The Life & Legacy of Steve Stoner, through the Eyes of a Sinner.

Weaving through traffic as I drove along Wurzbach Avenue my primary thought was that it was hot.  South Texas is a warm, sunny place.  Well, warm may be too soft a word; in the summertime the sun can shine so harshly that even the air is bright.  I've turned on my windshield wipers in the middle of the day to clean the dust from my view and their initial response was to bend and pop loose from the windshield because they had slightly melted onto the glass.  So it wasn't unusual to find me complaining to the air conditioner in my Dodge truck that it wasn't keeping up with the outside temperature and if it didn't shape up I would trade it in for a Ford.  It gave no reply but continued to hum and push semi-cool air into the cab.

I was a bit anxious as I drove towards Las Chiladas restaurant.  I hadn't been there for lunch in over ten months.  I didn't stop going there because of the food.  In fact, it's one of my favorite places for lunch because I know I'll get a healthy fix of enchiladas and one of the best puffy tacos in San Antonio.  Instead, it was a new job working downtown that took me away from this haven of cheese.  It was just too far to drive for lunch now.

I drove into the parking lot and sat in my truck for a moment reflecting on the past, and how I had been at this eatery every Friday for over a year before I started working downtown.  My men's group met here, and it was something that I missed a lot. 

There's an interesting strength and power in gathering with a group of Christian men that's difficult to explain.  When I was there I felt no barriers, I could say what was really on my mind, and it was interesting how I would find that these men were facing the same tribulations that I faced.  Having that commonality brings you closer to people, and talking about these things helps you learn how to get through your trials.

I went inside and steered towards the table that we used to sit and Jason, Mitch, and Carlos had already arrived.  We were soon joined by Scott and the restaurant owner, Patrick, and our table was almost complete.  We were missing a couple of guys, but they were unable to get there.  It was good to see my friends again, it had been a long time since we gathered, but the mood was a bit somber because we were missing one person in particular, our mentor and group leader - Steve Stoner.

I met Steve when I first started attending Grace Point church.  He was one of the Associate Pastors and he was easy to befriend.  He smiled a lot like he didn’t have a care in world, and he was genuinely interested in you as a person.  He never sat a listened with a blank look on his face hoping you’d hurry up and get done with your rather lengthy and dreary story, he listened and would even reference your story months later in another conversation.  He cared about people in a way most of us could never understand or duplicate.  I enjoyed his company and soon began working with him and his wife, Peggy on the Marriage and Family Team.  They were quite the duo.  Driven by their passion for spreading the redeeming message of Christ, they seemed to have the energy of teenagers.

Steve left Grace Point a time later and began a new journey as a marketplace chaplain.  His job was to go to businesses and be their chaplain.  Cool job, right?  Steve was perfect for it.  His ability to make friends and talk to people made it easy for people to open up to him on a personal level.  He made you feel safe; you couldn’t help but tell him about your life’s concerns.

Steve started a men's group that met during lunch every Friday and invited me to join.  Of course I said yes, I looked forward to the opportunity to study God's Word with a man who knew so much about it.  The first day everyone got together Steve handed out our study guides and a small, pocket sized packet with cards in it.  Each card was inscribed with a Bible verse, and our task was to study one card each week and memorize the Bible verse.  Well, we sucked at it.  It seemed we were rarely prepared for the weeks study with a memorized verse, but Steve took it in stride and never got on us about it.  He had the patience of a shaman.

Then one day Steve told us that he was going to the doctor for a small surgical procedure.  He had a spot in his mouth that was constantly bothering him and the dentist was going to pull some teeth he thought were causing the problem.  We were all dumb-struck when the next week he returned to say the doctor went in to do the work and suddenly stopped.  There was something very wrong with Steve's mouth, and after a few tests we found out that he had cancer.

Thus began a long trial of procedures, chemo and other things to cure the cancer, and it seemed to be under control.  Steve continued with his daily ministering and men's groups, all the time showing more concern for the people around him than for himself.  He was amazing in his spirituality and kindness.

Steve's condition suddenly began to worsen and he had to go back in for more surgery, and it was about that time that several men in our group, including me, changed jobs that made us unavailable for our Friday meetings.  We all hated that the group slowly broke up, but God's plan is usually not the same as our own.

The word finally came that the cancer was out of control and there wasn't anything that modern medicine could do for Steve.  He was admitted to Hospice, and like the Wicked Witch of the West turning over the giant hour glass to show Dorothy how much time she had left, Steve’s time began to slowly run out as death stood watch over him waiting for permission to bring his earthly journey to an end.

I had stayed away from the hospital while Steve was going through his procedures.  I thought that the last thing Peggy needed was me hovering around.  But now I knew that I had to see my friend before it was too late.  So one afternoon I went to the hospice and found his room.  There was a sign on the door that said “Only immediate family are being admitted.  Please respect their privacy.”

So I went in.  I was never much for following directions.  All I knew was that I wasn't going to let Steve pass without seeing him one last time.  As I entered, Peggy saw me and got up.  She came towards me and said "We're not accepting visitors right now."  But then suddenly, as if God nudged her, she stopped and said "Come in and say goodbye."

Steve was in bed, his son Tim on one side and Pastor Dave Galbraith on the other.  Steve was unconscious.  His eyes were shut and his mouth hung slightly open.  The cancer had taken a great toll on this gentle man.  The chemo had taken most of his hair, and he looked very small, and I knew that I was too late.  I had waited too long and missed my chance to talk to my friend one last time.

Pastor Dave said a prayer over Steve and his family while I held on to Peggy and cried.  It had been a while since I cried.  After many years of military service I have a pretty strong constitution.  After praying, Pastor Dave left the room and Peggy took his place near Steve’s head.  She bent over and hugged him and whispered something in his ear and Steve's head moved.  My eyes grew wide and I whispered to Peggy "can he hear us?"  She said "I don't know, come and say something to him."

I moved close and took Steve's hand and speaking in the sobbing tone that reminded me of how an 8 year old sounds after falling off his bike, I said "Hi Steve, it's Bret."

Suddenly Steve's eyes opened.  To say I jumped would be an understatement.  I thought they were going to have to peel me off of the ceiling.  But then Steve looked at me, smiled, and in a weak, raspy voice said "It's good to see you."

I was laughing with excitement as much as I was crying and I replied "It's good to see you too!"  I knew it was difficult for Steve to talk.  The cancer had manifested sores in his mouth and throat that made it painful to talk, and I knew it would take too much out of him to have a long conversation.  This was punctuated when he suddenly started coughing up blood, and Peggy immediately stepped in to wipe the crimson fluid from his mouth.

Peggy.  What an incredible woman.  Through Steve’s entire ordeal, she tirelessly took care of him.  She nursed him every step of the way, and I don't think I could admire a woman more than Peggy Stoner for her fortitude and love for Steve. 

I work at a place that takes in people who have lost their homes and need a safe haven to stay while they repair their lives.  I went to the cafeteria that services the campus one day, which I frequently do because I want to know the people who live there.  I want to hear their stories and hopefully tell them about how Christ transformed my life.

I was sitting across from a young man who couldn't have been any more than thirty years old.  I began talking to him about how he liked the food, and how the folks at the facility were treating him.  We talked for a while until I felt I could ask him something personal, and I said "So how did you end up in this place?"  He told me that he was a youth pastor, but then one day he suddenly lost his wife.  He made some unfortunate choices after that and finally ended up homeless.  I asked him if losing his wife had shaken his faith.  He gave me a deadpan look and said "Pretty much."

I thought about that often as Steve drew nearer to the end.  How would Peggy react?  Would she become bitter and lash out at God?  As I watched her hold her husband close and wipe the blood from his chin I knew that I had my answer.  Peggy Stoner, just like Steve, trusted God beyond any human concept.  They both knew that even though we don't understand God's plan, His plan is sovereign and has a purpose.  Peggy was, and remains, a solid rock and I pray she'll use her experience to help others who have suffered a loss like her's to help them understand that it isn't fair to blame God, and let the Devil completely off the hook.

I finally decided to leave, even though I knew this would be the last time I would see my friend alive.  I said "I'm going to go now.  Thank you for being my friend."  Steve looked at me and said something that I will never forget.  Through all of the pain and suffering he had been through, and even though he knew he was going to die soon, his only concern was for me and the life I had left.  He smiled and said "Always be a witness."

I slowly left, deeply burdened by the thought of losing my friend, but at the same time convicted by Steve's statement to always be a witness.  I knew right then that I would spend the rest of my life doing just that.

I lay in bed that night, torn by the unfairness of seeing such an incredible witness for Christ slowly losing his life.  I was a faulted sinner who deserved to die, not him.  Not Steve.  He was an ambassador for Christ and spent his time spreading the Good News all over the city.  It was unfair that he should have to die, especially in such a painful way!  I raised my eyes towards heaven and yelled "HE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS!!"

Suddenly I heard a voice.  Christians know that voice.  We hear it frequently and we know who it is. It said "Excuse me?"  I fell silent, unable to move.  The voice continued, "Steve is a wonderful, beautiful follower of Christ, and what he deserves is to be here with me.  And since I've decided to give Steve his reward now I'm going to use his passing in a way that will touch more lives than you can imagine, for MY GLORY! That's what he deserves."

I suddenly felt like I had just been taken to the woodshed.  But now I understood why all of this was happening.  Steve was special, and many people have been affected by his generosity and love for Christ.  God could have let Steve continue to live and then die at a ripe old age.  All that would’ve happened at that time would have been a regular funeral and people remembering Steve’s work.

But God had something special in mind.  He decided to bring Steve to Heaven early, and in a way that would have the greatest impact for His glory.  Steve’s Christ-like composure through his entire struggle with cancer was a testament to how people’s lives are changed when they give it all to Jesus.  It gave Steve the opportunity to witness to more people because hundreds visited and emailed him, and everyone who was around him even before he went to hospice was astounded by how Christ manifested His love through Steve.

God loved Steve so much that, as my friend Carlos put it, he was taken to Heaven on the VIP program.  And I have no doubt that that’s how the Angels received him.

Back at the restaurant we all sat at the table talking about how Steve had impacted our lives.  I couldn't help but feel a sense of family.  We were six men whose lives had been touched by an incredible Christian man, and we each had something to say about him.  We sat for almost two hours, sometimes in comfortable silence.  I could tell that no one wanted to leave.  We were bonded by Steve, and as long as we were together Steve was in our presence, and we didn't want to lose that.

Being a Christian is sometimes difficult when we lose someone we love.  The men of Steve Stoner's Friday men's group felt the pain of losing our mentor, but at the same time felt relief that he no longer suffered through the cancer and had left this world for glory.

Finally, slowly, we all felt the pull of our daily lives and had to return to work.  We stood and hugged each other and said that we would gather again from time to time to catch up on each other's lives and once again reminisce about the life and legacy of Steve Stoner, for part of that legacy is six men who have a better understanding of Christ's sacrifice and love because of the sacrifice and love of a man who always thought of others.

A few days later as I read my Bible I came across 2 Corinthians 4:10.  It says "Suffering is how our bodies share in the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be seen."  This verse has been stuck in my head ever since because it epitomizes how Steve left this world.  He suffered a long time with cancer, but through it all he continued to tell others about Christ.  2 Corinthians 4:10.  I'll never forget that verse.

If the richness of one's life is counted by the number of people that attend their funeral, then I can say that after watching over 1,000 people pack into Grace Point church for his memorial that Steve Stoner was in fact, one of the wealthiest men on Earth.  Via con dios my friend.

"To know Him.  To make Him known."  ~ Steve Stoner

"God, thank you for letting me experience a small part of the life and legacy of Steve Stoner.  Can you do a favor for me the next time you see him and tell him that I miss him, and that I finally memorized a Bible verse.  Thanks."

in all the world

in all the world, I found You
years of searching, You were there
i was not

blind to see, never wanting to see
prayers only spoken in secret
hoping no one looked

days of nothing, nights forever
darkness filled my eyes
my life blind

today I stand, new hope
saving me, how could it be
blessed savior, why me

new life, sunlight
no more worry, I know what’s next
spared

in all the world, You found me

Summertime

The sun was bright, and Jarin had to stop for a few seconds to let his eyes adjust as he walked out under  the afternoon sky.  The smell of spring was in the air and a cool breeze blew through the valley making the trees rustle and leaves spiral up to heaven.  In the distance he could hear birds chirping, and their songs made him feel good all over.  Jarin loved the summertime; it was his most favorite time of the year.  Feeling the warmth of the sun on his face made him feel like singing along with the birds.

He didn’t know how long his people had lived in this valley; he only knew that a great earth-shake had destroyed his community before he was born. He liked this place though, it was home. All he knew was here, and all he ever wanted was here. He couldn’t imagine ever leaving this place, at least not leaving his tribe. The tribe always stayed together. If they moved, everyone moved. That’s the way it was, and Jarin wouldn’t have it any other way.

The tribe worked for the welfare of everyone, and everyone had their place there. No one shirked any responsibilities and everyone helped each other in times of crisis. This always gave Jarin a warming sense of security, even though there had been very few times his security had been threatened.   He had been too young to fight in the Great War, or even in the tribal disputes that had flared up from time to time with the tribes to the West and North. He wished he could be a great warrior like his father, Kurock, but he knew someday when he reached the age of maturity he would be called to his place among the warriors as his father had been, and then he would prove himself to be a great leader.

Standing outside the entrance of the community, Jarin bathed in the sunlight. He didn’t mind living in the caves that were his home, even though they were dark and somewhat cold. He came outside whenever he could just to feel the warmth of the day. He knew the caves were necessary to protect his tribe from the elements which could be quite unfriendly at times. Winter snows, and the season of rain could be deadly if you weren’t protected.  He marveled at the great system of tunnels the engineers had built that connected every area of the great complex. Surely there were no other tribes around that had the intelligence to accomplish such a feat as this.  He was proud to be a Nojeva, the most powerful tribe on the Earth. Jarin’s chest swelled as he thought of his great tribe, and of his father, the greatest warrior in the land. He could not be any happier he thought as he started towards the meeting place. He could hardly wait to sit in the big circle with the other young ones and listen to Brachaw, the wise one.

Brachaw was the oldest and the wisest of all the Nojeva, “Probably of anyone on Earth,” Jarin thought as he wandered down the trail towards the group of young ones who were playing near the meeting place.  Jarin didn’t really like playing with the other young ones anymore. That, to him was a sign that he was approaching maturity. His father had told him that was the first sign. He didn’t mind because the other young ones looked up to him. This made him feel important as well as uneasy. He knew that he would be a leader someday, and he wanted to be a good one, so he tried very hard to be tolerant of the younger ones who tried to tease him into chasing them for fun.

Soon Jarin saw Brachaw coming down the trail. “He’s here!” he shouted as he ran to the meeting place and got the best seat.  The other young ones crowded around, all pushing and nudging each other to try and get a good view. Everyone loved listening to Brachaw’s stories, mainly because they were all true. He told of the history of the Nojeva, which had been passed from generation to generation.  “Brachaw knows everything,” Jarin thought as he sat waiting for the stories to begin. He knew that Brachaw was once a warrior like his father. He had also helped make the great complex in which everyone lived. In fact, it was Brachaw who had scouted this valley after the great earth-shake and brought the Nojeva to live here.  Brachaw was kind; he spoke with a musical quality that kept his listeners entranced. “It was a long time ago when the Great War came to an end.” he said as he gazed out into the faces of the young ones. “It was a day almost like today. The sky was clear and the sun was hot. I was sitting right here when one of our scouts came running up to me.”

The young ones were already enthralled in the story. Jarin was too, he loved the wise one’s stories about the Great War. Brachaw had been telling them in weeks past about the many battles of the war, and he knew that this story would be the best because it involved his father, and how the war ended.  Brachaw continued, “The scout was out of breath, he was babbling something that I could not even understand. I grabbed the young scout and told him to slow down, take deep breaths, and speak slowly.”  The wise ones voice was slow and deep. It had a mesmerizing quality as if he where hypnotizing his audience with the very tone of his voice.  He said, “The scout tried to calm down but was terrified. Finally he was able to say one word: 'JETTOO!'”

Jarin looked around and saw the eyes of the other young ones grow bigger. The Jettoo were a war-like tribe that lived to the South. They were a mean tribe who had completely destroyed one of the villages to the West. It seemed they needed no reason to fight. It was like they would all wake up one morning and decide it was a good day to obliterate everything in sight.  Brachaw’s voice was deep and toneless, “My blood ran cold when I heard the scout say that word, for I knew the Jettoo were on their way here, and that death would visit our village this day.”  His speech began to quicken and he spoke in a staccato voice, “I hurried into the caves and began to sound the warning, “JETTO ARE COMING! JETTO ARE COMING! It didn’t take long for our fighters to gather outside and prepare for battle. I could tell a lot of them were scared, they knew the Jettoo were fierce in battle and only fought to win, or die.”

You could almost feel the tension in the air as the young ones stared at Brachaw, hanging on every word he said. Brachaw held his breath for a few seconds, letting his story linger. “Then we heard them.” He spoke in an even deeper tone that was sinister; “They came over the southern hills, thousands of them, a never ending stream of soldiers. You could feel the ground starting to shake as they drew closer. Our soldiers had all gathered and were prepared for battle. Even though we knew we were out-numbered, the Nojeva are a proud people and we were prepared to fight to the death just as the Jettoo were.”

Brachaw slowly scanned his audience; the young ones were completely under the spell of his story.  “ATTACK!” he yelled and everyone jumped in surprise. “The two armies plowed into each other, the cries of battle and death filled the air. Hundreds died. THOUSANDS died. It was a great sea of death and destruction.”  He paused for just a second to change his voice to one of fear. “We were losing. As bravely as we fought our army was outnumbered and demoralized by the viciousness of the Jettoo. We slowly fell back, and it seemed that soon it would be over and our tribe would be exterminated."

Brachaw’s head was hung low, and everyone felt the defeat with him.  Then he slowly lifted his head and a glimmer of hope shown in his eyes. “Suddenly over the great hill of the community there came a young warrior, Kurock.”  Jarin could feel everyone looking at him now. He tried not to look embarrassed, and instead held his head high and stuck out his chest.  “The young Kurock had only been in battle once before,” Brachaw said, “but his spirit was great, his will unrelenting, and his inner power unstoppable.”  Jarin could feel his pride swelling inside as the wise one boasted of his father.  “Kurock came down from the hill, ‘TO BATTLE!’ he yelled as he waded past our retreating army. The Jettoo were shocked to see this young soldier charging them all alone. Kurock met the Jettoo head on, fighting with the power of a hundred soldiers. The Jettoo attacked him over and over but he killed each offender.”

Brachaw’s voice filled the air as he got louder and louder. “The rest of our army saw this bravery and knew that it was time to fight, or die. ‘TO BATTLE!’ went up the cry from our soldiers, ‘TO BATTLE!’ they shouted as they reversed their retreat and plunged head-long into the fray.”  No one took their eyes off of Brachaw, especially Jarin. His father never told him this story before; he only knew that his father had a large part in winning the war. Kurock would never speak of it. He was very humble, and let his actions speak for themselves, he never bragged on himself.  Brachaw continued,  “The battle went on and it seemed it would never end.  But soon the Jettoo’s advance stopped. Then slowly, very slowly our soldiers began to push them back. They pushed them over the southern hills, and finally at daybreak the next day the word came back that the battle was over and the Jettoo had been defeated!”

The young ones were on their feet shouting “Hurray!”  Brachaw continued. “A mighty cheer came from the village as our army returned victorious, carrying Kurock high. He had led our soldiers out of defeat and into victory; our tribe owes him a great debt. Kurock is, and will always be hailed the greatest warrior in history.” Brachaw was looking right at Jarin now. Jarin felt as if he were going to explode with pride. “And you too, Jarin, will now join the ranks of our warriors.”  “Now?” Jarin said confused. He had been so caught-up in the story that he hadn’t noticed the elders walking up behind him.  Realizing there was someone there he turned around. “Father!” he said looking up. Kurock stood there with four other elders.  The young ones sitting around Brachaw began to whisper to each other “It’s Kurock”; “It’s the Great Warrior.”

Kurock began to speak, “Jarin, you have reached the age of maturity. You have grown-up to be a strong and true Nojeva. It is time to take your place by my side and learn the ways of adulthood.”  Jarin was speechless. For so long he had wanted to be a warrior like his father, and now his time had come. His life would now change forever; there would be no more games, or stories. He was now mature. The other young ones cheered for Jarin as he and his father and the other elders left the circle to begin his training.  “Much will change for him,” Brachaw told the young ones as they watched Jarin and the others leave. “There is much for him to learn, and someday all of you will reach the age of maturity. Then you will take your place in the tribe as well.”

Brachaw sat down and started to tell another story when he felt it. The earth trembled. Softly at first but then it began to grow stronger. “Another earth-shake?” he said under his breath.  Darkness suddenly fell over the land and the wise one couldn’t understand how this could be, since there were no clouds in the sky.  Sensing great danger Brachaw stood and pointed to the village. “Quickly young ones, to the caves!” They scrambled over each other as Brachaw saw Kurock and Jarin running back towards him.  “What is it?” Kurock asked the wise one. “Have the Jettoo come back?” Kurock’s concern was not without warrant. He remembered the Great War and something he had never told anyone. Just before he had killed the last Jettoo soldier, his enemy said something he would never forget; “We shall return here someday with a force that not even you can stop, great warrior.”  Kurock thought it was just the last boast of a dying soldier, but now he was starting to wonder.

Then suddenly the water came. Kurock and the others ran for the caves. The water began to come faster and faster.  “How can there be so much water when there are no clouds in the sky?” Kurock thought as they dodged debris washing around them.  Just as they entered the caves a wall of water came crashing into the village.  It flowed in like an ocean with a force that knocked everyone off their feet and sent them hurtling into the tunnels.  Jarin was screaming for his father when suddenly Kurock was swept into another tunnel. He would never see him again.  

Kurock was grabbing at the sides of the tunnel, digging with all his might to slow himself down, but the force of the flood was to strong.  Farther and farther Kurock was swept through the tunnels until he was suddenly thrown out of the main tunnel into an empty room.  He quickly regained his balance and stood up. The room was filling with water and Kurock knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of the room against the surge of water rushing in.  He knew he was about to die and he couldn’t believe that after the long ago earth-shake, the Great War, and all that his tribe had endured that it would all be destroyed by an enemy he couldn’t fight.  Kurock was now underwater with no way out, and as death gripped him he couldn’t help but be in awe of the power of the flood.  He thought, “Whoever has learned to control such a great power as this, will surely rule the Earth.”

Darkness.

The sun was bright, and Jenny had to stop for a few seconds to let her eyes adjust as she walked out under the afternoon sky.  The smell of spring was in the air and a cool breeze blew through the valley making the trees rustle and leaves spiral up to heaven.  In the distance she could hear birds chirping, and their songs made her feel good all over.  Jenny loved the summertime.  It had to be her most favorite time of the year. Feeling the warmth of the sun on her face made her feel like singing along with the birds

She looked down her long backyard and saw her father, Kirk working at the far end.  She skipped through the grass up to him.  “Daddy, will you come push me on the swing?” she asked in the cutest voice she could muster.  Kirk looked down at her and said, “In a little while darlin', I have to finish here first.”  Jenny scowled a little, but didn’t object.  He said “Go over to the swing-set and I’ll be there is few minutes.”  “Awwlriiight,” Jenny said with a slight bit of rejection in her voice just to hurry him up. She skipped away towards the swing-set and Kirk smiled as he watched her.

His smile faded as he looked back down at his work. “Alright you little pests, it’s time for you to go” he said as he placed his thumb over the end of the water hose… aimed it… and shot another burst of water into the anthill below.

-end

© 1995 J. Bret Lamb, all rights reserved.