“He Who Has The Most Toys Wins,” declared the bumper sticker. The fact that it was affixed to a brand-new Corvette lent some credibility to the proclamation.

It was late summer in 1973, and I was reporting in at my unit as a new Second Lieutenant. I say “new” rather than young because I was never a “young” Lieutenant. I joined the Marine Corps at age 17 and I had seven and a half years of service, including three years in Vietnam, before putting the gold bars on. I was older than my peers.

The owner of the Corvette was a single Lieutenant Colonel who was living large and had the toys to prove it. It was very appealing to a “new” Lieutenant, and the message seemed straightforward: Do a good job, get promoted, make more money, get more toys!

I launched my adventure. I did a good job, often a great job; impressed my superiors; and was given greater challenges. By all appearances, I was on my way to having more toys. My Commanding Officer was independently wealthy (military service will not make you rich) and his officer social functions in his million-dollar ocean-view home (that was a lot of money in 1973) only whetted the appetite.

Slowly and imperceptibly, the striving was taking its toll on my life, my marriage, and my family. I was a highly decorated war veteran, respected by my peers, trusted by my superiors, and followed by my men with unusual loyalty, but none of that filled the emptiness inside. Each new accomplishment, each new accolade, only made the void inside greater.

In the words of Peggy Lee’s 1969 hit, “Is That All There Is?” The lyrics go on to say, “Then let’s keep dancing, let’s break out the booze and have a ball.” Been there and done that.

I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I began to notice that the people who had the most toys were not any happier than I was. I had this fleeting thought that traveling this road was not going to end well. Lynne and I attended a Protestant denominational church at the time, and that wasn’t filling the void. It was then I made a life-changing discovery. It wasn’t something; it was Someone.

In Ecclesiastes, the preacher (Solomon) tells us that “He [God] has put eternity into man’s heart” (3:11, ESV). Paul stated it in a slightly different way. “For the creation was subjected to futility [‘vanity,’ KJV], not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope” (Romans 8:20, ESV). This is a cosmic one-two punch. God put “eternity” in the heart of man — a void, if you will; a God-sized vacuum only God can fill. He then subjected the entire creation to futility so man, apart from God, can never attain true fulfillment.

Proverbs 30:4 describes it as trying to gather “the wind in his fists” (ESV). Talk about an act of futility!

God put that emptiness in the heart of man so we would seek Him to fill the emptiness inside. If you could find satisfaction apart from God, there would be no incentive to surrender your life to Him. One has only to look around to know the world offers no lasting joy or satisfaction. Not in Hollywood, not on Wall Street, and not on your street.

Jesus explains this clearly: “The thief [the devil] comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10, ESV)

God’s offer is on the table. He gives us the freedom to choose. I made the decision to choose to serve King Jesus. I’m with Joshua on this one: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15, ESV)

What say ye, Man of Valor?