What would you do if you lost all your possessions?
It’s a confronting question — one that sounds hypothetical, except it isn’t. For me, it came close to reality. I was caught in a scam. What I thought was a small, trustworthy investment turned into a complex trap. Over time, what had seemed solid dissolved into confusion and loss. I felt angry, distressed, and desperate for justice.
It would have been easy to let that anger harden into revenge, but that would have made me more like the people who caused the harm. Somewhere in the midst of the turmoil, I realised that what truly mattered hadn’t been taken. My health was still good. My relationships still surrounded me with love. And my character, though shaken, was still mine to choose and shape.
That realisation drove me inward — to my core identity, to what could never be stolen. As a Christian, I found myself returning to the Sermon on the Mount, words that have anchored me many times before. I read them slowly, this time with a new hunger. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus said, “for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” I began to understand those words not as deprivation, but as freedom — the kind that comes when there’s nothing left to prove, nothing left to protect.
I started to rebuild, not around what I lost, but around what endured. Health, relationships, character. Generosity. Grace. These became my foundations.
What I learned was that when you lose everything, you discover how much you still have — and how much you can still give. Stripped of possessions, you see that life itself remains abundant.
And that, in the end, is a kind of freedom: nothing to lose, everything to give.
The Afterword 
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