Almost

Two Lottery Stories

What would you do if you won the lottery?

I’ve got two lottery stories. Here’s the first—one that’s stuck with me for years.

Back when I used to work delivering top-grade fruits and vegetables to restaurants all over Atlanta, one of the guys I worked with told me this story about his aunt and uncle up in Michigan. They were the kind of folks who played the lottery religiously—same numbers every week, knew them by heart. His uncle worked construction, his aunt stayed home.

One day, the uncle was on the job, radio on in the background, when the lottery numbers came up. One by one, he heard them read off… and they were his numbers. Every single one. He stood there frozen, trying to grasp it—he was a millionaire, just like that. He felt like Jed Clampett, like George Jefferson—about to “move on up,” as they say. He couldn’t believe it—after all that time, the numbers finally hit.

Trembling, he grabbed his phone and called home. His wife answered. He could barely get the words out—“Honey, we won. We won!” You can imagine that rush of joy, disbelief, tears, laughter—the whole spectrum of emotions hitting at once.

When they finally calmed down, he asked her, “Where’s the ticket?”

Silence.

She didn’t know. Couldn’t remember. They searched every corner of that house—you name it: drawers, kitchen counters, coat pockets, even the trash—but the ticket was gone.

Never turned up.

It was a multimillion jackpot—ten million or more, my coworker said. They never recovered from it. They ended up divorcing. He drank himself into an early grave; she lost her mind and eventually wound up in a mental hospital.

I’ll never forget that story. They were just one missing ticket away from a whole new life. Makes you realize how thin the line is between winning big and losing everything…

The second story’s a little different—it’s about the strange brush I had with the lottery once.

I don’t normally play. Honestly, it had probably been ten years since the last time I bought a ticket. But one day, these numbers just popped into my head out of nowhere. They felt… random, but not really. So I scribbled them down and thought, why not? Maybe I’m supposed to play these.

That evening, I bought a ticket for the Fantasy Five drawing. Later that night, I sat down in front of the TV, ticket in hand, heart doing that nervous little dance while I waited for the numbers to roll out.

The first one—bam. I had it.
The second—got it.
The third—hit again.
The fourth—yes! Four in a row.

Now it all came down to the last number. If it hit, I’d be holding a ticket worth half a million dollars. I was right there on the edge of my seat, waiting… the winning number flashed on the screen—29.

I looked down. Mine said 30.

Missed it by one digit. Just one.

Still, four out of five wasn’t bad—I got a hundred bucks out of it. Not life-changing, but it sure made for a good story.

Funny how luck works, isn’t it? One number can mean the difference between a payday and just another story before bed…

So I guess if there’s any moral here, it’s this—don’t store your hopes and dreams in things that can be lost…
store them where they’re eternal —
that’s where the true jackpot is waiting…

As for me… I don’t believe in luck or chance.

…….🚫💰🏃‍♂️🌍…⏳🕯️…👋🪦🚫🧳…🚘⚰️🚫🧳🧺…✅💎⬆️☁️✝️…♾️✨…….—/—$→🌍…⏳…→∅…⚰→∅…→↑†…∞’…….🚫$→🌍…⏳…⚰️→🚫🧳…“no hearse w/ luggage rack”.🤷‍♂️..↑†☁️…💎→♾️’…….—/—$→🌍…⏳🕯️…⚰️→∅…↑†☁️…💎♾️…….<3†’

Matthew 13:44 (NIV)
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field…”

© 2026 bryanforchrist. All rights reserved.

`’.,°~                          …..t

the boy who went fishing and never came home

a memory I have carried…

I still see him
when I think of that summer…

a small boy
with a fishing pole bigger than his arms…

walking the neighborhood
like he belonged to no one… and everyone at the same time…

I didn’t know then
that some children are already alone
before anything bad ever happens…

that summer hung over us like syrup…
slow…
impossible to escape…

he was always there on those endless days…
quiet…
never saying a word…
just giggling
smiling a lot…

his face dirty…
always alone…

he moved like a question mark…
drifting through the neighborhood…
always in spaces kids that age
weren’t usually allowed to be
by themselves…

something in me felt off about it…
but I ignored it…

because kids do that…

I told myself…
that’s what summers do…

scattering children
like dandelion fluff…

at first.. I thought
a grown-up had to be nearby…
surely one would come looking for him…

but they never did…

until that one day…

I was staying that summer
at my cousin’s house…
with my aunt…

a place always full of noise
and boys
and bikes
and long days…

I was 12…

there were a lot of us my age…
we all fished…
it was just what you did…

you grabbed a pole
walked
until the water showed up…

the lake sat in the neighborhood
like it belonged to us…

and on those days…
it did…

we went there laughing…
competing…
pretending we knew what we were doing…

none of us thought twice about it…

back then…

the water…
was just water…

we walked with our poles dragging behind us…
dust lifting
settling again…

no hurry…
no reason to hurry…

the neighborhood felt stretched out that afternoon…
like the distance between things had grown…

it felt like the world
was holding its breath…

I remember thinking
the day was taking its time…

not knowing
why that made me uneasy…

I saw him…

his quiet smile…

there by the water’s edge…

he was fishing…
by himself…
like always…

his name was
little Jerry

he was
5

we got bored of fishing the way kids do…
lines reeled in…
poles dropped in the dirt…

someone said swimming…
and that was enough…

we ran to a neighbor’s house
down the street…

his mom was outside…
she cut a watermelon open
on the porch for us…

red juice down our wrists…
seeds stuck to our fingers…

laughing…
sticky…
unknowing…

the last normal thing…

the air tasted like sugar and sun—
and I remember thinking
I’d never seen a red
brighter than that watermelon…

when we walked back toward the lake…
the day was gone…

the air was torn open…
like something holy…

I heard a woman screaming
before I saw her…

oh no… my baby…
oh no… my baby…

again and again…
like the words were all she had left…

someone’s radio was playing
on a distant porch…
bright
against the screams…

my aunt was there…
standing still…
her face not hers anymore…

people were running…
shoes left behind…
voices everywhere…

and without anyone telling us…
we went into the water…

all of us…
spreading out…

hands down…
feet searching the bottom…

the water smelled like mud and metal…

it was no longer just water…

I stood beside my aunt…
searching…

then her voice split through everything—
in a tone I had never heard before…

oh my God…
here he is…
I have him…

I’ll never forget seeing him come up
from beneath the surface…

the water ran off him
like silver threads…

with him in her arms—
she rushed to shore…

he just laid there… still…
quiet…

fear was on the air—

CPR…
chest compressions…

pressing…
breathing…
pressing…
breathing…

the images…
stacked on each other…
in my mind…

everyone was praying
when the ambulance arrived…

they took him away…
still working…
still trying…

and so…

he wouldn’t make it that day—

he died in the back of the ambulance
on the way to the hospital…

his fishing pole…

at my feet…

the hook…

still baited…

the water went still again…

Matthew 19:14
Let the little children come to me… for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these…

© 2026 Bryan Loia Hudson. All rights reserved.

`’.,°~          🎣-¡

Saltwater and Second Chances

The Day Me and My Friend Almost Drowned…

It was the summer of 1996…
I had it all figured out—
  until I didn’t…
I thought I could—
  until I couldn’t…

Life shows up at times…
 and will straight wreck your ship—
it’s a beast…
 a leviathan…

You can’t just ebb with the tide…
 if you don’t lead it—
  it will lure you…

Drowning is not an option…
Swim like your life depends on it—
  because it does…

Me…
my friend Terrell…
and his girlfriend Helen
decided to go to Panama City.. Florida
for the weekend…

It was about a six hour drive from Atlanta…
I was really spontaneous back then—
 so were my friends…

We would do crazy stuff on a whim…
 without thinking much about it…
it was Helen’s idea—
 T and me just looked at each other
  and smiled…

Within half an hour…
we were in the car and on the road—
 the highway was our runway…
 we didn’t have a flight plan…

After watching my life race by
like highway lines…
for what felt like eternity—
we finally made it…

That’s a notorious drive…
 it always feels double the time it takes…

So we found our rooms…
 chilled for a short time…
bought beer—
 and headed to the beach…

I didn’t know this but
T brought a funnel…
and he knew I had never done it before—
 so I tried it…
  about choked myself…

No bro…
it’s cool…
thanks anyway…

I like to actually taste
and enjoy a beer—
not shoot it like a rocket…
Down my throat…
to my brain
and insides…

So after a day of brutal heat
and alcohol…
I could hear the Gulf
calling my name—

Deep calls to deep…
 like a favorite song…

The two of us traded
the safety of the sand…
 for liquid turquoise…
oh.. how good it felt
on my body…

Such a beautiful and strange thing—
 is water…
It gives life…
 it can take it too…

We both were excellent swimmers…
 loved it so…
spent a lot of time in the water together—
 we ventured out pretty far…

I started to get a little tired…
Told T we should head back to shore—
 he agreed…
I could tell he was tiring too…

We hit a sandbar…
finally able to stand…
feel the bottom again…

I could feel the alcohol
hitting me more…
 creeping up on me…
  my head was spinning…

As I was bobbing…
 fighting waves…
an undercurrent picked up slightly—
 pulled us off the sandbar…

We could no longer stand…
It was back to treading…

T wasn’t looking good—
 he had way too much to drink…
This was a bad idea…
 things were about to get real…

Suddenly—
we were like two kites
with broken strings…

He started to struggle hard…
 fell below the surface…
  then up again…
   then down once more…

Oh no…
 oh no…

He cried out for me—
 help me…
  then he went under…

I went down after him…
with what strength I had left—
 got him back up…

But he was in survival mode…
 total panic…

He clung to me—
 I couldn’t move
  my arms
  or legs…

Next thing I know…
I was under water…
 he was on top of me…

Stepping all over me—
 his feet pushing me further down
as he fought for his life…
 to stay afloat…

I sank below…

Under water…
 out of strength…
  out of breath…
   far from home…

Fear spun over me
like a dreaded whirlwind—

I thought about the ones I loved…
 my life…
  how I should have done better…

I tried to fight some more—
 but I just had nothing left…
  zero breath…

I noticed the sun above…
 its beams shooting through the water
  all around me…

The fear left…
I was ok now…

I said a prayer…
 then from beneath the ocean…
  I said my goodbyes…

I gave up and breathed in saltwater…

Then—
unexpectedly…

I felt sand under my feet…
With new-found strength—
 I pushed off and up…

My head shot above water…
I found myself again
on the elusive sandbar…

I instantly started coughing…
 spitting out water from my lungs…

I breathed in—
 it was air this time…

I slowly walked
the narrow sandbar
back to shallower water…

I made it back to the beach…

My waterlogged body—
 collapsing…
  surrendering to sleep…

Later that evening…
close to sunset…

I woke…
 I remembered…
  I was so thankful…
   grateful…
    happy to be alive…

But oh my Lord—
 where was T…
  was he ok…

Then—
down the beach…

I saw him
and Helen…

The same thing had happened to him…
He somehow made it to shore…
 passed out…
  and slept…

He had just woken up
the same time I did…

This was all just so unreal…
How blessed
and fortunate
we were to have made it out…

I learned major lessons that day…
 I’m always learning stuff…

My friend T survived the ocean that day…
Only to be shot and killed years later—

Murdered…
 gunned down…
  in cold blood…

Like he was nothing…

over nothing…

He made it out of the water…
 but not the world…

And I’m still out here…

trying to make sense
  of the waves

that never stop coming…

Psalm 42:7 (NIV)


“Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls…
all your waves and breakers have swept over me…”

© 2026 Bryan H. All rights reserved.

`’.,°~

The Window Song

one broken summer… one beautiful moment…

The Summer of 97`
was rough man…

like couldn’t get any worse…
far as the heart goes…


go read my story First Love
and you will get it… 😁


…but now looking back…
it was beautiful…

So I did three things that summer…

went to work…
played my guitar…
hung out with friends…


killing everything with drugs and alcohol…
straight up gunning my life down…


At the time… I was living in a downstairs apartment…
in the burbs of Atlanta…


That summer… I spent many a day and night…
many an hour…


sitting on the edge of my bed…
right in front of an open window…


strumming my strings…
singing my blues away…


learning new songs…
holding fast to old ones…


I had just finished a concert to myself lol…
when I heard a soft hello…


Then I looked… and there —
at my window —

was the beautiful face
that belonged to the voice…


She lived in the neighborhood…
I didn’t know her…


With my guitar still in my hands…
we talked — through the screen —


She was kind… honest…
open…


She told me that for a month…
she would pass by my window…


hoping I would be there…
singing…
playing…


She told me how much she looked forward to it…
how the music helped her…
because she was dealing with much in her life…

She said she would lean against my building…
beside my window…
just out of sight…


listen for a while…
breathe in deep…


she said my feelings —
that I was giving away in those songs —
she recognized them…
as her own…

She said she’d get lost in my songs…
forget things…
for a little while…


I’ve never had a better compliment…


So I told her…


my window… was her window…
my song… was her song…


and she was welcome… anytime…

`’.°~

…….<~|🜔|~>→🪟→♪♪~…….<~|*|~>→|[]|→~~~♪~ `.°~ @’~~~ that’s what she said…

While writing this I listened to the album Kerosene Hat by Cracker… from 1993…

She was definitely… a hidden gem… from the b-side… 😎`’.,

© Bryan H. 2025 — All Rights Reserved

`’.,°~

Blood In The Sky 🔴`’.°~

a night in my life…

In June of 2o09…
I walked away from the drug life
away from the people
The Culture
The chaos
The darkness


But darkness does not always let go easily


These were the people I once called friends
One of them was like a brother to me
Yet they secretly planned to take my life


They were tied to something dangerous — an organization that did not forgive


I knew too much


They tricked me into going on a road trip to another state


Their plan was to hand me over…

to people who were supposed to kill me

make me disappear forever…

As truth slowly began to reveal itself
fear poured through me…


I thought to myself


This is it…
it’s over…
I’m done…
I’m about to die…


So I began to pray silently…
Believing I was about to meet my maker…


Then something happened — something Holy


A presence stood beside me…

Fear lifted off me…

A deep peace fell over me…

I knew…

I wasn’t alone…

And the men with me felt it too — they knew something greater than them had stepped in…


What I did not know was that they had secretly drugged me


I began to feel sick


The world began to fade away…  everything went black…


The next thing I remember — waking up in a hospital


I stayed there for two weeks


My body… recovering
My heart… waking up…

When I walked out
I was not the same…


Jesus met me — I’ve followed Him ever since…


I couldn’t go home
But that was ok…


I didn’t want to be there anyway…


Later.. I learned what really happened that night…


God spoke to the heart of one of the men…


The same man who helped plan my death… was the one who called for help…


He helped save my life…


He chose mercy… over murder…

I will never forget that moon…


Huge… low…

heavy in the night…

close enough to touch…


Deep red and orange — like blood in the sky…

After that night…


God led me into discipleship and ministry…


He gave me a vision…
a heart for people…


a promise…


that my life…


would rest safely in His hands always…


what was supposed to be an ending…
turned into a beginning…


a chance to turn it all around…

© Bryan H. 2025 — All Rights Reserved

Reach For The Sky… ‘Cause Tomorrow… May Never Come…

So I sit at the edge of my bed…
I strum my guitar… and I sing an outlaw love song…

With a guitar in my hand… I stand a little taller…

The Squirrel That Climbed Into My Life…

What are your favorite animals?

A memory that climbed up my leg and stayed…

Animals are great.. they can be your best buddy.. your worst nightmare.. or a sandwich.. it just depends on which one you choose.. they’re diverse like that..
I’ve experienced them as all three.. I think I prefer them as friend or food..
The animal I’m about to tell you about can be either of the three…

So the squirrel isn’t my favorite animal.. but I’ve got some cool stories.. I’ve had a few as pets over the years.. and I’ve had dealings with them many times..
I once had like five babies at the same time.. it was overwhelming.. so I took them and dropped them off at a veterinarian’s office.. and said “here.. you can have these” haha…

My first ever experience with a squirrel was a memorable one.. I ended up giving her a name.. “Peanut..” She was a special little thing.. she became my buddy.. and part of my family..
One day.. I was outside.. I just happened to look down as I walked.. and there was this small baby squirrel..
I stopped and just observed.. I didn’t want to touch it.. because I wasn’t sure if maybe the mama wouldn’t come back for it.. and I didn’t want to leave my scent..
Then she started coming to me.. and to my surprise.. she climbed up my pants leg and into my arms..
and it was over.. my heart was won…

To be continued…

…….🐿️🍼→👖↑→🤲→🏡💖’…….~→/↑→|→<~<3′

“The Mississippi Squirrel Revival” 👇

© Bryan H. 2025 — All Rights Reserved

This Isn’t a Poem… It’s a True Story.

A childhood moment I’ve never forgotten..

When I was 5 years old… I wanted to go outside and play..
But my mama said no — because it was storming..
And what Mama says… goes..

Thunderbolt and lightning…
very very frightening…

I stood there at the glass screen door.. watching the storm roll and roar —
and I knew what I needed to do if I wanted to go outside anytime soon..

I wasn’t your typical five-year-old boy..

So I went before my God..

I prayed to Him..
I thanked Him..
I asked for His help..

And then — with the kind of faith only a child can hold —
I spoke with authority to the storm…
and commanded it to stop..

And just like that —
it did..

The wind… the rain… the thunder… the lightning…
ceased immediately..

Sunlight broke the clouds.
Silence fell..
And I walked out into the yard…
to play…

“” I was so much older then… I’m younger than that now …””
— Bob Dylan

…….→/→†→↑→~↓→†→~→⛰️’

© Bryan H. 2025 — All Rights Reserved

The Day I Held a Wild Vulture…

When Fear Had Feathers

In 2012.. I was running on spiritual fumes.. living and working down in Florida.. driving an 18-wheeler and hauling orange juice concentrate..  Most days I’d head down to the seaports.. wait for the massive container ships from Brazil.. then hook to a bulk tank and run it to one of the orange juice factories scattered across the state..

One day.. I was rolling down a long.. deserted.. country road in the middle of nowhere when something big.. black.. and winged shot across my path and smacked the front of my truck with violent force..

It happened so fast I couldn’t tell what kind of bird it was.. I just prayed it wasn’t a bald eagle—there were plenty of them in that area.. Whatever it was.. I knew it had to be dead.. No way anything could survive the hit I felt.. My anxiety climbed as I pulled over and walked to the front of the truck.. preparing myself for the worst..

But when I looked down.. lodged in an open section near the bottom of the grille.. was a huge black vulture—one of the largest I’d ever seen..
And it was still alive..

For a few moments.. I just stood there.. trying to process what I was seeing.. The bird was incredibly calm and strangely quiet.. It looked right at me with an expression I can only describe as.. “Please help me…”

There was no way I was going to grab this thing bare-handed.. I was certain it would lash out with its beak.. So I found a big stick on the side of the road and tried to pry it loose.. No luck.. The bird was wedged tight.. and part of it was pressed against the radiator—which was extremely hot.. I knew time wasn’t on its side..

I kept trying with one hand on the stick and one on a wing.. but it wasn’t working.. I was starting to make it worse..

Eventually.. I realized the truth..
I was going to have to pick this thing up with both hands..

Fear hit me hard…
But I also knew I didn’t have a choice..

So I took a breath.. Said a small prayer..
Had myself a quiet ellipsis moment haha..
Then reached in..

I put both hands on the bird..
To my surprise.. it stayed gentle—completely calm.. completely trusting.. Its eyes were locked on me.. almost talking.. It knew I was trying to help.. As my fear faded.. a strange confidence grew.. I grabbed all over its body.. trying to find the angle to free it.. At one point.. I even had my hands around its neck and head.. carefully working it loose..

Finally.. with one good pull.. the vulture came free..

I lifted it high in my hands.. expecting it to explode into flight—but it didn’t..
It simply rested there…

It had just survived something that should have killed it.. and it needed a moment to breathe.. The amazing thing was… it wasn’t even injured.. not a broken wing.. not even a wobble.. nothing…

We stood there together for about a minute—me holding it.. it staring at me..
No fear on either side..
Just this strange wild peace…

Then it looked at me one last time.. as if to say thank you.. turned.. and flew…

I climbed back into my truck and drove on.. replaying the moment in my mind.. I still can’t believe it survived the impact.. Not only survived it—walked away completely fine…

And then the old saying hit me..
“Tough as an old buzzard…”

Now I understand where that phrase came from… those birds are built like tanks..
And on that day.. something wild trusted me — enough to rest in my hands… an indelible memory…

…….↓⚡→🛻⇂⇂⇂→🪶😨→🤲†🦅→🤲🤝→↑🦅✨’……….↓~→|⇂⇂⇂→v?→/†^→/↢→↑^*’

Wow… i just googled ‘tough as an old buzzard.’ to see how it came about.. I knew none of this…

(Where it comes from) The phrase “tough as an old buzzard” grew out of american frontier language in the 1800s.. early 1900s.. People on ranches.. homesteads.. and in desert regions watched buzzards (vultures) survive things almost nothing else could survive.. blistering heat.. drought.. storms.. rotten food.. injuries.. and just plain rough living.. Why a buzzard specifically? Because vultures/buzzards are famously hard to kill…………
Cowboys and farmers noticed that even old.. beat-up buzzards still lived incredibly long and stayed sharp.. Their survival was legendary…

It all makes sense to me now 😁

And I relate……….. I’m also famously hard to kill 😁.. but that’s another story for another day… 😎`

© Bryan H. 2025 — All Rights Reserved