Matthew 25:37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?”

It’s interesting how God can use the warmest childhood memory to soften hardened hearts and lead us to His love. It was in 2009 when I saw God's divine touch in my life as he led me to a dying man. A precious woman, Debbie, in our church delivered meals on wheels each week and one day she shared with me about a man that was dying of cancer in a lonely, dirty, hotel room. I asked if I could go with her the next time she took a meal, which happened to be the next day.

I wasn't quite ready for what I saw. Not too many miles down from our church was a run-down hotel connected to a bar and fishing pond. I had driven past it many times and would often see men that appeared homeless sitting by the pond. Some would have a pole in the water and they didn't seem to have a care in the world. But in my heart I knew better. To see their worn clothes, weathered faces, and slumped shoulders told an untold story of pain and suffering. On this day I would see close up, touch the pain, smell the despair and taste the bitterness of a man named Evan.

On the door was a sign - "No Smoking. Oxygen in Use". My friend knocked on the door and called out his name and a weak voice replied to come in. A skeleton of a man lay in the bed. His hair was all gone except for a thin ponytail about 6 inches long hung down the back of his frail neck. Close by was a cast iron skillet on his night stand full to the brim of cigarette butts. His cancer stricken body laid lifeless as he laid on his side glaring out the window with sad eyes.

Debbie broke the silence with her cheerful voice by introducing me to Evan. He had no desire to meet a new face and therefore made no effort to be social. Debbie then shared with him about the “delicious” meal we had brought him but he said he wasn’t hungry and for us to put it in his refrigerator. When we opened the door to place the wrapped meal inside, suddenly a tall stack of previously delivered meals came barreling out onto the floor. It was obvious he wasn't eating at all and these meals were already going to waste. As we picked them up and placed them neatly back in the ice box, I could feel my hurting heart and hot tears well up in my eyes.

I turned to walk back to Evan’s bedside and saw a bible on the nightstand next to his skillet ash tray. When I picked it up and flipped the pages to read a comforting passage to him he turned to me and in a bitter cold voice said, "Stop. I don't want to hear it."

I stood there with a flood of emotions. I prayed, "Lord, this man is angry, bitter, dying and I sense he doesn't know of Your love and where he will go when he dies. His days are slipping by Lord and You know it. I know You’ve brought me here to share Your love so please help me to know what to say." Very clearly the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart, "Tell him I love him." I stood there a minute and said, "Lord, that's it? Nothing else?" His reply, "Yes, that's it. Tell him I love him."

So I said in the most loving gentle voice I could, "Evan, God loves you." No reply. Not even a flinch. "Evan, God wants me to tell you He loves you." He didn’t budge, nor blink.

Debbie and I stood in silence and decided it was time to leave. When we said our goodbyes and walked out the door my chest was heavy with despair for this man. I sat next to my friend in the passenger seat in silence. "Lord, what do I do? This man didn't get it. Saying You love him didn't seem to move his soul in the least."

When I got home I started to make supper and couldn’t stop thinking about Evan being hungry and not eating. The meals in the refrigerator didn't look very appealing any way. So I said, "Lord, what can I cook Evan that he would like?" Immediately the Holy Spirit spoke to me! “Potato soup!” I loved it when my mom made me homemade potato soup when I was sick! I kept that family tradition going with my own kids when they got sick. I snatched up potatoes as fast as I could and began to peel and slice with great determination and joy as I made a pot of good ole potato soup!

The next day I packed it up nicely on a tray and put a fresh slice of strawberry cake on the side. I jumped in the car with a happy heart knowing this was going to do the trick! I parked in front of his rundown hotel room and held the tray of food as I gently knocked on the door. In a weak voice I heard him say to come in. I cracked the door open and saw Evan laying there in the same spot. In a bubbly voice I said, "Good afternoon Evan! I brought you something good to eat!" He pointed to the refrigerator and said nothing. Hmph...I was determined. "God, tell me what to say!" He again said, "Tell Him I love him." Really Lord? Again? How about something else? His reply, "Tell Him I love him." I sat the tray down and said with the most loving voice I could, “Evan, God loves you." No answer. Silence. I looked down at the hot soup and said, "Evan, when I was a little girl my mom always made me homemade potato soup when I was sick so I thought I'd make you some."

Something happened. He slowly turned in the bed and looked at me. His face softened. He blinked as if in unbelief. He softly said, "Homemade potato soup? My mom use to make me that too. Thank you very much."

I had to fight the urge to not jump up and down on the edge of his bed and say, 'Oh my goodness!! Really!!? Then let me dish you up a bowl!!" But I restrained myself and calmly replied, "That's great Evan! How about a bowl?" He said, "Not hungry. Maybe later." And he slowly turned over and closed his eyes to sleep. I felt the air go out of me like a deflated balloon. I left the food on the table, walked to the door and slowly turned to look at him and said, "Evan, God Loves you." I stepped out and closed the door softly behind me.

The next day my husband and I had a trip planned to CA for a conference. It was held at a large church with an absolutely magnificent structure but I didn't really care about touring it. In all it's glory it didn't matter...a lost, sick soul was dying alone back home in Texas and I felt that's all that mattered. God was drawing me away to write Evan a letter of love straight from His throne of grace. I roamed around the huge structure to find a quiet spot to be alone and hear from the Lover of our souls. He led me to the bridal room in the basement...a perfect place to think about the Groom coming for His Bride One day! It was if God Himself put His hand on mine as the pen flew across 4 pages of legal size paper. Over and over it was words of His love for mankind, forgiveness, grace, mercy, redemption, new life, and hope. I couldn't wait to get back home and take it to my new friend!

Three days later we returned and I was eager to hurry up and take God's love letter and another bowl of potato soup to my friend! When I arrived and knocked on his door there was no answer. He must be asleep, I thought. I slowly opened the door and called out his name. The bed was empty, the oxygen gone, the skillet of cigarette butts cleared away, kitchen cleaned and no sign of Evan. I thought, "He must be in the hospital! I'll go see him there!" But who would know? How would I find out?

I decided to walk over to the Blue Bayou Bar not far from Evan’s front door. I spied an elderly man putting quarters in an old juke box. I asked him if he knew Evan and where he was. This man was the hotel and bar owner and knew Evan well. He turned to me and said, "Ma'am, he died yesterday." I felt as if a fist hit me in the chest! “Wait! What did you say!? I have a love letter from God to give him!”
 
The sweet old man could tell I was shocked and upset and asked me to sit me down. He began to tell me how he met Evan. He shared that Evan was a retired school janitor that lived a hard life. Evan showed up one day asking for a job and so the bar owner put him to work painting the picnic tables and doing odd jobs around the bar and hotel. He went on to say, "He was a hard worker and a quiet man. He didn’t say much. But there’s one thing I remember most about Evan and that was he loved his momma. He talked about her all the time." Of course he did! Of course God would show His love through a bowl of homemade potato soup to remind him of his mother's love.

I sat there shaking my head, smiling and looking at the letter in my hand. I handed it to the man and said, "Well, God wrote Evan a love letter. I'd like to give it to you. Maybe this letter was meant for you. Thanks for being Evan's friend." As he took it from me he felt led to tell me that Evan didn't die alone. He went on to say that an older woman that lived on the other side of his room came to be by his side. She said Evan had knocked on the wall and yelled for her to come. He said, “So Jeanie held his hand until he took his last breath." I blinked, “Excuse me. What? Who did you say sat by him until he died? " He replied, "Her name is Jeanie." I stood up from my bar stool, wiped my tears, shook his hand and thanked him for his kindness and drove home.

I held the steering wheel and looked ahead as I drove in silence thinking about Evan, his momma, the bar owner, the soup, two women named Jeanie and a God that loves us all so very much. Suddenly an old gospel song came to my mind, "Rescue the perishing. Care for the dying." Yes, Lord. Yes, Lord. You love the lost, the lonely, the dying, the depressed, and rejected. I will keep sharing those life changing words, "God Loves You! God Loves You!” Thank you for mommas, potato soup, for neighbors, new friends and mostly Jesus and all the ways you show us your unconditional-al love!"