God of Second Chances - Pt. 2
When I was in my early twenties, I was driving back to my apartment very late after hanging out with my friends to the wee hours. My car broke down in the middle of nowhere, but luckily not too far from a gas station and a pay phone. I was not living my life very well then, to be honest. I drank too much, partied too much, smoked too much and generally did too much of every other bad thing you could think of--all of which made my poor parents worry. For about a half an hour I tried everything I could think of to get the car moving again but to no avail. I had one quarter in my car, which I found underneath the floor mat. That's all the money I had on me, which meant that I had one phone call to make. So I called my dad. That was a hard call to make because my dad and I didn't get along very much at all at that point in our life. We disagreed on just about everything--particularly on matters of faith. When I was about fifteen years old, I no longer wan