Hope Dealer

By J. D. Inman and Jeff Stultz

A life lost to darkness is miraculously restored by the grace and mercy of Jesus. Jeff Stultz was the personification of living for the devil. A motorcycle club president, a criminal, a drug dealer and a drug addict, he ended up homeless on the streets. But Jesus found him, cleaned him up and has restored his life through the ministry of Celebrate Recovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359689125

Book preview

Hope Dealer

Hope Dealer

Story by Jeff Stultz

Written with JD Inman

This book is dedicated to my wife, Pamela, my mom and dad and to my wing-man, David Cain.

Ride on, #17.

"Jeff Stultz is the personification of the wonder-working power of the blood of Jesus! His is a wonderful journey of transformation from a sinner to a saint, from criminal to the cross of Christ. I guess that’s why they call grace amazing."

Candy Christmas, Founder/CEO

The Bridge Ministry, Nashville, Tennessee

In as many cases as possible, names, places, and incidents are accurately reported. In some cases, however, legal statute of limitations or old, but still existing, gang grievances prohibit the use of actual names, dates, places, or events.

Copyright 2019 by John D. Inman.

Published by John D. Inman in the United States of America.

ISBN: 978-0-359-68912-5

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means electronic, mechanical, photographic, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent from the author except in the case of brief quotations within critical articles or reviews.

Cover photography provided by Jacob 7 Production, Jay Woody, photographer.

Edited by Melissa Dick.

This book was written in an effort to show that change is possible, that hope is real, that healing is available, and that misery is optional. I hope this book demonstrates that, through Jesus Christ, I am not the man I used to be. I share this book to show that I am a new creation in Him.

I admit that I left a wake of destruction in my past. Many of the stories in this book are memories of events of my life that I am not proud to tell. I do not tell them to be braggadocious in any way, and I certainly do not wish to reopen any old wounds or inflict further pain to anyone. I have accepted that it isn’t possible to go back and right all the wrongs of my life, and, while this in no way excuses my bad behavior, if you or someone you know have been hurt or offended by my actions in the past, I am truly sorry. I can only ask for your forgiveness.

I am grateful that the old me is gone and the new me is here. I hope you will find the me today to be that new creation and I hope you realize that, through Jesus Christ, you can be, too.

Foreword by John Baker

I’m honored to write the forward for Jeff’s book. When I first met him in 2008, I thought to myself, What a character! As the years passed, I began to see a lot of changes in Jeff. God was using him more and more to reach out to others and share the Good News.

I really got to know his heart for Christ when he became a Celebrate Recovery State Representative in 2010. Little did I know then that God was preparing him for a new ministry that would become a major part of Celebrate Recovery!

Jeff started Broken Chains, a motorcycle ministry, in 2016. With it, he is reaching a new target for Christ and Celebrate Recovery and I am proud to say that Cheryl and I are members!

I know you are going to enjoy this book. So turn the page and start reading!

John Baker

Founder of Celebrate Recovery

Chapter 1 - July 10, 2018

On a hot afternoon in Nashville, Tennessee, I found myself back in a place I’d been many times before.

There’s a four-lane bridge on Jefferson Street that spans across the Cumberland River connecting East Nashville with the downtown area. When they built that bridge, they didn’t know it but they were also building an outdoor homeless shelter. Hundreds of Nashville’s homeless find cover from the sun and rain on the riverbank under that bridge. It is literally a roof over their heads. So many of the homeless camp there, it’s known as Tent City.

There’s a lady named Candy Christmas who has claimed some space under the bridge, too. Every Tuesday night since 2004, just up the hill a ways from where the homeless camp, she and a large group of volunteers bring a hot meal, clothes, shoes, blankets, and toiletries to those who have nothing. Some are mentally ill. Some have drug addictions. Some have just made bad life choices. They’re broken, hungry and thirsty. They’re dirty, dried up, sick and afflicted. They’re desperate. They are almost all beggars and some are even thieves.

And twelve years ago, I was one of them.

I met Candy under that bridge one night in 2006. She was kind to me. She said, If no one has told you today that they love you, let me be the first. It has become her mantra. She wants everybody under that bridge to know that she loves them, but more than that, she wants them to know that Jesus loves them, that He died for them, paying the price for everything they have done wrong. And believe me, I have done a lot of wrong.

I remember filling my stomach under that bridge many times. I’d grab my plate as the worship singers led praise and worship. I’d find myself a spot in the shade, and sit and eat while a preacher gave a word. But, back then, I didn’t want to have anything to do with any preacher and I definitely wasn’t the least bit interested in the man they called Jesus.

On July 10, 2018, the rumble of the exhaust pipes under the concrete overhead was loud and the dust rolled off the gravel, as me and about 40 rough-looking bikers of Broken Chains JC Motorcycle Fellowship pulled up under that bridge in front of a crowd of over 500.

This time I wasn’t there to get another hot meal. I was there to give a word.

I heard Candy say, Please welcome, my good friend, Jeff Stultz. I eased over to where an old area rug served as the stage. She greeted me with her famous smile and a big old Southern hug, then handed me the microphone.

Hello, my name is Jeff, I began. I’m a believer, in recovery from drug addiction, and I’m here today to tell you something.

I looked around at the faces in the crowd. I’d seen them all before—maybe not these particular faces, but the look of the lost, the rejected, the forgotten, the hopeless. That look is all the same, no matter the crowd.

That’s right, I continued. "Today, I’m going to tell you something called the truth and I’m not going to sugar coat it. I’m here to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I’m going to be real with you and it may be hard to hear."

I knew what I wanted to tell them. I knew what they needed to hear. I was prepared for them. The question was, were they prepared for me?

But look, I said. "If I’m going to tell you the truth like that, a truth that may not be real pretty, I’d better qualify myself and tell you why I feel like I have the right to talk to you like that."

From the audience came the shout of a lone voice. Alright, he called. With this type of crowd, I