The One Chance We Get: A Testimony of Redemption, Reckoning, and Resurrection
It could’ve been the first time I ever did that…
Blew a duck call in front of a crowd like this.
Just for the ladies. Because I know some of y’all are thinking, “I hope he blows one of them duck calls.”
But here’s a tip, fellas: never practice that duck call indoors. Something about that sound—pierces the ears of every woman within a hundred yards.
Now, I was born of a woman—just like you. That first birth? It gets you on this earth. But it’s the second birth that’ll get you off it.
Let me tell you a story. It’s the mother of them all.
You see this Bible in my hand? This pulpit in front of me? You might think, “Preacher.”
But look at me. Do I really look like a preacher?
Let me tell you something that might just throw you: before I was born again, I ran a beer joint. Full stop.
My little sister, God bless her, she was relentless. She told a man from a church in West Monroe, “If you can reach my brother, he’ll bring a lot of people to Jesus.”
The guy balked. “Wait—you want me to go 75 miles into Arkansas to a bar?”
Eventually, she wore him down.
So he shows up. I’m behind the counter, serving drinks, the place packed, everyone lit up and loud—and she’s up front passing out Gospel tracts like it’s a revival.
Naturally, people start getting riled. “What’s this Bible-thumper doing in here?”
So I step in, calm the chaos. I spot him.
“You some kind of preacher?”
“I am,” he says.
I ask, “You ever been drunk?”
He nods. “I have.”
“Well,” I say, “I’m drunk now. So what’s the difference between you and me?”
He left that night and told my sister, “He’s not ready.”
And I wasn’t.
A year goes by. In that time, I blew up my life. Ran off my wife. Had Al and little Jase at the house—but I was too high, too drunk, and too lost to care.
I was a scumbag. A heathen. A man burning his soul on every vice he could afford.
But then… my wife came back.
She looked me in the eyes and said, “Phil, talk to him. Just this once. Sober up and talk to him.”
And I did. And the preacher told me the Gospel.
And I—weeping, broken—listened.
I didn’t need a dictionary to understand repentance. I knew what it meant. I knew what I had to do.
I’d been running wide open for the Devil for 28 years. So I said to God:
“Now I’ll run just as hard for you.”
That was over 40 years ago.
28 years lost. 42 years found.
Let me tell you: these past 42? Way better. By a mile.
The rarest thing I ever received? Not fame. Not fortune. Not even family.
It was peace of mind.
You’ll never have that without Jesus. Ever.
Not with the drinking. Not with the sex. Not with the anger or the addiction.
Sin doesn’t deliver—it destroys.
I know. I’ve been there.
When you’re in that trap, you think you’re living free. You don’t even realize it’s a prison until you try to leave.
And then, if you’re lucky, you do leave.
You might say, “Phil, you’re rich and famous now. That’s proof of God?”
No. That’s just bonus.
Fame can’t forgive you. Money won’t raise you from the dead.
Only one thing can.
I’ve argued with people who wouldn’t even admit they were going to die. One guy flat-out said, “No sir, not me.”
Six weeks later? He was dead.
Knifed in a bar.
And I still wonder if, as the blood poured from his chest, he remembered the words I spoke to him: “You’re going to die. You need Jesus.”
Here’s the truth, Texas—hear me now:
You’ve got two problems you cannot fix.
-
You were born.
-
You’re going to die.
Your first birth got you here. The second one? That’s the only way out.
And yeah, you weren’t a sinner at two hours old. But once you knew what sin was?
You did it.
We all did.
Some of you did it early and often.
Sexual immorality. Jealousy. Fits of rage. Lies. Bitterness.
One sin is enough. That’s all it takes to make you spiritually dead.
So what happens when physical death meets spiritual death?
You’re lost. Forever.
Unless…
Unless someone could take your place.
Unless someone perfect—100% man, 100% God—could walk the Earth, die for you, and then defeat death three days later.
And someone did.
You ever notice what year it is?
2025.
Two thousand and twenty-five years since… what?
You count from something.
You count from someone.
Jesus. The one man who never sinned.
Who never failed.
Who never broke.
And now? He offers you life. A second birth. A way out.
I’ve watched drug dealers come to Jesus.
I’ve watched a man step out of prison and into a new life.
I’ve married black and brown and white folks in my backyard under the eyes of rednecks who never thought they’d see the day—and they wept, because love and mercy broke through.
That’s what the family of God looks like.
That’s what the resurrection does.
It takes dead things—and makes them live again.
So I’ll end with this:
You’ve got one shot to get out of here alive.
Don’t waste it.
If you need to repent, do it.
If you need to believe, do it.
If you’re ready to obey, get baptized.
God will bury the old you and raise the new you.
Because one day—sooner than you think—they’ll dig your grave.
And on that day, only one name will matter.
Jesus.