Space Monkey

It starts with a few dollars in change. You place a bet, and suddenly, you hit. Your heart races. Your brain lights up with excitement. For a moment, everything feels right. You feel lucky. You feel like you've figured out the game. So you bet a little bigger. And you hit again. Now your brain wants that feeling back. That rush. That excitement. That moment when you feel like you've won. You lose some, win some, and keep chasing that feeling. Every loss makes you want to win it all back. Every win convinces you that the next one could be even bigger. And that's how it gets you. Your brain starts remembering the wins more than the losses. You forget how much you've already spent. You tell yourself you're just one bet away from getting everything back. Then one day, you look around and realize you've lost more than money. You've lost time with your family. You've lost trust. You've lost sleep. You've lost the person you used to be. And the worst part? You still think about that next bet. The shame builds. The stress becomes unbearable. You start looking for something to quiet your mind, and maybe that something becomes drugs or alcohol. One addiction begins feeding another, and suddenly you're fighting battles you never imagined you'd face. That's the cruel part of gambling addiction. The same brain that celebrated those first few wins can become trapped chasing a feeling that never lasts. What once felt like fun becomes a desperate attempt to escape the pain of losing. You keep chasing the money, but deep down, you're really chasing the feeling you had when you first started. Gambling doesn't always take everything in one night. Sometimes, it takes a little at a time, until one day you realize just how much is gone. The most dangerous bet isn't always the one where you lose your money. It's the one that makes you believe you can't stop.

Did you know I was in med school at one time. I was doing well. One afternoon at a grocery store, my desire to become a doctor changed. I noticed a little girl pointing to an apple and gesturing to her mother. Her mother dismissively nodded and kept going. The girl shook her determined face and tapped on her mother’s elbow. She was trying to tell her something that was important to her. It hit me that she was deaf. I walked over to her and signed, “Oh! The red apple doesn’t belong in the bin with the green apples?” The girl instantly smiled and nodded! “Apple in wrong place (bin)!” “You’re right!” The mother watched us for a couple of minutes then said, “We are encouraging her to learn to talk. Signing limits her.” She didn’t realize *I* was deaf just like her daughter. I told her I was going to tell her what I wish someone had told my own mother years ago. After shopping I sat in my car for awhile. I heard God’s calling. It was as real as being pinched by someone. It was loud and clear. I dropped out of med school. I became a teacher of deaf children. A few years later I met them again. She sat in a desk in my classroom.