As a boy, I’d go to Men’s camp with Grandpa each fall. Grandpa ran the camp and preached most evening services. I vividly remember hundreds of men crammed into a small chapel in the mountains, listening to him preach.
I would sit in the front row, amazed as I noticed the men on the edge of their seats as Grandpa told a story. I loved his stories. They were always the best part of his sermons. I’d wait for the punchline, and all the men would laugh a deep belly laugh.
My original mentor, Grandpa, showed me how to teach the Bible by telling stories. If you regularly read my blog, you know I love a great story.
Also, on one of the evenings of camp, Grandpa would always invite me on stage to sing a song in Spanish.
On the first Sunday out of the hospital following my stroke, I went back to preach at the church I pastored, this time in a wheelchair.
Preaching had been my greatest joy in life. But that first Sunday back, I hated what I once loved.
I felt trapped by the wheelchair and the inability to use my left hand. I learned that day that I’d also lost some of the peripheral vision in my left eye. I couldn’t see the crowd to my left. I also couldn’t read the expressions on people’s faces.
Reading the crowd had been a major part of preaching for me. I could sense when my message was connecting by reading the crowd. But now I couldn’t see some of them or read their expressions.
I didn’t feel alert enough to preach on that first Sunday back, either. We figured out later that almost all of the 14 medications keeping me alive had side effects that either caused dizziness, drowsiness, or both.
I used to preach in a loud voice, but now I spoke in a whisper. The thing I told myself deep in my heart was that no one wanted to listen to a disabled guy. I think my voice mirrored how small I felt in the wheelchair.
In 2020, I decided to stop pastoring. Realizing I couldn’t keep up. Around then, I told God I would only preach after He healed me. I waited. Months turned to years.
Then, I began having this overwhelming feeling that I missed preaching.
In February 2024, I prayed, “Your will be done….” I hadn’t been living out that part of the prayer, but instead, I had been demanding my will. Hoping to twist God’s arm into healing me.
One Sunday in January, I was inspired when I saw a young man preach at church. I used to be the young man preaching.
That February, I told God that if He would allow me to preach again, I’d do it even in a wheelchair. But I was confident no one would ask.
On March 3, 2024, I was at church. It was the 5th anniversary of my stroke. It was a difficult day. I went up for prayer, and a wonderful lady prayed for Sarah and me.
The pastor approached. Knowing it was my “stroke-aversary” he said, “You know, you don’t have to wait to be healed to preach again. Make an appointment to meet with me.” We did.
During the appointment, our pastor asked if I had ever finished the sermon I was preaching when I had my stroke. I said no. He asked if I’d be willing to finish it at his church and add my stroke story. I agreed, and we scheduled the day I would preach.
It would be four years since I’d last preached, and I was afraid of all the weaknesses I’d experienced before.
Could I speak loud enough for people to hear me? Would the loss of eyesight on my left side affect the message? Would I be effective without being able to walk around? Could I express myself without using both hands? Would people even be interested in what a guy in a wheelchair had to say?
The night finally arrived. Sarah rolled me to center stage and I said my opening line:
“I was a church kid, born and raised here in Fresno…”
I told my stroke story:
“5 years ago…I was scheduled to preach at a church in Clovis.
I walked into the church, but never walked out,
I started a sermon I didn't finish,
I came home 3 1/2 months later, in this wheelchair.”
I also added some of my trademark silly stories; it's how Grandpa taught me to do it. And I tried to express myself with one working hand. I even sang a song in Spanish, just like at the men’s camp with Grandpa. All while pointing others to grip hope tightly.
I was living the dream, doing what I was called to do, and loving every second.
That night, I embraced the wheelchair, accepting that it is part of my story, and it even drew people in to wonder, “What does this guy in a wheelchair have to say?” Could it be that my “weakness” is actually a strength?
The Apostle Paul says:
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9-11
I preached three times that weekend. If you don’t know my story, I had a massive stroke while preaching at a church in Clovis, California. At the writing of this blog (October 2024), I’m going back to that church this weekend to preach again, this time from my wheelchair.
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