About a decade ago the bass player in my band practically lived off of doing this stuff.
Later on he started dating my roommate and when I was away for the weekend he TOOK ALL OF MY BEDSHEETS AND MADE HIMSELF A TENT ON THE BACK PORCH. By the time I got back they'd been rained on and gotten moldy. Which is what happens when your parents are upper middle class academic-hippies who raised you with no sense of boundaries.
Oh, and when I moved out of that apartment he got all huffy that I wasn't leaving my french press and cooking pots for him to use when he was staying over (which was pretty much 6 days a week minimum at that point) and locked himself in his girlfriend's room instead of helping me move.
What a sweet woman! She needs to hook up with the right Rev. Billy, who will explain to her the exact nature of the devil putting those ideas into her head. It's a lot more prosaic than you think, lady. But a whole lot more evil than your imagination might allow for.
The thing I hate about preachy sermons is when the pastor admits to some sort of sinful struggle, which is trivial in nature (like eating a couple of grapes in grocery store). Of course he/she doesn't talk about their true inner demons in their sermon/sermonette.