Ministry or Training Ground?

I spent my morning in a prison visiting room. It is not my favorite place to be. I am glad, though, that visiting rooms were not anything new to me when my husband was first sentenced to prison.  We had been volunteers at a nearby correctional facility.  Our first weeks of ministry were held in a visiting room much like the one I sat in this morning.  At that time, my husband and I, along with our pastor and over thirty offenders sat in three circles and talked.  One man looked at me then warned  that there were evil men in that prison.  I laughed silently to myself.  I had just assumed they were all evil.  He looked at me a few seconds longer, seeming to sense what I was thinking, then added, “I don’t mean men who have broken the law.  I mean men who are truly evil.”  Thus began over eight years of prison ministry.

During those years we talked to and sat by men ranging from their early twenties to their eighties.  We never knew what their crimes were unless they chose to reveal the information. Some were in for burglary, others for murder.  Some were rapists and molesters and some, as an offender told us, didn't do what he was convicted for, but had done so many things he hadn't gotten caught for that, as he said, "It evens out." 

We met wonderful musicians, pastors (yes, they are in prison too), and men with terrific organizational skills.  There were men who spoke and read Hebrew serving time along side men who had sons in other prisons.  There were brothers who found themselves face-to-face in the mess hall.  Neither knew they were serving time in the same prison.  Each man had his own story, his own gifts, and his own griefs. 

We had witnessed fights in the hallway and random pat downs in the yard.  Some nights we couldn't go in at all because the before-dinner inmate count was off. No one could leave their cells until every man was accounted for. As a result, we had to return home.

Then there were the guys who had very strong faiths and good, solid, Biblical foundations.  Many times we sat amazed as offenders corrected each other on the error of their secular or worldly thinking as well as their understanding of faith issues. Some navigated around Scripture the way I find my way around my home--easily and accurately. These men were right on with their understanding and wisdom. Though in the minority, they were both sought out and highly respected by fellow inmates.  

We had seen much.  

As a result of the prison ministry experience, I felt I was where the Lord wanted me to serve. I absolutely loved it.  Yes, we always had to be alert to our surroundings.  We also were not to believe anything the inmates told us, but I loved it anyway.  Then came my husband's crash and we were through.  WE were through.  I knew my husband was through, and headed somewhere behind razor wire and concrete walls.  That was a given. I would just go on without him. Then came the unexpected news from our pastor via phone.  The prison had decided that for my own safety I shouldn't return. I was absolutely devastated and beyond anger.  I was furious. I clearly remember sitting in a bean-bag chair in the office at home.  With some success I kept my tears in check as I cried out to God, "Why, why, why is this being taken away too?" 

Why, why, why did I feel that way?  Firstly, I felt this was the only thing, other than family, that I could depend on. Even though most things in my life had been turned upside down, I knew that every week, at the same time, on the same day, I would go into the prison to worship, study, listen to, share with, and pray for men I knew would be there.  These were men I knew, but didn't really know at all. Yet I felt God was using me there.

Secondly, I was angry at my husband for ruining my life even further. How could he do this to me? It was all his fault.  Now what was I going to do?  My thoughts, although I chose not to acknowledge them at the time, were not very pretty.

As the weeks and months passed, I began to realize that prison ministry was not the ministry God had given me to pursue.  It was really just my training ground for what was to come.  You see, after my husband's sentencing, my anger continued, but I still cared for him and had concerns for him and his life behind bars. After I slowly began seeing God's hand at work, I became thankful for my time spent in training. I had been given a privileged, though sheltered, glimpse into prison life. 

What I was allowed to see was life within the Christian community. I saw how inmates ministered to each other, how they studied the Bible together, prayed for each other, and encouraged each other.  It gave me assurance as well as peace.  Sounds strange, doesn't it , to have assurance and peace in the midst of the confusion, uncertainty and fear that surrounded me in those days, but it did. I strongly felt there would be men around him who would help him through it all. In addition, I felt then, and still feel now, that when the time is right God can and will use him to minister as a fellow offender instead of a church volunteer. 

From what I believed to be my ministry to what I discovered to be my training ground, God had orchestrated the whole thing.  He is truly amazing and faithful.