Do you have a demon that you cannot get rid of? Has God tried to get your attention? God finally got my attention and showed me the way, the truth, and the life that set me free. Free from an addiction that was destroying me and my family and my friendships. I had gambled compulsively for ten years. I was in deep debt, and no one knew it-except God. Then my family began to figure out that I had a problem. God used my family to get my attention. God wanted me to change. Once I admitted to myself that I had a gambling problem, God sent me to the desert of Las Vegas to beat it. I went on a four-day trip with my mom and tried to not bet once. I met Jesus over and over during my journey. During my pilgrimage, I had extraordinary experiences and interesting interactions. In the end, God helped me beat gambling on its own turf, Sin City. I grew so much because of this journey. God wanted me to share it with you.

Sinless in Sin City

From Gambling to GodBy David T. Fiske

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 David T. Fiske
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-2405-1

Chapter One

Hell

Fools make fun of guilt, but the godly acknowledge it and seek reconciliation. (Proverbs 14:9 NLT)

Obsessed

My gambling started simply and innocently in the 1990s. It started slowly in Las Vegas while attending a basketball coaches' clinic. I didn't know much about gambling, especially casino games, although I had grown up going to the horse track as a sidekick to my dad. By the end of my first trip to Sin City, I had learned how to play blackjack and craps. And I quickly enjoyed the thrill of winning at these games.

A year later, I was back in Vegas looking forward to the excitement of playing the table games again. On this trip, I lost the joy of the games, because I wasn't winning. Defeated, I learned about the odds and how they were never in my favor. Looking around, I saw lots of people who appeared to be winning, and I tried to learn how to bet smarter. I asked a lot of questions and watched others who seemed to be doing well. Feeling more confident after my studies, I was curious to try new strategies. I did okay, staying at the lowest stake tables. The three-dollar losses were harmless enough.

Learning to enjoy the games of Las Vegas, I made it a point to try to go once a year. Each time, I got a little braver and wanted a little more. The trips also became an escape from responsible family life. I liked this freedom. It felt like living in the college days of independence and knowing no one was watching your behavior too closely. Soon I wanted to bet more. Then I wanted to drink more. Eventually, I wanted to gamble all day long and well into the night. A monster was born.

In 2000, I spiraled down to deathly depths. I took two significant trips to Vegas that matured my monster.

The first trip was during spring break. I looked forward to getting away from teaching, coaching, and family. My last night on vacation, I bet on the final game of the NCAA men's basketball tournament in all kinds of fun ways: Which team would have the most three-pointers? Which team would make the most free throws? I bet a few other "side bets," which are usually crummy bets because the odds are greatly against the bettor. I truly won big. When I returned to the room with my buddy, I threw the hundred-dollar bills across my bed. He was impressed, and I was ready to win more.

With adrenaline from this win, I took the money to higher stakes at the blackjack tables. I had always avoided these tables because I could not afford them. I knew I could lose a lot of money fast there, but I wanted to try them to see if I could win big. The card game teased me, as I went up and down, winning and losing. At the high points, I could have walked away very satisfied. At the low points, I wanted to get back all the money I had just won on the basketball game. In the end, I lost my basketball minifortune. Disappointed in myself, I wanted it back and fast. My monster now desired to win big by playing higher-stakes casino games; it also did not accept losses very well. The monster got angry.

During the summer of 2000, I was with my best friends, whom I lived with during my college years at the University of Michigan. It was our annual "men's trip," and it had added significance because I was a month away from scheduled brain surgery for my epilepsy. I was with the guys and about to lose my mind. I went hog wild, drinking and gambling like there was no tomorrow. Within hours, I blew the money I had brought for the trip. With two days to go and out of cash in Las Vegas, my baby monster was itching to get back on the higher-stakes blackjack tables. I learned a way to borrow money on my credit card—which I proceeded to do within minutes of going inside the casino. What a destroyer that became.

Now I could get money to get back to the table games that were out of my league. And I lost a lot—fast. It didn't matter; the money seemed free and I figured I could just get more. The spiral down to the depths of hell was accelerated. I hated losing, but now I could get back and try again anytime I lost. Around and around I'd go on the carousel ride that never ended. The monster thought it could beat these games. I was convinced that the odds would have to tip in my favor once in a while.

With losses mounting up, I just needed more chances to win. Eventually I'd get my side of the odds. At the beginning of the new millennium, Detroit made it easier for me to have more opportunities. At first, I would go to the downtown casinos, not withholding this information from my wife, just to have some fun with my friends. Most of the time, I'd return home again, disappointed in my failings and trying to figure out how to do better. But I continued losing and borrowing to make up for it, and the monster knew how wrong this was. Drowning in debt, I could never rationalize going, but I did. I deserved the freedom from my hard work as a coach, teacher, and family man. I could win it back. I figured out new ways to win. I just needed to try them out. I had lost so many times that I thought the odds would be in my favor the next time. Afraid of being caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I began sneaking around. The monster drove me.

By the summer of 2004, my addiction was about to take complete control of my life. A friend gave me an unsuspected warning. As we were moving his furniture to a new apartment, out of the blue, he told me of a friend who had a $20,000 debt due to gambling. I shucked it off, thinking to myself, What a poor schmuck. I was only $6,000 in the hole, and I was going to take care of that soon. My friend's conversation stuck with me. I replayed it over and over: this man was $20,000 in debt because of gambling. Before long, I would be another friend he had who owed just as much because of gambling.

I continued to find more creative ways to get money. I not only borrowed at the casino, but I also took out a couple of loans. First, I took a loan against my retirement funds, which evaporated like a puddle of water on a boiling hot summer day. Looking for more dough, I received a bigger loan from my credit card company. Guilt started to grab me. I had two secret loans, and I didn't know how to pay them off. I wasn't winning it back with the frequency of my gambling. How could I get out of this debt and still gamble?

My mind was spinning around and around. How could I pay off the loans? Then as rotten as anything the Grinch ever did, I figured I'd borrow from my dad's annual Christmas gift, a donation to my kids' college funds. I crunched the numbers. I could pay off both loans and my credit card. Then I could make monthly payments back into the college funds. And eureka! I'd have extra money to gamble more, because I wouldn't have any more debt. The monster became an official demon.

It got worse. By 2005, a trip a month to the casino was not enough. Unluckily, I learned how to Internet gamble. To enjoy watching a professional or college game anymore, I needed to bet on it. Win or lose, I'd then need to bet on meaningless, late-night football and basketball games, not finding out the results until the next day. Then I learned how to play craps and blackjack at my home office desk. Who needed a casino?

The demon possessed me in my home. He was everywhere with me in my life. I could not get away from him. If I thought about my debt, he said, "Let's make it...