The Century of Self, a 5-Day Birthday, and the Wisdom of Empty Hands

To most people, the Book of Ecclesiastes is incredibly depressing. I completely understand why. But for me, it brings a profound sense of peace. It is the raw, unfiltered truth of the world's wisest man, Solomon—a man who had everything and realized it meant absolutely nothing.

Believe it or not, I identify with Solomon. No, I am not a king of kings, but I have certainly lived like one.

God has done something unique with my life. He allowed me to experience almost every pleasure, extreme, and folly I could possibly think of. Despite being bow-legged and far from a typical world-class physical specimen, I somehow became the 13th best decathlete my senior year NCAA Division 1, just barely missing All-American. I fashioned myself a rock star—despite not really being able to sing—releasing four independent albums, touring the East Coast, and making it to the finals of the Gospel Music Association.

By the time I was 25, I was the VP of the second-largest ad agency in Tampa. At 30, I owned three magazines, a boat dealership and a wakeboard board shop. I sold them, became a millionaire, and then lost it all in a brutal 2011 bankruptcy.

I can promise you there are billionaires who have not partied as hard or experienced as much as I have (with shame). It was a life of absolute extremes. It was as if God was pouring pleasure into my life like a beer bong, constantly asking, "Have you had enough yet? When will you follow me with all of your heart?" From wakeboarding at 7:00 AM on glassy water to rubbing elbows with highly influential people, to snowboarding and skiing the best peaks in America—He afforded me a life I simply did not deserve even when I was broke.

And Solomon was right. It is all meaningless.

I spent years in marketing and advertising, blowing up people's egos and elevating the work of their hands, only to watch it all be destroyed years later. We live in the "Century of Self"—a deeply materialistic "I" and "Me" generation. (If you want to understand this, look up the documentary The Century of the Self on YouTube). How will we ever truly serve and follow the Lord when we are so buried in our own indulgence?

This brings me to my 50th birthday.

My 30th was a surprise party, and I completely skipped my 40th. But for my 50th, I planned to do it right. I organized a five-day extravaganza—one day for each decade of my life. It started with a business party and a friends' party on a rooftop in Lynchburg. My son, Cash, was standing right next to me. The next day, we hit the lake to see old friends. Then, it was down to Florida for three days of absolute debauchery—yachts, pool parties, and things I won't even mention here. It was overdone, entirely Arrogant, and meant to impress.

Today, I could not care less about any of it.

I would give up every yacht, every dollar, and every single one of my birthdays just to have my son back. Three months after he stood next to me on that rooftop, he was gone. What started as the best year of my life violently turned into the worst.

Solomon wrote that with much wisdom comes much grief. I understand that now. My grief is overwhelming, but my wisdom compounds the closer I follow the Lord through this valley. I would not trade this spiritual clarity for anything the world has to offer.

I love you, Cash, and I miss you. All I can do now is spend my time with the Lord, striving to be as holy and righteous as I can be—for myself, for my family, and for you. My ultimate goal now is to 100x the wrongs of my past. If I caused people to stumble during my years of folly, I want (Lord willing) to 100x that impact by leading people directly to the Lord.

That is the only pursuit that isn't meaningless. And I cannot wait to be reunited with you someday.

Today's SOAP

Referenced book: In The Red: money, sex, power. The three addictions every man thinks he can control.