Upon arriving at the prison I was torn. Part of me ached to be the vessel God
has designed me to be and visit Him in prison, part of me was bitter towards
the men I knew I would encounter because of damage they had caused in their own
families and the lives of others; part of me was anxious because of the
language barrier I was sure to encounter and part of me desired to be a part of
a story good enough to write home about. Needless to say, I walked into the
prison as a complete mess behind my cool facade.
No matter how many movies or stories you hear, nothing can
prepare you for what I saw as we walked up to the two cages. It was night and the prison cells
were outside, leaving little shelter from the rain and cool nights. Both cages were about the size of a
large room connected by a tin wall.
The left was for the five women.
The right was for the seventy men.
With only caution tape as a guide to where we could not cross, I was
scared and determined. The places where I was torn earlier were
replaced with this innate desire to simply show the love of Christ to those
trapped behind the bars.
At first I went to the women, after all I had no desire to
receive the inappropriate jests men in prison are stereotyped to make. After talking to the women I had this
pull in my heart. I knew I was supposed to cross the barrier and talk to the
men. I couldn’t. I told my feet to
move but I was frozen with fear and apathy towards the men that rushed
through. But just as quickly as it
came I was reminded of the promise I made to follow the Lord, no matter how
crazy it sounded. And so, I walked
ten feet and introduced myself with the little Spanish I knew.
With well over 50 eyes staring at me I had realized that I
did not see God’s beloved children, I could only see the families they had
abandoned and the addiction that plagued them. But somewhere between Jose, an inmate, speaking to me in
perfect English and seeing his desire for hope, I was completely transformed. I
no longer saw the pain the men had caused, but the pain they had endured and
more importantly the pain Christ had endured for them. We quickly got into conversation and
before I knew we were talking about Christ. After sharing from God’s Word and
simply chatting life with them I was given two bracelets that the men had made
out of plastic bags, a common pastime in the prisons. I was touched by their generosity as well as their kindness as
they passed the bracelet through a man who was in our group, so that I would
not have to pass the tape and receive the gift. They knew I was uncomfortable there and chose to honor that
and show me love despite it.
After the simple acts of kindness that showed me more hope
than the most well versed sermon I have ever heard, Jose had asked for my
story. As he translated it to the
group, the occasional man would begin to talk and was quickly silenced by my
captivated audience. After telling
them the love story God has written for me, I went on to ask them how many of
them had children. Every single one of them raised their hands. I was shocked. I was even more shocked to find out the
grueling details of the courts system and how the prison is run. After having shared an intimate part of
my life and heard intimate details of theirs, I felt as if we were
friends. The bars that separated
their reality from mine seemed to be nothing more than a wisp of air.
When it came time to hand out the hot chocolate and bread I
found myself crossing the yellow tape and feeding the humans that were
trapped. The Lord laid a song on
my heart and I began singing in English and Spanish as I walked down the
line. Afterwards we had to
go. But I could not leave without
them knowing the full extent of Christ’s love for them. The only thing I could do was cross the
yellow tape and shake every one of their hands. Something I would never have dreamt
of doing. And yet somehow, that
was what the Lord called me to do.
He wanted to break my heart enough to see past what I viewed
them as. It is easy for me to see women as
victims, but not near as easy for me to see men as victims to the same depraved
world that has captured me.
Through the entire time I was with the men, not a single
inappropriate word, sound or gesture was made. They treated me as if I was their sister and nothing
more. The Lord protected me in
ways I did not even think was possible.
Is there anywhere in your life that there is a yellow
tape? The world may be telling you
not to cross it, but are you willing to if your loving Savior calls you to?
