Chasing the High
When I was younger, I got swept up in the world of drugs and alcohol. Back then, I told myself it was all just for fun—but deep down, I was trying to cover up the insecurities I didn’t know how to face. I experimented with everything—a pill here, a line there, a few hits to take the edge off. Eventually, cocaine became my go-to.
At first, a small line was enough to send me flying. But like all addictions, it didn’t stay that way. I needed more—larger amounts, more often. And when snorting it wasn’t enough, I started smoking it. The crash that followed each high was brutal—physically and emotionally. And when the drug stopped working the way it used to, the desperation hit harder than the comedown.
Still, my dealer was always just a call away, ready to feed the illusion that the next high would fix everything.
By God’s grace, I was able to break free. But that experience taught me something deeper: my life of addiction mirrored the way many of us chase after the world.
As we get older, the things of this world begin to lose their shine. The highs we once felt—from money, possessions, relationships—start to fade. What once thrilled us now feels familiar, even dull. It’s like your favorite song that’s been played too many times—you need space from it before you can enjoy it again.
The excitement wears off. The laughter doesn’t hit the same. Life starts to feel like a rerun. Even when your favorite team wins the championship, it doesn’t stir you like it used to. Vacations and entertainment begin to feel more like chores than escapes. Slowly, everything seems to lose a little more meaning.
But the world tells you you’re the problem. You’re just stuck in a rut. You need to reignite your passions, set new goals, push harder—find your next high.
Today’s media is like a tireless drug dealer—always ready with the next fix. You can’t escape the constant noise: You need this. You’re missing that. Do this. Get that. Try this. Buy that. It never stops.
It’s exhausting. A torturous hum that won’t let up. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone’s selling something. Ads, influencers, experts—all crowding your mind.
After a while, it all blurs together—blah, blah, blah—until you’re numb, unsure what’s real anymore.
The Drug Dealer
It’s all part of Satan’s design. The world he’s built is meant to keep us distracted, addicted, and running in circles. He wants us bound to something—anything—so long as it keeps us from turning to God. The treadmill isn’t just exhausting… it’s strategic.
The fading highs of life aren’t accidents—they’re warnings. They point to a deeper emptiness, a growing distance from the only One who can truly satisfy.
God is the one “high” that never fades. He never fails, never leaves us empty. His presence is constant, fulfilling, eternal.
But Satan knows that. So he keeps feeding us counterfeits. And the world plays along, telling us we just need to “reset,” or “find ourselves,” or “try something new.” It’s all smoke and mirrors—designed to keep us chasing the next thrill just long enough to stay asleep.
Because if the highs stop… we just might wake up.
And if we wake up, we might finally realize:
We were made for God.
For those who don’t see it—that Satan is the dealer and the world is his drug of choice—it’s easy to stay lost in the illusion. Life feels good. The highs are sweet. Everything seems fine.
But those are the ones I fear for the most.
When you're comfortably addicted to the world’s pleasures, the danger becomes invisible. You don’t sense the slow drift from God. And the scariest part? That addiction may not just steal your joy—it could cost you your soul.
The relentless highs this world offers are nothing more than temporary escapes—just another drug to numb the emptiness inside. But when the high fades, we're left with the one thing we were trying to avoid all along: ourselves. When we’re filled with God—intoxicated by His Spirit—the things of this world become simple moments to enjoy, not chains that keep us bound.
