Nothing escapes the Lord's watchful eyes...
He has the most perfect ways of bringing people together.
While I was on my way to the infirmary this morning, pushing a wheelchair bound inmate, who did I run into walking in the opposite direction but Jim. He's the man who was given six months to live (see my Journal entries for January 18th and 23rd).
Jim was in great pain. He looked awful and he was holding his sides. We were both very happy to see each other, however.
He was headed back to his cellblock after visiting with the prison's doctor. Although inmates are not permitted to stop and chat in the corridors, we both knew we had to talk.
Jim told me that today was the last time I would probably see him on this earth. For he was being transferred to a special medical facility where, more than likely, he will remain until he dies. He was not getting any better and his liver was deteriorating rapidly.
Jim was on the way back to his cell to gather his property. He was required to take his belongings to the "Draft Processing Area," which is where inmates are processed in and out of the facility.
But this was what I call a "Divine appointment," and obviously so. For in the three or so minutes we got to speak, I urged Jim, pleaded with him, to open his heart to Jesus Christ. I asked him to please talk to Jesus and ask Christ to come into his life, to forgive Jim of all his sins.
Jim and I have discussed these things before, and some of the Christians who live in his cellblock had also begun to share the Gospel with him. So what I was telling this dying man was nothing he had not heard previously. Yet this time, there was a sense of urgency in my voice. For I was talking to a man who could be stepping into eternity any day now, and this was my last chance.
Dying Jim promised me he would pray to Christ. I wanted him to do it right on the spot. But I know everything must be by God's leading. We vigorously shook each other's hand as we said our goodbyes. Then as we parted, I kept looking back until I saw Jim turn the corner. I suddenly felt a lump form in my throat.
Moving on down the corridor towards the infirmary and hospital, I continued to pray for him, silently, moving my lips without making a sound. I know I needed to pray in Jim's behalf, asking God for mercy. How precious life is, and how brief the moment.
Like the many other men whom I have known and who have left prison, either on their own two feet or in a pine box, I hope with all my heart that I will meet each one in heaven on that Great Day.
D.B.
While I was on my way to the infirmary this morning, pushing a wheelchair bound inmate, who did I run into walking in the opposite direction but Jim. He's the man who was given six months to live (see my Journal entries for January 18th and 23rd).
Jim was in great pain. He looked awful and he was holding his sides. We were both very happy to see each other, however.
He was headed back to his cellblock after visiting with the prison's doctor. Although inmates are not permitted to stop and chat in the corridors, we both knew we had to talk.
Jim told me that today was the last time I would probably see him on this earth. For he was being transferred to a special medical facility where, more than likely, he will remain until he dies. He was not getting any better and his liver was deteriorating rapidly.
Jim was on the way back to his cell to gather his property. He was required to take his belongings to the "Draft Processing Area," which is where inmates are processed in and out of the facility.
But this was what I call a "Divine appointment," and obviously so. For in the three or so minutes we got to speak, I urged Jim, pleaded with him, to open his heart to Jesus Christ. I asked him to please talk to Jesus and ask Christ to come into his life, to forgive Jim of all his sins.
Jim and I have discussed these things before, and some of the Christians who live in his cellblock had also begun to share the Gospel with him. So what I was telling this dying man was nothing he had not heard previously. Yet this time, there was a sense of urgency in my voice. For I was talking to a man who could be stepping into eternity any day now, and this was my last chance.
Dying Jim promised me he would pray to Christ. I wanted him to do it right on the spot. But I know everything must be by God's leading. We vigorously shook each other's hand as we said our goodbyes. Then as we parted, I kept looking back until I saw Jim turn the corner. I suddenly felt a lump form in my throat.
Moving on down the corridor towards the infirmary and hospital, I continued to pray for him, silently, moving my lips without making a sound. I know I needed to pray in Jim's behalf, asking God for mercy. How precious life is, and how brief the moment.
Like the many other men whom I have known and who have left prison, either on their own two feet or in a pine box, I hope with all my heart that I will meet each one in heaven on that Great Day.
D.B.