>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
THIS SERMON AVAILABLE WITH POWERPOINT IN RESOURCE DOWNLOAD!
This sermon (and several hundred others) are available for download.
> Microsoft Word
> Most with handouts
More info: www.sermonsubscribe.com or darrellstetler2@gmail.com
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Matthew 5:1 Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him,
2 and he began to teach them, saying:
3 "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
4 Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
5 Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.
10 Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.
12 Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
13 "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.
14 "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.
15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.
16 In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.
What he's saying: Do good. Share Jesus.
Today, I just want to let stories speak to you. I'm not preaching. You are. :)
Maria Elliston - Rodney & Amanda & Christian & Daniel & Debbie
Do Good. Share Jesus...
Lori's story - read
Knock knock… Who’s there?
It’s only another cock roach scrabbling rapidly down the wall. It quickly veers left to avoid the distant relatives assembled quietly conversing in the disgusting language that all cockroaches speak. I fleetingly wonder how many roaches there are in the dimly lit, acrid room. Without realizing I am doing so I begin to count. I stop at 68. There are too many to bother counting any more. In a passing thought I realize that If I can see that many, there must be thousands in the room, unseen behind the broken, stained paneling.
I wonder how I ever come to be in this revolting room, living this sordid life.
Hastily I swipe away a roach that had fallen from the ceiling onto my shoulder. Shivering with disgust I reach for “them”.
My pills.
My stash of oblivion.
They’ve been silently waiting in that white bottle. Waiting for me, a former lover long neglected. They’ve been awaiting my inevitable despair. Slowly I remove them from that hard plastic carafe. I count them as I lay them neatly in rows. Soundlessly I use the broom to sweep the wall of the many persistent roaches that are determinedly attempting to contaminate my neat, clean rows of promised relief.
I’ve been contemplating this moment for so long there was no fear. I hadn’t feared death since my husband Gabriel took his last breath cradled in my arms, sitting on the ground unaware of the shards of gravel piercing us both. I watched as his eyes turned from vivid blue to a pale gray. His death was the first of so many losses that the thought of death becomes a welcome end to the unrelenting grief and pain.
22, 23, 24, wordlessly I continue to lay out the pills without questioning why.
Evan comes to mind. I hesitate laying the oblong tablet in the next row of pills beckoning for my attention. My beautiful little boy, Evan. I failed him so horribly. I didn’t protect him from the trauma of losing his father. I couldn’t shield him from the falling snow as we shivered in the shed we slept in for so many months after Gabe died. I couldn’t feed him when the financial burdens of living on my disability income become impossible. I couldn’t be what he needed.
He found his own relief in drugs. I had lost him to methamphetamines and life of violence. He had no desire to speak to me or hear my voice anymore. Meth had become his comforting maternal protector.
I placed the hydrocodone neatly in the expanding row. 25, I mouth as I reach for the next pill.
Random thoughts briefly entered my mind and even quicker left unpondered.34, 35… I continued my mission.
47 was the final count. I gazed at the rows silently weeping. Pain pills mixed with muscle relaxants. Prescriptions horded over several months stared back at me in greedy anticipation. Physical pain denied in lieu of the eventual release from the unbearable emotional devastation my life had become. 47 was the magical number. I counted them again, 47 pills. Yes, I thought, 47 would be enough.
I wondered if I should leave a note. No one would care but still… It’s expected. I’ve been thinking about this for so long I wondered if there was anyone, anywhere who would possibly regret my decision to take these pills. One person came to mind.
Pastor Darrell.
Pastor Darrell was a rare oddity. He actually believed what he preached in those Sunday sermons given faithfully in the dilapidated, old storefront he had converted into a house of worship. He was a rare man indeed. He put his belief into actions in the Servants Heart Chapel. He had been to my run-down trailer several times before I met him delivering the one meal a day I was able to afford from meals on wheels. I was not able to answer the door easily due to the pain of my physical condition; so many drivers left the packaged meal at my door. It took a while but eventually I would get from my bed to the door to retrieve the highly anticipated food. Hunger was a constant companion. I couldn’t keep food in that disgusting hovel; it only increased the breeding capabilities of the horrific infestation of roaches that rained down from the ceilings and walls.
I unconsciously straightened the 47 pills laid out before me like a sacrificial lamb as
I thought back to my first meeting with this unusual representative from God.
It was July in New Mexico and my electricity had been shut off for non-payment. The heat in that uninsulated metal box called a mobile home was intense. Spending any time in my wheel chair was an open invitation for the tormenting heat rash.. It was a week until my disability check was due so relief was not coming quickly.
Darrell delivered my meal that day. He met my son Evan outside when he handed over the lemon pepper fish that had become one of my favorite meals. Evan, always looking for a way to scam some money, thought he could trick this fool and tried to convince him he needed money to repair the fuse box so we could turn the power back on. Darrell offered to come back when he was done and take Evan to get the needed parts and help with the repair.
Evans ill-conceived con didn’t work quite the way he wanted so he quickly left leaving me to face the questions of his intended sucker.
By the time Darrell returned I resigned myself to facing another well-meaning and probably angry victim. I had no idea what story Evan had told Darrell but suspected it was an attempt to con him into paying our electric bill. Darrell and I spoke for several hours that day. He wasn’t angry or even surprised. He was just… sincere.
Sincerity is a wonderful thing. To truly believe in God and have the faith of that belief is an enviable truth. But, sincerity without action is meaningless. After Gabe’s death I had met many sincere people. Many that wanted to help us. Few however, were willing to do more than superficial assistance. Charity is a grand and necessary thing. But charity is not a solution to poverty, or pain, or despair, only a temporary fix. There is only one solution, love.
Love inspires hope, hope develops faith, and with faith you can move a mountain. Sincerely loving God is a reality for the person sharing that belief, but there is an implicit responsibility that comes with that belief. Jesus wanted us to practice love, not just be the recipient of His love. This is where so many sincere believers seem to fall by the way. Going to church on Sunday, placing money in the tithing plate and occasionally volunteering for a worthy function is not practicing the love Jesus asks us to share.
“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
Did Darrell practice love as outlined here? Did his sincerity include his following of these guidelines? Or was he another preacher trying to “save my soul” one minute to increase his numbers in the church, only to forget my name in the following week? What was his true agenda? There always seemed to be some hidden agenda or price to be paid when accepting charity, even if it was only the price of my own dignity. What price was Darrell expecting me to pay? He claimed none, but I had been down this road many, many times. For some reason I still did not comprehend I decided to give this man a chance.
I believed in God, Intellectually. I knew there was an intelligent design behind our world but having faith in that belief was too much to ask. If God existed then where was he? Many times throughout my life I thought God was calling out to me. Only to be disappointed that He did not come to me in some grand, dramatic, life changing fashion. If he was all powerful, why didn’t God repair the devastation that had ravaged my life? Why didn’t he help me find a way to put food on the table, or find a home other than a shed or a roach infested slum? Why didn’t he cure my son of his addictions and return the loving child I once knew? God may be real but it was obvious He did not care about me. No one did.
I sat there remembering that first meeting with Darrell. I gazed at those 47 pills gratefully aware that I would simply go to sleep. The physical and emotional torment would finally end. Darrell wasn’t the answer. I had begun to attend his church, Servant’s Heart Chapel and while I was impressed with the members and the beliefs of the church I still had found no comfort from the daily existence that was so filled with pain.
The violence and conflict of my son’s world of drugs spilled into my life continuously. His anger and lies were a constant reality. He hated me and the frailty of my physical condition. Evan had stolen everything of value I had left after Gabe died and somehow managed to wipe out my meager income every month to fund his choice of drugs. I had taken to sleeping with my wallet and anything of even the slightest value in my single bed in an attempt to keep him and his “friends” from stealing them. They even stole my wheelchair in their desire for drug money.
Darrell had tried. He convinced Evan to go into rehab and prayed daily for him. Evan left after three days. Darrell continued to see to it that food was delivered daily through meals on wheels and helped me turn my power back on and even managed to find an AC unit that gave blessed relief from the scalding New Mexico summer heat. All of these charitable acts were welcomed with grateful relief, yet the pain was untouched and festering. No, Darrell was not the solution. But I didn’t know what was.
I tried Darrell’s way. I prayed and read the Bible and I prayed some more, yet still there was no response from God. Yes Darrell would care if I chose this route, but truthfully it was his job. It was expected of him. Had he shared the kind of love that Jesus asks of us? Did I allow him to share that love with me? Had I answered that knock at the door? I didn’t know the answer to that question. It wasn’t really Darrell’s love that I wanted. I wanted unending, unrestricted love that only someone as flawed I never truly expected to receive. I wanted the impossible. I wanted God’s love.
I counted those 47 pills one last time. I poured a cool drink that I had saved from lunch for this purpose. I combed my hair, bathed the tears from my face and prepared myself for what I was planning to do. One final image came to mind of the service I had attended that morning.
I had cried throughout the entire service. Gut wrenching painful sobs that would not stop no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t know why I was crying. It just hurt so much. The unrelenting loneliness and fear overwhelmed me. The daily pain inflicted on my body and the shame of what my life had become was unbearable. Tears of grief for my husband flowed unceasingly. Grief for the son I had failed so horribly. Self-pity and shame were overpowering. It wasn’t possible for anyone to help me or love me. Not even God. I wasn’t worthy. I didn’t deserve it.
Darrell had lied. He told me that Jesus had paid for my sins and that God did love me. If that was so then this life wasn’t worth the price Jesus had paid.
One final time I decided to give Darrell’s way a chance. I prayed. I began writing down my prayer. I wrote that no one would miss me except possibly Darrell but since this was his job, then it really didn’t count. I begged God to answer my prayer and send someone to me that truly did care, not because it was his job but because God was finally hearing my cry and answering in a way only I would know.
I called Darrell and asked him to come. He told me that he would come but that Missy, his wife would also come. Missy, although a lovely wonderful woman, was not my Pastor. I could not handle having a stranger in this disgusting house judging me. I thanked Darrell but told him not to bother coming after all.
My question had been answered. God did not answer my prayer. No one would be coming by to stop me. All hope was gone and the pills beckoned to me forcefully.
That’s when the knocking began! God began pounding on the door to my heart telling me to wait.
Within moments the phone rang and Darrell told me he was on his way. With a sigh of resignation I returned the pills to their bottle, anticipating returning them back to their rightful place once Darrell had gone. I had no faith that he would say the words I needed to hear.
We spoke for quite a while. To be truthful I remember almost nothing of what was said by either of us. Except for the fact that I intentionally did not reveal what I had written in my prayer to God.
Then, Darrell spoke these words, “Lori, I’m not here because this is my job. I am here because I care.” He had repeated word for word what a phrase that I had asked from God. Stunned I, reached for my computer and showed him what I had written,
At last God had responded in a way that I knew to be meant for me to hear. I finally answered that knock at my door!
Darrell showed me how to ask Jesus into my heart.
Tears of joy flowed from my eyes as I felt the peace and serenity of God’s presence. I shook with the awe of that sensation, relishing in the release of the relentless fear and pain.
Ultimately calm descended upon us both. I remember telling Darrell it was akin to the sensation of sitting in a darkened room at night watching the lights of a Christmas tree gently blinking while snow softly fell outside my window. Everything was clean and pure and right.
When Darrell finally left I prayed one final time. I asked God to confirm what had happened. I had one final request of God to show me that he loved me. I opened my Bible randomly and pointed to this passage,
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13.
It was true.
Since that day miracles have followed me as I continue to grow as a Christian. I moved from that roach infested mobile home. My son has been drug free now for over a year. The thought of taking those 47 pills that once had consumed my mind continuously has not returned. But the greatest joy God has given to me is that my son now daily reminds me that he loves and appreciates me.
Evan is taking his own path with life. He attends church with me every Sunday and diligently attends Bible connection groups and helps with outreach projects. He has turned his back on the drugs and violence that controlled his life. Darrell, our ever faithful and loving Pastor continues to guide him with a loving and patient hand towards God. Although Evan is still battling his own demons I am not afraid. In fact I smile as I hear the loud knocking on the door to my sons’ heart and have faith that Jesus is just as persistent in his desire for Evans salvation as he was for my own.
Knock Knock… Who’s there? When you open that door, you will find God.
Do Good. Share Jesus.
Ruth & helpers (Ola) ; Mike & Wynema; Amie & her family; Randy;
Do Good. Share Jesus.
This isn't about being perfect. NObody here would say I or Ruth or whoever is perfect.
Do Good. Share Jesus.
SONG: GO LIGHT YOUR WORLD
