When you have a great experience, do you tell someone about it?
I remember the night we drove several blocks to a coworker’s home.
“We aren’t going to buy anything. We’re just going to support a friend.”
My husband grinned, nodding in agreement. “I don’t mind sitting through a sales pitch to help someone out if they feed me.”
Three couples, plus my coworker and her husband, watched as a cooking demonstration commenced. The salesman skillfully prepared everything on the menu with a gleaming set of stainless-steel cookware. As he sliced and stirred, he told stories of his experiences visiting host kitchens. The most recent “best” involved a cat jumping on the counter while his electric skillet preheated for the main course. He assured us that the cat escaped unharmed and spent the rest of the evening away from the festivities.
We shook our heads as we ate meatloaf into which our chef had hidden carrots effortlessly processed through a shiny shredder (a gift with the purchase of the deal of the evening). We marveled at the delicious pineapple upside-down cake, baked during dinner in the same skillet that produced our main course.
The next evening, the salesman visited our kitchen, happily accepting payment for a purchase we had agreed we wouldn’t make. I looked my husband square in the eye as I wrote the check. “We cannot tell my mom and dad how much we spent on pots and pans.”
A few weeks later, three couples from our church sat in our kitchen. The same salesman regaled them with stories as he skillfully prepared meatloaf and pineapple upside-down cake. Those three couples had the same conversation in their cars as we did in ours. “We aren’t going to buy anything.”
Within days, each of those three couples sat in their kitchens with the salesman, writing checks and scheduling dinner guests. By the time the parties ended, several couples in our circle had new cookware.
That was nearly 40 years ago. We still have our set of cookware. I’ll probably still be using some of those pieces when a hearse comes to haul me away.
The Lord reminded me of this Palm Sunday morning, as I sat in church listening to a sermon on missions.
I can’t count the times I’ve heard a minister preface a sermon illustration with these words: “you know the story.” But a simple Google search tells me that millions of people on this planet don’t know the story. People exist who have never met someone who even professes to be a Christian, let alone live like one.
One of the last things Jesus told His followers before He went back to Heaven was to go tell others about Him.
We couldn’t wait to tell our friends about our new cookware. We eagerly invited them to our home to see for themselves. But when was the last time I told someone about Jesus? I’m ashamed to admit I can talk more easily about shiny pans that will go to the dump someday than the Savior I profess to know and love.
I know, God doesn’t call everybody to the far corners of the earth. He calls some of us to stay here and go across the street or down the block. We don’t have to go far to find those who don’t realize how much Jesus loves them. So many don’t understand they don’t have to face life alone. So many don’t think to call on Him when every trusted professional we know reaches the end of their knowledge.
The best decision I ever made was to ask Jesus to be my Lord and Savior forever. I am not perfect. (You can ask my family, just be sure you ask when you have plenty of time for the response). My life has not been easy. But Jesus has always been with me, loving me, picking me up, dusting me off when I trip over something in my path. I cannot imagine my life without Him.
Can you say the same?
Then please, tell someone!
Copyright 2026 lifeatroomtemperature.com Sherry A. Hathaway All rights reserved.