I cannot even begin to tell the public how much misery and self-inflicted suffering I have seen in prison over the years...
These prisons are places of so many broken dreams and lost hopes. In here one can clearly see the high price tag that each convict has to pay for committing crimes and, as we Christians would say, committing "sins." I'm surely an expert in this area, now having spent almost half my life incarcerated.
Today, I was once again in the infirmary where I took my wheelchair escort to pick up his daily medications. While I was waiting on line, another inmate whom I knew casually, having taken a behavior modification-type class with him several months back - the class was required - came up to me to ask for my prayers. His name was Jim.*
Jim shook my hand and started to cry. He did not look healthy at all. I thought he was going to tell me that he had gotten bad news from home. Little did I know, until he started telling me his problem, that he had gotten bad news from the doctor a few weeks prior.
The doctor told Jim he had six months to live. I was stunned. He seemed fine when we attended that class. But a lot can happen in two or three months. Now the happy-go-lucky guy, who loved to tell jokes while we were sitting in that classroom, was told that he has hepatitis. His liver decided to stop working. Jim's body was now being poisoned by toxins. He was dying.
I've never seen Jim in church before. When I would see him in the hallways, he was often carrying around the latest lusty novel. Like many prisoners, Jim loves to read. But now he was asking for a Bible. Funny how "bad news" can can serve as a wake-up call. The game is over, and it's time to get serious about life. But poor Jim is in his fifties!
My heart went out to him. We were only able to speak for a few minutes because he had already picked up his medicine. The rules are that, once you get what you have to at the medication window, you do an about-face and walk out the door. But he did manage to linger and talk.
I promised Jim that I would pray for him, and I urged him to go to the chapel when he had the chance so that all the congregation could pray in his behalf.
Jim lives in a different cellblock than I do. Not only have I put him on my ever-growing prayer list, but I will try to send over some Christian literature like the Guidepost or the Billy Graham Decision magazines, which we have in the chapel in abundance.
"Please Jesus, touch this man's life. Grant him a desire for repentance and the faith to believe the gospel. Help him, dear Lord!"
D.B.
*Jim is not his real name.
Today, I was once again in the infirmary where I took my wheelchair escort to pick up his daily medications. While I was waiting on line, another inmate whom I knew casually, having taken a behavior modification-type class with him several months back - the class was required - came up to me to ask for my prayers. His name was Jim.*
Jim shook my hand and started to cry. He did not look healthy at all. I thought he was going to tell me that he had gotten bad news from home. Little did I know, until he started telling me his problem, that he had gotten bad news from the doctor a few weeks prior.
The doctor told Jim he had six months to live. I was stunned. He seemed fine when we attended that class. But a lot can happen in two or three months. Now the happy-go-lucky guy, who loved to tell jokes while we were sitting in that classroom, was told that he has hepatitis. His liver decided to stop working. Jim's body was now being poisoned by toxins. He was dying.
I've never seen Jim in church before. When I would see him in the hallways, he was often carrying around the latest lusty novel. Like many prisoners, Jim loves to read. But now he was asking for a Bible. Funny how "bad news" can can serve as a wake-up call. The game is over, and it's time to get serious about life. But poor Jim is in his fifties!
My heart went out to him. We were only able to speak for a few minutes because he had already picked up his medicine. The rules are that, once you get what you have to at the medication window, you do an about-face and walk out the door. But he did manage to linger and talk.
I promised Jim that I would pray for him, and I urged him to go to the chapel when he had the chance so that all the congregation could pray in his behalf.
Jim lives in a different cellblock than I do. Not only have I put him on my ever-growing prayer list, but I will try to send over some Christian literature like the Guidepost or the Billy Graham Decision magazines, which we have in the chapel in abundance.
"Please Jesus, touch this man's life. Grant him a desire for repentance and the faith to believe the gospel. Help him, dear Lord!"
D.B.
*Jim is not his real name.