I’m on a bus headed back from prison. I went because my incredibly talented and graceful friend Melissa Greene has told me for years that I need to come and see the incredible and life-changing work of Timothy’s Gift. And you guys, there really aren’t enough words but I’m going to try anyway…but hear me say this, you should go and see for yourself.
We went to four prisons in three days and met hundreds of men and women in the Florida Department of Corrections. We were there to lift heads and remind the inmates that they are loved and that they are of great worth. Messages that I know they don’t hear enough. Messages that I know that I don’t hear enough. There was singing and dancing {check out this Spotify playlist of the songs that Melissa, Melinda, and friends sang — not your typical chapel service}, laughter and tears, powerful words of grace and love and a time of communion. Forty of us, musicians and volunteers, crammed onto a bus, drove 10+ hours each way, ate a lot of fast food, sacrificed our oh-so-comfortable routines, and paid our own dues, all hoping for a glimpse of something…none of us quite sure what that something was.
I know now that something was Jesus.
I’ve spent a lifetime reading Matthew 25 as a list of good deeds I needed to diligently check off as a do gooder and justice seeker.
I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.
It reads differently now. It reads as more than a checklist. It reads as the ultimate scavenger hunt. Each line drawing us closer and closer to Him. To His love. To His mercy. To His grace. To His faithfulness. To His goodness. To His creation. And to His people.
We don’t go to prison to witness brokenness. We go to prison to remember our brokenness.
We don’t go to prison to judge or to condemn. We go to prison to stand with them.
We don’t go to prison to love. We go to prison to find love.
Yesterday afternoon as we lined up for communion at the Marion Correctional Institute an older inmate named John approached me. I nervously leaned in and to see what I could do for him. He caught me off guard as he said, “I need to tell you something. You have been blessed. I can see it in your eyes.” And as he circled back around post-communion, he leaned back in and said, “You have been blessed. That’s a word God gave me for you. For you.”
I heard it, John.
I heard it, Jesus.
And yes, I know.
And I am so very grateful.
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