As I sit here, in the capital of Albania [Tirana], on my first month of the World Race, countless emotions overwhelm me.
This month my team has been assigned to a few ministries.
- Women’s Prison
- Juvenile Boy’s Prison
- Rehabilitation center for drug addiction &
- A support group for victims of sex trafficking
Honest thought: this has been heavy work.
Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to visit the prisons and the support group a whole lot because of several obstacles. This is understandable because the reality is- how easy can it be to get 5 American girls into an Albanian prison?
I could write about every moment and every emotion that has happened so far, but instead I am going to write you a story [emotions & all].
Last week, the five of us girls went to the juvenile prison for the first time. We had no idea what to expect and no idea what was expected of us. The nerves hit me hard walking into the first room of 15 boys [ages 13-18].
*In all, we went into 4 rooms that had around 15 boys.
The rooms had tables, chairs, ashtrays [with no smoking signs on the wall?], and a TV. As we walked in, the boys immediately got up to greet us. They seemed so happy to see us; maybe we were the first Americans they have ever met? Maybe they haven’t had visitors before? Maybe they were just happy? Whatever it was, I liked being there.
Our short, but very sweet time with them is something I will never forget- here’s why.
Our time was spent with a few of us telling our life stories [laying our own imperfections on the table, figuratively of course] and singing worship songs [led by my talented teammate, Maria Hall].
When we were asked to tell our testimonies, here is what I screamed in my head, “how could my struggles be even slightly comparable to being in prison before the age of 18!?” As you can see, I had a hard time with this. I thought I was having a panic attack- my heart was about to explode. It was hard to breathe; I was trying so hard to keep myself from crying uncontrollably and screaming at the top of my lungs [simultaneously].
Side note: This may be obvious, but they speak Albanian here, not English. So anything we wanted to say to the boys had to be translated. At times this can be an obstacle when trying to get to know people in a foreign country.
I wanted to know more about each boy [I craved more]
What was their favorite sport?
What made them smile?
What made them mad?
Do they know they are loved?
It all of a sudden hurt to be in there. I was sad. I was broken. I had no words to say.
[Why am I here? How can I help? I am useless!]
While my teammates were telling their stories of their own beautiful rescue out of their prison bars [figuratively] is when the brokenness of the room fell heavy on my heart.
The thought that our visit to the prison was insignificant shattered. Our visit certainly did matter- it mattered more than I will ever know.
It was my teammates who proved me wrong. They told their stories in confidence that He would be known, and He was indeed.
TRUTH: I may not get the chance to know everyone on a deep, personal level. I may not get to talk to them individually or get to play a game of cards with them, but whatever time lot I am given HE will use it for good. Time doesn’t faze God. Time isn’t a factor. He can make mountains move in a second. Why was I questioning our time in the prison?
FREEDOM: Our God is more powerful than I could ever dream of. He was with us that day in the prison. He was with me when I thought I was going to burst. He was with the boys when they were listening to our stories.
He was in the prison before we got there, and He never left, and He never will.
My heart broke for those boys that day and keeps breaking now. But here is a wake up call for myself: I have been praying daily for my heart to break for what breaks His.
WELL HELLO! I am getting what I prayed for. How crazy is that?
It’s not crazy. It’s reality.
Here’s the thing: Those boys are no different from you and I- we aren’t perfect.
[No one is].
But those boys are loved. They are wanted. They are worthy. They are a child a God. AND their prison bars do not define them. They are so much more.
I am thankful to have seen those boys laugh, to witness them listening to my friends speak about being rescued from their pain, and I am blessed to have met them just as they are.
To those boys, “Can you remember who you were, before the World told you who you should be?” I hope so. I pray so. Because you are more.
