No Limits with Pastor Delman Coates Podcast

Every year on the second Sunday in May, we pause to honor the women who have shaped our lives, fueled our faith, and birthed our dreams. This is more than a cultural tradition; it is a holy act. Scripture commands us to honor our mothers and fathers so that our future will be blessed (Exodus 20:12). We honor them because a mother’s impact is so profound, the only real comparison is God’s own compassion. As Isaiah 66:13 says, “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.” In their care and sacrifice, we see God’s love in action.

This is especially true for mothers who navigate systems of injustice. To be a mother in a world that can be hostile to your flourishing requires a unique spiritual resilience. They do more than survive; they find a way to thrive in the midst of chaos, turning adversity into opportunity and opposition into possibility. As we reflect on the strength and legacy of our mothers, we look to a story in Exodus where, in a time of terror and despair, godly women defied an empire to save a child destined to be a liberator.

Have you ever felt stuck? It is that frustrating feeling of watching a loading screen that never seems to finish or sitting in traffic when you have somewhere important to be. It is a feeling of being trapped by circumstances beyond your control. We can get stuck in jobs we dislike, in patterns of thinking that hold us back, or in cycles of injustice we feel powerless to change. We can become so accustomed to our limitations that we build our lives around them, accepting them as permanent fixtures of our reality.

The Bible is filled with stories of people who were stuck by the institutions around them, but it is also a story of a God who specializes in setting people free. In the Gospel of John, we meet a man who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years, waiting by a pool he believed could heal him. His entire world was defined by his limitation. When Jesus encounters him, He asks a question that cuts through decades of waiting and disappointment: “Do you want to get well?” This question was not about the man’s physical condition; it was a challenge to his mindset. It is a question Jesus is still asking us today as we confront the barriers in our own lives and in our world.

A recent viral song by Metroboomin repeats the catchy phrase, “take me through there.” While the song has many interpretations, the preacher in me finds inspiration in the posture it suggests: a bold and courageous refusal to be defeated by life’s circumstances. It is a declaration that you are willing to take on whatever comes, believing victory is on the other side. This mindset brings to mind a powerful moment in Scripture.

When Jesus learned that his enemies were stirring up trouble, he knew he had to get from Judea to Galilee quickly. The most direct route was through Samaria, a place of deep racial, theological, and cultural hostility for Jews. For generations, the inherited logic was to avoid Samaria at all costs. But Jesus chose a different path. He refused the map of avoidance and decided to go right through it, teaching us that the Kingdom of God is not built by sidestepping our problems, but by courageously facing them.

On a recent trip, some of us had the chance to visit Kakum National Park in Ghana. To experience the famous canopy walk, you first have to hike up a steep, difficult hill. Our guide, Yao, pointed out the massive, ancient tree roots that crisscrossed the path. As we navigated the rough terrain, he paused and gave a simple, profound instruction: “In order to make it safely and successfully up this mountain, please don’t step on the roots!” That phrase captured my attention, because it’s a key to life, not just for a hike in the rainforest, but for our journey as a people.

Like that group climbing the hill, we as a people are climbing mountains of systemic racism, structural inequality, and economic deprivation. If we are going to make it to the top, we cannot step on our roots. This is the same wisdom God gave the Israelites through Moses. As they prepared to move toward the Promised Land, God gave them specific instructions about how to treat the people and the land they passed through. To go forward into their future, they had to remember where they came from. They had to build a community that did not mirror the oppression they had left behind.

In accounting, every number must balance. The credits and debits must align perfectly because when the "math is mathing," it signals that everything is okay. This idea has entered our culture; when we say, "the math ain't mathing," we mean something is wrong. We see it all around us. We see it when politicians promise transparency but then block access to information. We see it when corporate profits soar while wages for average Americans stay the same. We see it when budgets for prisons increase, but investments in schools and communities decline. Something is deeply off.

This way of thinking makes sense in the world, but it becomes a problem when we apply it to our spiritual lives. We get stuck when we expect God's promises to add up according to our human logic. In God’s economy, things don’t always reconcile on a human balance sheet. He knows how to create abundance from scarcity and do more with less. This is what God was trying to teach the people of Israel. As they stood on the edge of their future, they looked at what they lacked and concluded the math was not mathing. What they failed to understand, and what we must grasp today, is that God’s power is most visible right in the middle of our deficits.

Many of us ask a common question after experiencing trauma, injury, or loss: “How will I know when I am healed?” We often look for healing in the complete removal of our problems. We think we are healed when the pain stops, the grief fades, or the memories no longer hurt. This view, however, can leave us frustrated when life’s challenges persist. What if we viewed life’s difficulties not as problems to be solved, but as paradoxes to be managed?

This shift in perspective is at the heart of our faith. When the Apostle Paul pleaded with God to remove the thorn in his flesh, God did not erase the problem. Instead, He provided the grace to handle it. The resurrection of Jesus Christ offers us a similar invitation. It calls us to reframe our stories of pain and loss, showing us that true healing is not about eliminating our wounds but about transforming our lives through them. Peter’s words invite us to discover what it means to be healed by what happened on the cross.

In 2005, Carrie Underwood’s song “Jesus, Take the Wheel” captured a feeling many of us know well. It tells the story of a young mother who, after losing control of her car on an icy road, throws her hands up and surrenders control to Jesus. The song became a massive success because it tapped into a foundational truth of the spiritual life: if you want to truly gain control of your life, you must first relinquish it. It is a powerful call for divine surrender, a recognition that our own efforts often lead us down dangerous roads.

This idea of letting go is what Paul describes as living a Spirit-led life. He contrasts walking "in the flesh" with walking "in the Spirit." The flesh represents the parts of us wounded by past pain, while the Spirit is the divine image of God within us. When we let Jesus take the wheel, we stop allowing our hurts and baggage to direct our lives. Instead, we allow the Christ consciousness within us to lead the way, transforming how we see ourselves, treat others, and engage with the world.

There is a unique fascination with high-speed car chases. When a reckless driver leads police on a dangerous pursuit through busy traffic, we are often glued to the screen, wondering who is behind the wheel. A few years ago, a story about a chaotic chase in California ended with a surprising discovery. After the car weaved through traffic, ran lights, and finally came to a stop, officers approached the vehicle. Instead of a hardened criminal, they found a nine-year-old boy who simply said, “Sorry officer. I was just trying to get to school.” While his goal was admirable, it shows that bad things can happen when the wrong person is driving the car.

This story makes us think about what can happen when the wrong part of us is behind the steering wheel of our lives. Sometimes, our reactions are driven by rage, bitterness, fear, or shame. These toxic emotions can lead us to say or do things that hurt others, create problems for ourselves, and damage our relationships. In Romans 8, the Apostle Paul gives us guidance on who or what ought to be in the driver’s seat. He tells us that if we want to live a life of joy and peace, we must learn to walk according to the Spirit, not the flesh.

We have all experienced the sting of being hurt, disappointed, or let down by someone we trusted. To be human is to know pain. Often, the deepest wounds are not the ones people can see. They are the scars left on our souls. Our natural instinct is to avoid people and situations that might cause us pain. We run in the opposite direction from anything that looks like betrayal or heartbreak, which makes the story of Jesus and Judas so compelling.

The entire plan for our salvation hinged on an act of profound betrayal. Jesus knew what was coming. He knew one of his own would hand him over, yet he did not run. He faced the hurt head on, not just to fulfill a prophecy, but to teach us something powerful about how God can use our deepest wounds for our greatest good. This story challenges us to look at our own hurts not as dead ends, but as opportunities for God to work in our lives in ways we never imagined.

Many of us know the classic song “End of the Road” by Boyz II Men and assume it is a heartbreaking love song. But a closer look at the lyrics reveals a more troubling story: it is about a person who cannot let go of a relationship that was unfaithful and toxic. The song portrays someone stuck in a delusion, clinging to what was, even though it was painful and unhealthy. This is not romantic; it is a tragedy that keeps people from moving forward into freedom and healing.

This feeling of being stuck is not limited to romantic partners. We all have “exes” in our lives. An ex can be a job you poured everything into that never valued you, a mindset that no longer fits who you are becoming, or a season of life that has ended. The tragedy occurs when we struggle to accept that what once was is no longer, and we remain tethered to the past, unable to walk into our next chapter. This is precisely where we find the people of God in Deuteronomy 2. After years of wandering in circles, God declares that it is time to move on. He says, “You have been skirting this hill country long enough. Head north.” It is go time.