<img src="http://www.joplinglobeonline.com/images/zope/extra.gif" border=0> On a mission from God: Ex-addicts turned ‘God’s Special Forces’ pluck drug users from the fire<font color="#ff0000"> w/ God's Special Forces video, slide show and Community Conversation radio show</font>

By Scott Meeker

smeeker@joplinglobe.com

The yellow school bus rumbles down the narrow entrance as evening falls on the mobile home park south of Joplin. It slowly navigates a tight turn and comes to a stop at the side of the road.

Its passengers — about 15 or so — disembark and gather on the street in front of the bus, where Daryl Long begins separating them into teams of three or four.

They wear matching camouflage T-shirts. Some carry Bibles, others a stack of yellow flyers that advertise an upcoming anti-drug rally. Daryl directs each group where to go and they fan out down either side of the mobile-home park.

Many of these homes have seen better days. Paint is peeling on some, several sport Confederate flags in the windows. This neighborhood has been the scene of a number of drug-related incidents in recent years, as well as a murder in 2006, according to police reports.

Click the player below to watch video of God's Special Forces on the front lines in Joplin.

Daryl is in a group that includes Kenny Arnold — an imposing figure sporting a biker mustache, a church deacon who is sometimes known affectionately as “Big” — and Kenny’s wife, Terri, a slight woman who wears her hair pulled back under a ballcap.

They spy a group of people sitting outside one of the homes and make a beeline for them. There’s an acrid smell that wafts along with the breeze, one that’s not unfamiliar to some of the visitors.

“This is new territory for us as a group, but some of us have a lot of history here,” says Kenny.

“Yeah,” Daryl says, looking around as they walk. “I used to cook meth out here.”

“And I used to pick it up here,” Kenny says.

The members of a group calling themselves God’s Special Forces continue toward the home with purposeful strides. They’re on a mission and they won’t be turned back.

They’ve been where some of these people are, they say. And they know a way out.

The gathering

Several hours earlier, Marrie Fairchild is the first to arrive at the pavilion in Ewert Park on this late Monday afternoon.

She wears a ballcap emblazoned with the words “God’s Army” and smokes a cigarette as she talks about her involvement with God’s Special Forces.

“Drugs, alcohol, abuse ... I’ve been through a lot,” she says. “I moved here five years ago from Wichita. I just got tired of spending all my money with nothing to show for it.”

Sobriety was a struggle, but she found it all on her own.

“I kept seeing how people were getting hurt,” she says. “I have God to thank that I’ve never been in jail.”

Marrie says she’s grateful for all the support she’s received from ministries such as City of Refuge, Watered Gardens and The Salvage Yard, all of Joplin.

But God’s Special Forces is different.

“I’ve been enjoying being with this group,” Marrie says as she waits for others to gather. “It feels good to reach out to folks.”

A few moments later, her gaze drifts toward the far end of the park.

“Here comes Daryl,” she says, watching as the school bus turns into the park entrance and cruises through the lot toward the pavilion.

When it stops, a few people who have been picked up step out and make their way toward the picnic tables. The last out is the driver, Daryl Long.

He wears jeans, cowboy boots and a sleeveless Lazarus Ministries T-shirt. His beard is starting to gray, and tattoos adorn his small but muscular frame. He takes off a pair of Batman sunglasses to reveal eyes that have seen a lot.

More people begin to arrive and Daryl greets them, but he quickly focuses on a homeless man in who has wandered over to the pavilion to see what’s going on.

Daryl greets the man, whose name is Eugene. The two have met before, and Eugene asks if he can have money for food.

“Now, if I give you money for a hamburger, are you really going to go buy a hamburger?” Daryl asks.

When Eugene quickly says that he will, Daryl embraces him, but with an ulterior motive. He wants to see if he can smell alcohol on the man.

“I won’t give you any money,” Daryl says. “But I’ll buy you something to eat.”

He dispatches one of the group members to a nearby Sonic to bring back a meal.

Welcoming several visitors to the weekly gathering of God’s Special Forces — which has been meeting for about two months now — Daryl moves off to the side to talk about how the evening will play out.

There is to be a brief prayer service, and then they will plan a route based on names and addresses of alleged drug users and dealers that has been compiled by group members.

Then, they will board the bus and make five or six stops to witness to those people.

Out of the fire

Each of the members of God’s Special Forces has struggled with addiction, Daryl says. Some, like himself, have spent time in prison. But they all share a commitment to offering a hand up to those who are now where they once were.

“I got into drugs at an early age,” he says. “It started with alcohol, then marijuana, then methamphetamine and then anything I could get high on.

“It was an addiction that lasted for 22 years. I had a 13-year-old boy who got taken away from me and I just fell on my knees and cried out to God that I had suffered enough. That was seven years ago, as of the 12th of this month.”

In prison for methamphetamine production, Daryl was baptized and began to “white knuckle” the recovery from his addiction. When he got out, he began a bus ministry to transport homeless people to church. That was followed by Saturday Night Live, a program offered at Central Christian Center to offer help to those dealing with drugs and alcohol. Then he formed Lazarus Ministries, a Christian-based recovery program that currently houses 18 people.

In the five years since the Lazarus program began, Daryl says there have been about 500 men pass through it.

God’s Special Forces has become an offshoot of the weekly Saturday Night Live gathering and his work at Lazarus Ministries. During the Saturday night meetings, participants are encouraged to anonymously write down the names and addresses of people they believe are using or dealing drugs.

“In the book of Jude it talks about plucking people out of the fire,” Daryl says. “That’s what we’re trying to do.”

But the group, he says, takes its marching orders from the book of Romans: “But how can they call to him for help if they do not believe? And how can they believe if they have not heard the message? And how can they hear the message if it is not proclaimed? And how can they proclaim if messengers are not sent out?”

Going boldly

From atop a picnic table, Eugene watches as Daryl leads the group in prayer, but he declines to actively participate.

Daryl sits on a concrete counter top, his legs dangling over the side.

“The old is gone, the new has come,” he says, eyes closed as he speaks. “We have the task of making others His friends.

“Father, we don’t want to just listen to your word. We want to put it into action ... I’m here to claim souls!”

A few minutes later, the food arrives; Daryl takes it over to Eugene.

“Thank you, my man!” the homeless man exclaims as he opens the sack.

“How long are you going to run from this church bus, my brother?” Daryl asks him. “You’ve been running from it for five years.”

After everyone puts on their new T-shirts — which say “God’s Special Forces” on the front — Daryl reminds them of their mission.

“We’re trying to get across three things,” he says. “First, we love the person we’re speaking to. Second, we’ve been there. And third, we want to let them know that we know the way out.”

And then it’s time to board the bus, which the group does with some excited cheers. Their route has been planned based on information compiled from the Saturday Night Live list and recent police reports.

The first stop this evening is at an apartment house on South Pennsylvania Avenue.

As the other members stand in a circle at the curb and pray, Daryl, Zach Watson and Bradley “Red Dog” Shikles walk around back to the entrance of the apartment they’re visiting.

Neighbors crane their heads out of their windows and some come out onto their porches to see what is going on. Their prayer at an end, several members break off to speak with the neighbors.

Daryl and the others have been gone about 15 minutes, but Terri says that’s a good sign.

“That means someone is there,” she says. “We wonder if they’re receiving.”

Terri says she doesn’t worry about the men because God is at their backs.

“God says to go boldly and step out of your comfort zone,” she says. “And that’s what we do.”

Among those waiting patiently in front of the apartment is Steven Metsker and his wife, Renee. They have been attending the Saturday Night Live meetings since the ministry formed.

“We’re both ex-meth addicts,” says Steven. “All of us are ex-addicts, but now we’re Jesus freaks. I tried for 30-some years to get straight but it wasn’t until I found Jesus that it worked.”

Several minutes later, Daryl emerges from behind the building with Zach and “Red Dog.” They are all smiles, and the other members begin to clap and cheer.

“It was good,” Daryl says. “The guy was high, but we prayed with him and he got a lot more peaceful. His wife cried and said she’ll try to show up on Saturday.”

Then it’s back onto the bus for a quick trip to the gas station and then on to their next destination. As the engine starts, Daryl cranks up the stereo. The song booming through the vehicle is called “Born Again,” a heavy number by the Christian rock group Thelma’s Dog. As the chorus hits, several passengers pump their fists into the air in time to the music.

'We have to do this'

The next stop is an apartment on South Pearl where a known meth cook lives, says Daryl.

He normally takes only two other people to the door, but this time he takes three. All big guys, just in case. They’re not gone long.

It wasn’t a successful visit, but Daryl isn’t discouraged.

“He didn’t want us to pray with him, but we’re going to pray for him,” he says, the group joining hands in prayer again at the edge of the curb.

He prays for John, the man who lives in the apartment. He prays that John be lifted up out of addiction. He prays that the Lord help John deal with his Hepatitis C and other physical difficulties.

At a home on South Kentucky a short time later, they pray with the daughter of a woman whom Terri says she used to do drugs with. At two other houses, no one comes to the door.

Eventually, they make their way to their final destination — that mobile home park south of Joplin.

After splitting into groups, Daryl, Kenny and Terri approach a woman who is sitting outside her home in a camping chair. Her leg is in a brace and is propped up in front of her.

They speak with her for a few moments and Terri asks if there’s anything that they can pray for with her.

She points to her leg, which she recently hurt in a bike accident, and says she hopes that her injury doesn’t require surgery.

As Daryl and the others pray, another woman watches impassively from the porch, sipping Mountain Dew.

She has strawberry blonde hair and wears a black T-shirt that says “I Heart Hot Moms.” Terri looks at her, then climbs the stairs to speak with her. They talk quietly for a few moments, and the woman begins to blink back tears as Terri puts a hand on her shoulder.

She begins to cry harder and Terri wraps her in an embrace, whispering words of encouragement. Soon, Daryl and the others are on the porch with her and they all pray quietly together.

“She’s dealing with meth, pot and alcohol, and she just signed her divorce papers,” Terri says a few minutes later. “I could just feel the hurt in her. She said she’ll be at Saturday Night Live this week and she’ll look for me there.”

As they make their way up the road and then down the other side, darkness descends quickly over the mobile-home park. The decision is made to call it a night.

As he walks back to the bus, Bradley “Red Dog” Shikles calls the trip a success.

“Red Dog” — who says the name stuck after he was given it while in prison — has been living at the Lazarus house since his release in March. The program there is “awesome,” he says, and God’s Special Forces gives him and others like him an outlet to fulfill what they feel called to do.

“You have to understand this ... we have to do this. We have to do this,” he says. “We’ve all been where they are, and we’re tired of seeing the city run down by drugs.”

No one, “Red Dog” says with a frown, ever tried to witness to him when his own life was consumed by drugs.

“I wish they would have, though,” he says. “I think my life would have been different, bro.”

Globe intern Colby Williams and photographer Roger Nomer contributed online multimedia elements for this story.

Meeting times

God’s Special Forces begin their weekly meeting at 6 p.m. at the pavilion in Ewert Park. The Saturday Night Live recovery meeting takes place at 7 p.m. each Saturday in Central Christian Center’s downstairs fellowship hall at 423 Main St.

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