TITLE: Self-made Man 3-21-15
By Lois Lewis
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Flint Parker Jamison was one of those people, who didn’t believe the rules applied to him. He thought of himself, as a self-made man. In his eyes, the dollar was the only thing, almighty. Attending church services was not on his bucket list.
Flint had a trophy ex-wife, after he determined his financial output on her was far greater than he wanted to expend. They had no children, because everyone knows how much it costs to raise them.
Flint’s philosophy of life could be summed up in two bumper stickers: 1) He who dies with the most toys wins, and 2) If I can’t take it with me, I’m not going.
One sunny day, both bumper stickers proved false for Flint. He was driving his red Ferrari, 90 miles per hour on a two-lane, when he topped a hill behind a tractor doing 15 mph. He jerked the steering wheel left, and as he sailed by the farmer, flipped him his I.Q.
Imagine Flint’s shock, when an oncoming semi hit him head on, his spirit was snatched from his tent, and he found himself standing in front of Jesus. Disbelief washed over him as, “The Book of Life,” was opened, and he heard Jesus say, “I’m sorry, your name’s not here.”
Certain there was a mistake, Flint said, “That can’t be right! I never murdered anyone. I worked hard to achieve every goal I set. I didn’t steal. Well, maybe my accountant helped me hide some things at tax time, but . . . I mean, do you know, who I am?”
“On earth, I owned most everything money could buy. I had one thousand acres of land, and a road named after me. Artwork, that was the envy of all who saw it, hung on the walls of my eleven thousand square foot home. Thirty expensive vehicles lined my garages, everything from a Jaguar to a Lamborghini. I had a stable full of thoroughbred race horses. I owned a private jet, my own airstrip, and had a pilot on the payroll. My forty-six foot yacht was furnished in the finest Italian leather, and had top of the line stereo, and theater systems. My gun collection was among the best in the world . . .”
Jesus listened for some time, before he sadly smiled and said, “What good are those things now, Flint? Your name isn’t written in, “The Book of Life,” and there’s no buy-in.”
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