinking. Run from the fact that there was no going back. No undoing this. No repairing the damage. Just me facing a motionless, bloody body in the river. I wanted to escape.

Maybe you’ve been there too.

The skier survived. The doctors weren’t sure how he survived, but he did. He lost a ton of blood. The propeller had snapped off and hit him in the head. The blade carved up his right arm. It was a miracle he was alive. The doctors said that if the propeller had struck just a quarter of an inch deeper, the force would have decapitated him.

That thought still gives me shivers.

My victim spent weeks in the hospital.

After the accident I was lost. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to act. How sad or strong are you supposed to be? There is no playbook for such tragedies.

Should I be grateful that he lived or regret the incredible damage I did? Do I talk about it or just keep quiet? Is there a Bible verse to hang on to? What should I feel? These are questions I later learned that only grace could answer.

Meanwhile, my heart was dead. I felt alone, and my thoughts were dark. My words stuck inside me, trapped in a story I desperately wanted to escape.

The damage I did that day on the river was real. It rippled through families, friends, and innocent bystanders. I would never forget, but they couldn’t either.

Even though it was an unintentional accident, I still blamed myself. I took all the responsibility for that day. I shamed myself hard in the weeks and months that followed. The district attorney pressed criminal charges. A lawsuit followed. But none of that compared to my self-imposed punishment.

And out of this tragedy, I created a new rule for my life. Even though I loved being in, on, and around the water, it was now off-limits to me. I carved this final verdict on my heart so I would never, ever forget. The water was now closed to me. I told myself this would honor my victim. I also convinced myself this was the best way to protect my heart from having those feelings again. The new rule would work so well. It all made perfect sense.

Until it didn’t.

Because that rule, meant to crush my shame and protect my heart, instead crushed me. I wrote it to protect myself, but I ended up punishing myself, pinning myself down to a small, groveling life. I couldn’t take the chance of stirring any more troubles on the waters of my story. I became small and I played it safe.

Such rules and laws. It was like making a deal with the devil. No more sorrow at the cost of no joy.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Grace gets censored when we write these devilish decrees for our lives. Secret commandments get scrawled on personal tablets of shame, and we live life as if our stories belong on a discount rack rather than as valued, cherished children of God. We let a moment of pain cut us off from a lifetime of grace.

The rules we write for ourselves are sneaky. They run quietly in the background like a virus infecting an operating system. We forget they are even there. They intertwine their devious codes throughout our spiritual, emotional, and psychological systems. I call them the Five Condemnments:
1. I don’t deserve a second chance.
2. I am my shame. I am my secrets.
3. I will always feel and be this way.
4. I am defined by my worst moments.
5. My life, my dreams, my hopes no longer matter.

And this is what we need to talk about, isn’t it? We need to look at what’s running in the background of our beliefs and expose the shame virus corrupting our hope for a better life. We must come out of the shadows and talk about hard things.

REACHING BACK

When I am working with hurting people, probably the most tragic thing I witness is when they have accepted the lie that whatever ugly, can’t-talk-about-it, embarrassing thing has happened in...

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Verlag
WaterBrook
Erscheinungsdatum
2016
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1601428545
ISBN 13 
9781601428547
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
240
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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