-Botswana is known for its trade in diamonds. But as we have come to know, the most rare and beautiful treasures are always kept under lock and key.-
It would be a bold faced lie if I said I wasn't nervous as we pulled into the dirt lot outside of the Mole Polole men's prison. Not only for the fact that we're a team of six young girls and I had no idea what to expect, but because I was supposed to teach and still had no idea what on Earth I was going to say. Don't get me wrong: I had tried to prepare, but every time I thought I was onto something… I was wrong.
God had finally hi-lighted a verse that morning. It was Paul's first letter to Timothy. Paul was encouraging him to continue fighting for and through his faith by remembering the prophecies spoken over him.
"Okayyy… So what if none of them are saved yet? What if they've never had anyone speak into their lives like that? What if none of this makes any sense?! Even to me!"
I had plenty of time to let these fears build and finally put my vain worries aside before we were finally let through two gates. We walked into the middle of a dirt plot, surrounded by stories of cells. In the center, a group of men were already gathered under a single tree for shade, worshipping. Some were singing louder than others: eyes closed, hearts fixated on the One they were singing to. Others sang quietly and looked around until they saw us approaching. Some watched us with bold stares that made me freeze a little. But just like that, the fear was gone and replaced by… what? A feeling of being home (didn't see that coming). A feeling of family…. a feeling of intense Christ-like love for each of these men. These men I now knew had chosen to come and listen today. I looked at each of their faces. Some were wrinkled and seemed to be shrinking, others were middle-aged but worn from life, and still others must have been younger than me. They were my brothers. They were my Father's sons…
Sons.
I stood to speak and words came pouring out. I was a little more than shocked as words kept coming… making up my story, which turned into the story of a son. A story of generational healing and forgiveness, a story of redemption through three generations of sons and God's promises and plans. A story of redemption not just of souls, but redeemed time, redeemed families, redeemed lives.
Some who had let bold eyes wander weren't even looking at me at all… out of boredom, I assumed until I saw the tears rolling. Others nodded in agreement and understanding. No matter what they were doing, there was a complete shift in the atmosphere. Finally, the verse made sense. I read it and had it translated before continuing. How were we supposed to cling to promises that no one had ever spoken to us? Or prophecies that we never heard? But Jesus Himself had spoken over these men. He claimed them and He, Himself prophesied and laid out plans for them long ago.
When I finally finished, I didn't even think to ask permission before I headed into this group of men and began embracing and talking with my new-found brothers. I am not the type to feel immediately comfortable in a group of men; I never have been. I have also never received the kind and level of respect from men that I received from every one of them. Some shared stories, some thanked and blessed me. I felt my heart drop a little when the supervising officer approached me. I hadn't considered rules when I decided to jump into the middle of these guys. Instead, he grasped my hand and said, "Thank you. May I walk out with you so you may pray for me?"
I don't know how it happened, but each of those men are engraved in my heart.
I never thought I would ever say this, but I can't wait to get back in prison! We are hoping to go two more times before our time here is over. Be praying for this time, our team, and the amazing, 'unlikely' ones God is raising up here in Botswana!
