“Guys, I’m sorry, but Las Vegas just doesn’t appeal to me.”

I spoke those fateful words while at lunch at Friday’s Front Row Grill back in 2008. I remember that moment because of the reaction of my friends at the table. I might as well have told them that Jar Jar Binks was my favorite character from the Star Wars universe. It was a mix of shock, pity, and anger.

They hounded me the entire lunch hour and – after some prodding from our waitress –  I agreed to cross the Hoover Dam and venture into Sin City.

That was to be the first of 12 trips for me. Yes, 12 in five years. I suppose I should never return for a Lucky #13.

While I will honor the Vegas Board of Tourism and their “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” slogan, I do need to share one epiphany I had…

Each trip I’ve taken has taught me something new. I’ve learned that a yardstick of frozen cocktail is a bad idea when walking outdoors in a desert. I’ve learned not to accept the baseball cards that the unhappy people try to hand you on the sidewalk. And I’ve also learned not to giggle when discussing the game craps.

In March of this year I went to celebrate the birthday of a very dear friend of mine who would probably deny knowing me if asked about this blog post. It was on this trip that I learned how to play craps. Prior to this trip, my experience with the game was stumbling up to a table at daybreak in the Palms Casino and having a dealer hand me a pile of chips an hour later. It seemed like a good game from what I could remember.

However, when you’re walking up to a table full of people and see a jumble of confusing numbers and strange lingo it can be quite daunting. In March 2013 my friends taught me how to play and I stopped being afraid – much like a gazelle that goes down to the watering hole even though there is a lion sitting nearby.

In May when the opportunity to return to Vegas came up and I seized it – I was full of excitement and swagger about how much I’d take from the casinos with my newfound skill at tossing dice. You know how this story ends. The gazelle dies. That car ride back to Phoenix was long and rough and I decided to comfort myself with one final unhealthy meal for the weekend – Panda Express – against the advice of my friend.

Patrick, you were right. So, so right.

Perhaps it was a combination of their tainted food and my Vegas weariness but it sparked 6 days of sickness that left me miserable and so dehydrated that I was gulping down water like it was air for a drowning man’s lungs.

That got me to thinking about water. It’s such a smart choice. “Drink plenty of water!” “Be sure to hydrate.”  “Don’t drink your calories, drink water instead!” – I’ve heard the advice and it makes total sense. Water!

But it’s funny – when I’m standing at a bar in Vegas with the neon lights bouncing off of a wall of exotic sounding liquors, I suddenly forget all that advice and I go for what I want. Something with flavor and just enough alcohol to get me to dance. Then when I’m crashing from the high and when the consequences come around, I’m back at the faucet for my recovery.

Why is it so easy to lose sight of what I say I want when other options are presented to me? The entire Vegas Strip is funded by people choosing foolishness over wisdom.

Then I thought of a big festival a long time ago celebrating the gift of water. As part of a ritual a high-ranking official would carry a full jug ceremoniously down to a large basin and pour it out as an offering. Once during this festival a man stood up and shouted, “If anyone is thirsty, come to me to drink!”

Jesus was saying in that moment that He would quench the spiritual thirst of people. Like water, He is that right choice for my soul that I often overlook for things that are shinier or sweeter or with a cool name like “FIREBALL”

That’s not to say that flavor doesn’t have it’s place – don’t get me wrong. I do enjoy a great variety of beverages. But that should come as a supplement to – not a replacement of – the water that I crave. “Test everything. Hold on to the good.”

My hope for myself is to recognize when I’m in danger of dehydration – spiritual of physically – and make the unpopular choice to ask for water.