I spent several days in the corner of my first grade classroom. That was Ms. Robinson’s way of controlling my excessive talking.
“Donna, is that you talking again?” she would ask. “Yes mam” I would proudly reply. Talking was my forte’, but I was beginning to learn that it wasn’t necessarily appreciated at all times in the classroom setting. So I dutifully walked over to the corner of the room and faced the wall. I don’t necessarily remember being embarrassed about it, although I’m sure I was. What I do remember is this, good behavior = good rewards, and bad behavior = bad results. It was a lesson that would be repeated in various settings. At home, if I finished my chores, I could go outside and play. If I didn’t finish my chores, I was stuck inside while everyone else was having fun. I remember one particular evening my chore was to do the supper dishes. There was something on tv that I was wanting to watch as well. So I would wash a dish or two and then go watch tv. My mom encouraged me to finish them all and then come sit down, but I preferred my method. That’s why at 11:30 pm, I was still doing dishes while everyone else went to bed. I couldn’t believe my mom hadn’t come to my rescue. Bad behavior = bad results. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard sometimes to grasp God’s equation. Good behavior = LOVE Bad behavior = LOVE Period. The end. I can’t do MORE to make him love me MORE. And no matter what I DO that’s a bad choice on my part, He does not love me less. Isn’t that amazing? I mean really amazing?!! I saw that amazement this weekend reflected on the face of an inmate after her baptism. Before they get dunked in that steel trough, still holding their towels and extra jail jumpsuits, Patti reminds them what Baptism represents. She reminds them that we are following the example of our Savior and that as He came out of the water, the Holy Spirit like a Dove descended on Him. She tells them when they go into the water, to picture all their sins and the old ways being left behind, and as they come up and take that first cleansing breath, they are breathing in the new life of Jesus. This Sunday as Patti share these words, the ladies were already tearful. You could just feel the Spirit of God and we were standing on Holy Ground. We walked into what used to be a cell, but was now a converted baptistery. The girls remove their flip flops and leave them on the bench along with their extra jumpsuit. One by one she takes their hand and as I sing, she says a prayer and proceeds to baptize each lady. We clap as each one rises and they lift their hands in praise. Patti hands them the little scratchy white towel and they wipe off their face. As each steps out of the water, they remain at the bench, ready to witness the next baptism. Then the guard walks the inmates to the bathroom where they can change. But this Sunday, Patti felt impressed to share something before they left. She wanted them to know that from this day forward, things would be different. That they should remember their Baptism and never let anyone tell them it wasn’t REAL! They are a new creature. Their sins are forgiven! At this point, one of the Inmates interrupted, “All?” We both stopped and looked at her. With tears streaming down her face she asked in amazement again, “All of my sins are forgiven? All?” Patti grabbed her trembling hands, “Yes! It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It’s all covered by the blood. All of it. Everything. All gone. All forgiven!” And that sweet girl sitting on the bench as tears poured down with hair still dripping from the baptismal waters, kept saying it over and over “All. They’re all forgiven.” Gratitude and joy just flooded all over me. To see someone understand for the first time that when God sent His son as a sacrifice, it was to pay the price once and for all. There’s no need to carry the burden of guilt and shame any longer and let it define you. It no longer bears your name. The world would condemn and leave you to wallow in the results of your choices. “Too bad, she got what she deserved.” God’s equation is much higher. He factors in mercy. And every time, it equals LOVE.
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Mom would find it on my bedroom floor and hang it on the rod in the bathroom; I alone knew the powers wrapped up in that terry cloth towel. By night is was a simple blue towel that I would wrap up in while mom dried my hair. During the day while draped around my shoulders and held in place with a large safety pin, it became a super hero cape! It enabled me to fly from high rise to high rise, or from couch to chair. Imagination transformed our living room into Gotham City, Metropolis, Space—the final frontier, or whatever place we decided there must be danger and a super hero would be required. I could play for hours with my brother and sister when we were in the land of imagination. Every room in the house was another land to be conquered and outside was even better! At one point we lived in an apartment complex and oh the places we could fly when we slid down the handrail from the second floor apartments! And in case you’re wondering, a Lite Brite set makes for a great control board for the Starship Enterprise! Carl Sagan said, “Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were….” Imagination is the fuel to dreams. What if we build it? They will come! What if we create it? They will buy it and use it! What if we write it? They will read it or sing it. What if we paint it? They will hang it on their wall and in their galleries. What if we dream it? The heavens will cheer and lives will be changed. It was that last sentence that’s been whispered somewhere deep down in my soul since last year. I think there’s some sacred part of our soul, forgotten after the Garden of Eden was abandoned, that exists only to listen intently for our Creator’s voice. It’s here that the dreams God has for us are whispered. It’s here that all doubt is banished. It’s here that God leaves His thumbprint that says this is my beloved creation. Like a seed that struggles to sprout through layers of dirt and rock to reach up and see the light of day, I believe these whispered dreams fight their way through the dark parts of our heart…..our mistakes, our lack of faith, our stubbornness, to find the light of surrender. In those moments when I say “God I’m yours. I ask forgiveness for where I’ve disobeyed you. Please lead me, I surrender.” The whisper is bolstered by the bright light of surrender and can finally be heard in my next heartbeat as a thought--as if I dreamed it up myself. “This town needs a place for women to go when they leave jail.” I can’t tell you the exact moment I first had that thought, but I do know that it grew in intensity as I went to the jail every Sunday and listened to women share their stories with me. It grew stronger as I became personally involved with helping one such lovely lady. And when Brooke approached me after our NBC Ladies Retreat and asked I wouldn’t mind having dinner with her so we could talk, it was about to move from “what if”, to “where do we start?” And there’s more to that story that I want to share. But what I can’t stop thinking about today is I almost let other things drown out that voice. I had allowed the trappings of this world to taint my vision. I looked around my living room and only saw a boring couch and brown chair. I had almost forgotten that towels can help you fly. Glancing through the bars, it was a beautiful sight to behold.
The guard unlocked the cell door and there were four women sitting on the floor listening to one of the inmates read from Streams in the Dessert. You could feel the presence of God in the room. It’s not unusual to enter a cell block and see someone sitting out at the tables. After all, it is their one place to have some quiet time. They may just be sitting there alone, drinking their morning drink that basically looks like watered down hot chocolate in a plastic cup. They may be writing a letter. They may even have their Bible open and be reading. But I’ve never seen a group of women already having church. We went to the last cell block at the end of the hall. As they do most Sundays, the outer doors were open to the cell blocks allowing for circulation of air, and as we walked by each cell block I noticed only one had a Bible Study teacher at the tables, the rest of the cell blocks seemed empty and quiet. Of course they aren’t empty, it just means the women were still all in their cells, probably sleeping and trying not to move in order to stay as cool as possible. I wondered if maybe it would be that way when we got to the end of the hall. You never know what you’re going to find. But of course that never hinders us…..we joyfully yell out “church time ladies” and patiently wait as they start to drag themselves off their cots. But today would be different. Today we would be greeted by the sight of women gathered around each other, hungry to know how to face the next day. Apart from that circle of women was another lady seated alone at the table. Her head was resting on her hands and when she looked up, her brow was creased with worry. She called me over and we began to talk. She is due for court this week and is worried about the outcome. We talked about how God always goes before us and peace comes in having faith that He is big enough to handle our tomorrows. I told her we would pray for her. And before I knew it, another lady had come out to the table and had tears in her eyes. “Can you help me pray? I need Jesus” she pleaded. Patti was at the other table where another lady had come out and obviously need to pray about something. When she was finished, she came over and we both prayed for this sweet girl to receive salvation. It was such a beautiful service. Truly from the moment we entered that cell, we knew the presence of God had come before us. We just walked through the door. Later, in Sunday School, our Sunday school teacher would ask about the “open door”, what we often refer to as part of following God’s will. How do we know when there’s an open door? How long do we wait? For me, the open doors come along the road of obedience. I don’t know that God has ever dropped an “open door” out of the sky. When I started writing I wasn’t even sure where to begin to get my songs “out there”, but I just started writing, singing my songs, recording them at a local studio and before I knew it there was an “open door”—an invitation from one of the most respected man in the Christian industry in Nashville to help me record my songs on a CD in Nashville with A List players! A few years ago I began to feel a tug on my heart that there must be more to this Christian life than just soaking it all in, there had to be a way to truly serve others. I searched out organizations here in Valdosta, tried my hand at a few, had lunches with folks, and before I knew it there was an “open door” to go sing at the jail. This past Sunday, there was an open door to share God’s love. It had a lock on it, and a guard had to open it, but I’d already set my alarm clock, I’d printed out the song sheets, I’d driven to the jail and got checked in and before I knew it, I walked through another open door to serve Him. Have you been praying for an open door? Have you been looking for what’s next in your walk with Christ? Have you been asking Him to send you some kind of sign? Well, consider this your sign. Start walking in obedience to what you feel directed to do and keep your eyes alert for the door….cause trust me, it will be there and it will open. The fight had been short lived. I decided to stay where I was, laying backward on my bunk with my feet propped up on the rusty metal bar at the end of the bed. (Why did I have to be 5’7” when jail beds were obviously made for someone much shorter?) Oh yes, I heard the raised voices out in the common room but I successfully fought the instinct to go out and be the peacemaker. If I’ve learned anything from my five long months of incarceration, it’s that you best stay out of the way. The girls in here are tough and hard and they don’t take well to anyone telling them what to do. They don’t much like suggestions either. I’d tried it once. My bunkmate, Deloris, had only been here a few days when she sat on the wrong stool at the table. She sat on Big Bit’s stool. I don’t know why Big Bit thinks she owns that stool, it’s grey with paint scratched off and dents in it just like the other stools. Maybe it’s the location of the stool. It’s closest to the wall and provides a place to lean if you’re tired although I’ve never seen Big Bit lean on anything, or anyone for that matter. “Girl you better move RIGHT NOW!” she hollered at Deloris. Deloris looked up in shock as if BB was holding a two by four and about to take a swing at her. As soon as I’d heard BB raise her voice, I’d come out of my cell. “She didn’t mean anything by it, BB”, I said. I was sure reason would calm things down. “It’s just a stool, right?” I offered. Big Bit, still standing facing Deloris, slowly turned her neck in my direction and for some odd reason all I could think about was only an Owl can turn their neck that far without moving their body. “Ain’t nobody talking to you girl, cause if they was, they’d be looking at you, right? And was I looking at you? @#%#$#% NO! Now get yourself out of here before I make it my business to pick you up and move you!” I had never seen Big Bit that mad and I had no doubt she meant every word she said. Deloris was still frozen on the stool, like a small animal that was trapped and waiting to be eaten by the larger prey. Big Bit focused her attention on her again, “Well, what are you waiting for?” One step was all it took and Deloris was off the stool and running towards her cell. It was so stupid, to be fighting over a stool, but I was beginning to see being locked up is losing control over your life, so people fight to have control over anything they can find just so they can feel some kind of independence. No telling what the fight was about today but I was glad when it was over. I always get so nervous when I hear the yelling begin, cause you never know when a raised voice will turn into a raised fist. We don’t have bad fights often, but they do happen and if you’ve seen girls fight, you know it can get nasty quick. And then the guards finally come and everyone is on lock down for the rest of the day. So I decided to add today’s short lived fight to my Grateful Jar. Well, it’s not a jar, more like Grateful Papers stuck in the pages of my Bible, but Granny would be happy. I remember the jar sitting on Granny’s kitchen counter right next to the Red Riding Hood cookie jar, which always freaked me out a little because you had to take Red Riding Hood’s head off just to enjoy a chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. The Grateful Jar wasn’t shaped like anything and wasn’t even special looking; just a glass jar with a white lid on it and filled with all sorts of papers, envelopes and receipts, whatever was laying around handy enough for Granny to write on. I remember when I asked Granny about the jar. Granny was letting me help her roll out the dough for the biscuits. It was my favorite thing to do cause I got to wear one of Granny’s aprons and as soon as she draped it over my head and begin to tie the big sash in the back I was sure I felt the “cooking magic” fall over me and I would pretend that I was a professional chef right alongside my Granny. We had just gotten the rolling pin out to start working with the big lump of dough on the kitchen table when the phone rang. “Hello. Oh hello, June! Yes? What? Oh my, Praise Jesus! That’s wonderful news! I sure will! Ok! Bye!” And just that quick, Granny was looking for a scrap of paper. This time it was the corner of the newspaper that was sitting in the stack to be thrown away. “Whatcha doing, Granny?” I asked. “Hum?” she replied, with her pen still flying over the scrap of paper. “Whatcha writing?” Granny ignored me long enough to finish her thought and then she looked up at me with that “I’m about to share some wisdom with you” look that she had, which meant I better sit still and give her my full attention. So I stopped playing with the dough and listened. “Child, in this world there’s a lot of things that will try and bring you down. Life is hard. And some folks think that’s all life is. Cause that’s what they focus on. But life is also full of lots of good things the Lord sends our way. And when He does, I choose to focus on that. And just so I remember all the times God has blessed me with, I write them down and keep them in this jar. I call it my Grateful Jar. And on those days when I’m tempted to discouragement, I open this jar and start reading.” At 8 years old, I didn’t fully comprehended what she was saying. And I’m afraid I lived life like one of those people who only saw the hard in this life. It was on my third Sunday here in the jail that I remembered Granny’s Grateful Jar. The preacher lady and that singer lady were here and they told us that God knew where we were. And more than that, He still had a plan for our lives. And more than anything I wanted to believe it. And I thought how grateful I would be if God really did still care about me and that made me think of Granny’s Jar. So I ripped a corner off the music sheet the lady had given us and I wrote “Jesus has a plan for my life. Thank you, Jesus.” I stuck it somewhere in Genesis. Cause that’s a beginning. *fictional stories from the series "Through Her Eyes" Maybe I’ve been taking scripture for granted. Could I have actually been bored with the Word of God? Have I read it and heard the stories for so many years that I became complacent when I opened the scriptures?
These are the thoughts that went through my mind as I was reading the scripture passage to the women at the jail. Why did it seem to literally jump off the page at me, there in that muggy room surrounded by nothing inspiring at all except the faces of five beautiful women? I’ve been guilty of having to have things “just right” before I could begin my devotional time. I needed to be in just the right chair, with just the right cup of coffee (equal amounts sugar and cream, thank you), and just the right pen to journal my thoughts, and my favorite highliters to mark the scriptures. I might even need to get up and light a candle or two, just to set the stage. It’s the way I thought I needed to enter the presence of God and give him optimal chance to speak to me. After all, I was there in my chair with my paper, now it was God’s turn to show up. Right? And then I might get distracted by a hundred things. I hate to confess this, but I have been known to get up and vacuum the carpet because it was bothering me as I was staring at it, trying to hear the voice of God. I would begin to notice how messy it was (I like the look of freshly vacuumed carpet…and freshly mowed grass) and I just could not concentrate until I had settled the issue. Then there’s the “to do” list. Why is it, whenever I sit down, that I begin to think of all the things I need to accomplish for the day? Someone once told me to keep a pen and pad out during my devotional time that was just for the “to do” list. You could stop and write down what was so important that you wouldn’t want to forget it, and then you could get back to the quiet time. And that does seem to work. But then I can get so caught up in all the things on my “to do” list that I decide I need to hurry up and finish my quiet time so I can get some stuff done! I know, I know, I’m awful. There I am, sitting with the Living Word of God and all I can think about is how I really need to get started on that pile of laundry. But something has been happening to me at the jail. Maybe it’s the hunger on the faces of the women around the table. Maybe it’s the way they follow along, fingers slowly tracing each word as if by touching them they are actually picking up the promises that God is offerering them. Scripture seems new, fresh, hot off the press. It feels as if I’m reading it for the first time. And I can feel the hope in the room as the women embrace what’s being read: Colossians 1: 21-23 “Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation if you continue in your faith, established and firm, and do not move from the hope held out in the gospel. This is the gospel that you heard and that has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven, and of which I, Paul, have become a servant.” Wow! To be able to say with all confidence to these women that they are FREE from accusation and without blemish because of what Christ has done for them! How amazing!! I get chills as I talk about it! God’s Word has always shone brightest in the darkness. We’re commanded to take His light into the world. Yes, it’s lovely to be in the company of my Christian brothers and sisters and I love to see Jesus shine through them. But perhaps we are most illuminated when we are out in the world, standing against the darkness with the Word of God as the beacon of Light and Hope that it is. I’ve been guilty of just enjoying the Word of God and not always embracing it. I love the way it looks when it’s framed on my wall, I love to see it printed on my nice Bible Cover, and I love to see it on t-shirts. But there is so much more to it than that. The Word of God is a sharp sword dividing truth from lies, it is a priceless pearl hidden from those who would not search for it, it is an oasis to the weary traveler in the desert. It’s the key of freedom to those living in bondage. All these thoughts now go through my mind as I face the women at the table. I know they are about to experience something.....could be revelation, correction, encouragement or a thousand other things offered from the Word. What a blessing to say, “and now, let’s open the Word of God”!! She was crying when we walked in, head in her hands. I walked over to her and put my arm around her. It’s never easy to know what to say. That’s why I’m so thankful for the comfort of the Holy Spirit. And I prayed silently that peace would find its’ way to her heart.
The guard had told us this morning as the three of us walked down the hall, “Cell Block 7 is asking if someone will come have church with them today.” Cell Block 7 it is then. I’d never seen so many discouraged faces before. Ok, yes, I know they’re in jail, but usually the ladies can muster a smile when we come in. It’s the weekend which means family can visit (they aren’t allowed to come during the week). So some are looking forward to that. It’s Sunday, the beginning of the week and some of them have hope they will go before the judge this week and may be getting released. I’m not sure what had gone on before we arrived that morning, but from the look on their faces, there had been some disappointing news. Or maybe someone was at their limit and just couldn’t take one more day in jail. Or maybe someone had finally come to the end of their rope and had tied their knot and was just trying to figure out how to hang on a little longer. You never know. That’s why I pray for them before we ever set foot in the jail. Only God knows what cell block we will be in and who we will be talking too. So I always ask Him to bless them and prepare their hearts to receive His love. And I ask that above all, He’d make us sensitive to His Spirit, so we can be His vessel of love to the women. Whatever that might look like on any given Sunday. This Sunday it was clapping. We started out by singing a song of praise and although the words were “This is the day that the Lord has made and I’ll praise Him, praise Him”……that’s not what was happening as they mouthed the words. So when it came time for the next song, I felt the Holy Spirit urge me to ask them to clap. So I told them about how God inhabits the praise of His people and asked if they would use their hands as instruments to the Lord and clap along. The song had a great cadence, perfect for clapping (not all songs do), and so they joined in. And it made a difference. It was like a freedom entered the room. Because although there are bars to keep the women from leaving physically, nothing can keep their spirits from soaring up to the Heavens. And the sound of clapping was like the key that opened that door. One lady in particular was doing it with gusto and I thought to myself, she has to be on her praise team at church! She seemed to not want the song to end, so we repeated and then repeated again. Cause when the Spirit is moving, who am I to quench that? When it was time for Patti to speak, I sat at the table with the ladies. From my position, I could see across the way into Cell Block 8 that is adjacent to 7. No one had gone to that cell block and one lady kept coming up to the cell door and just listening. I don’t know how much she could hear over the sound of the loud fans as they moved the heavy hot air around the room, but she kept coming back to the door. It hurt my heart to know there wasn’t enough chaplains to go around this Sunday. It’s summer time and so of course people take vacation. So when we would normally have 7 or 8 chaplains on Sundays, we’ve been having 3 and 4. Before we left, we prayed over each lady. In fact, Patti asked them to raise their hand if they were struggling with an addiction and wanted freedom and every hand went up. There is no room here for being fake, no time to pretend everything is alright, no denying that they’ve been beaten by the “drug of choice” that is no longer a choice, but a demand in their lives. As each lady came forward, we laid our hands on her and prayed for her by name. One by one they would lift their hands and claim the victory that Jesus died to give them. It’s the only gift that can come into the jail that isn’t checked and approved by the guards. It comes with power and might and settles down upon a group of women who are just now discovering what we sing in our churches every Sunday—“Oh Victory in Jesus, my Savior forever. He sought me and He bought me with His redeeming blood. He loved me ere’ I knew it and all my love is due Him. He plunged me to Victory beneath the cleansing flood.” |
AuthorHi! I am Donna and I'm traveling. It's a journey to discover who I am in Christ every day....no looking back, face to the Son! Come join me! Archives
October 2017
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