Roling Stones

A few weeks ago, I had the incredible opportunity to share my testimony with a group of wonderful folks in Douglas, Georgia. Usually, I stick to the more recent chapters of my life that I've shared on Facebook over the past nine years. But that night, something tugged at my heart to dive deeper, and I felt led to share my salvation story with them. You see, for much of my life, I was what some might call a functioning alcoholic, battling shadows of drug abuse along the way. It wasn’t until that decisive moment when Jesus called my name from the tomb I had dug for myself that everything began to change.

Like Lazarus in the Bible, I found myself trapped—trapped in the clutches of the world’s harmful temptations. I was buried under the heavy weight of shame and regret. As I reflected on John 11, verses 38 and onward, I was struck by a scene that has since moved me profoundly, and I couldn't resist sharing it with you.

Picture this: Jesus stands at the entrance of Lazarus’s tomb. Instead of disappointment, He feels a deep, abiding compassion—not just for Mary and Martha, Lazarus’s grieving sisters, but for Lazarus himself. In that moment, He sees the massive stone blocking the tomb's entrance, weighing in at about 3,000 pounds. I did a little digging (pun intended!) and learned that such stones were no small feat to remove.

What amazed me was that Jesus, the Creator of the universe, instead of effortlessly rolling the stone aside with a mere word or thought, instructed those around Him to do it. It’s a simple yet profound act—Jesus was ready to perform a miracle but invited those present to participate to play an active role in the unfolding of grace. It reminded me beautifully that we are collaborators with Christ.

Then there’s Martha, bless her heart, who speaks up with raw honesty. “But Lord,” she says, “Lazarus has been in there for four days; he stinks!” In my own darkest moments, I too felt that I stunk—my attitude, my choices, my drinking habits. I could sense the disappointment in my parents’ eyes; heck, I was often disgusted with myself. Yet, Jesus brushed aside all that. His love for Lazarus was immeasurable, far beyond the decay that had taken hold. He understood that God would receive even greater glory through Lazarus’s restoration.

That’s when the reality hit me—Jesus loved me even more than I dared to imagine. No matter how much the decay of my past had consumed me, His compassion overshadowed all. The truth is, just like Lazarus, I was being called out of my darkness, invited into the light of life and hope.

He still wanted me. The confidence He had in the Father’s love for us was undeniable as He said to Martha, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

I want to take a moment to encourage you—yes, you who are holding onto hope for a prodigal child to return home. Jesus promised that you WILL see the glory of God. I wholeheartedly believe that God will bring your son or daughter back into your life. He has the power to restore those who have strayed and reclaim what the enemy has tried to steal. Why do I believe this so deeply? Because I was once the prodigal. I ran as far away as I could—from Africa to America—trying to escape the pull of God, but He chased after me relentlessly until He finally caught up.

In John 11:42, Jesus says, “I knew that you always hear me.” He speaks these words to His Father in heaven, and they resonate with me profoundly. When we pray with thanksgiving, our Father in Heaven ALWAYS hears us. Not a single prayer you've offered for your child has gone unheard; Jesus assured us that our Heavenly Father is always listening. And as if that wasn’t enough, Jesus intercedes for us alongside the Holy Spirit. It’s an incredible reassurance found right there in John 11:42.

Then, with a voice that echoes through eternity, Jesus calls out to Lazarus, saying, “Come out!” Can you just imagine it? The creator of the universe, with all His authority and power, calling your name. In that moment, every dead and decaying part of you suddenly awakens, responding to the distinctiveness of a voice that breathes life into your very being. It’s a life that stirs a deep hunger within you, like the sound of a bubbling brook or the promise of living water.

I picture Lazarus, his heart racing with excitement, wanting to dash toward that voice. Yet, bound by grave clothes around his feet and face, he shuffles slowly toward the entrance of the tomb—one careful step at a time. I can relate to that struggle. At times, my own past wrapped around me like those grave clothes, a constant reminder of my shame. But as he reaches Jesus, Lazarus encounters his loved ones, and Jesus instructs them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

There is, therefore, no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Only recently did I grasp the truth that once we step out of the grave, shame no longer holds power over us. In fact, our past can become a formidable weapon against the enemy who sought to destroy us. Our history stands as proof that he could not win. He couldn’t kill us. I don’t wish to glorify my past, but I wear it as a badge of honor—as a testament to my King, Jesus, who fought for me and triumphed over the schemes of the enemy that tried to snuff out my life.

There is no grave that could hold His body down, and for your prodigal, I proclaim the same! Jesus stands ready, calling the dead back to life. If He can transform my life, just imagine what He can do for you! Embrace the hope and love that awaits you, and remember, it’s never too late to rise again.