The Tissue

It was my very first time in the jail. I was just shadowing, in fact. I would be doing a Bible study on Wednesday afternoons, but I had gone with the ladies who did the church service on Sundays. I would learn the ropes—figure out where I needed to go and how to navigate the locked doors and corridors. I would be a fly on the wall, just there to watch. They had given me one rule: no hugs.

We meandered through the maze, and I was thinking this had been a really good idea—I would have been totally lost coming alone! I quietly tagged along as we made our way to our destination. As the women gathered at the sliding door and spilled out once it opened, there was quite a bit of talking and even laughing, but one woman caught my eye. She looked so sad! She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. The story that poured out of her to another woman was disjointed and almost incoherent. I couldn’t help but overhear. Something about her car being towed, somebody stealing a bunch of her stuff, the reality of her losing the apartment if she didn’t come up with rent, her son being sent to the juvenile detention center. Many of the details were lost in sobs and sniffles, but the main gist was pretty clear: when she got out, she would have nothing.

No hugs. That one rule, which had seemed easy enough to follow, kept running through my head. No hugs. Even though I didn’t know this woman at all—and I had absolutely no idea what she was in jail for—the raw pain I saw in her face was begging me to console her, to bring comfort. No hugs.

The group wandered down the hall and made their way into the room where we would hold the service. As the other volunteers got the TV set up and the praise and worship music started, I sat quietly in the background, watching. A fly on the wall. I was supposed to be watching how they got everything set up—but I couldn’t take my eyes off that woman. The others began to sing and praise. A devotional was shared, and the videotaped sermon was started. I just kept looking over at that woman. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. They had told me no hugs. They never said anything about offering a tissue. So I grabbed a few from the bag we had brought in with us and made my way over to the woman. She looked up with tear-filled eyes and tear-streaked cheeks and wordlessly accepted the tissues. I gave what I hoped was an encouraging smile and made my way back to my spot. A fly on the wall.

The service ended, and we retraced our steps, returning the women to their block and making our way out of the maze of corridors. It was my first time in the jail. I left feeling completely inadequate.

Months later, someone from the church shared a letter with me. The return address was for a federal prison in Texas. It was from that woman in the jail. She proceeded to thank the church for sending people into the jail, sharing how much it meant to her. You see, that day she had given up all hope. Raised by a father who was a pastor, she went to that church service to make amends with the God of her youth. A God that had seemed absent as she had struggled with so much, for so long. And having made amends, she had planned to return to her cell and end her life.

At least, that was what she had planned . . . until a woman handed her a tissue! That one simple act had restored her faith that there was still hope! She went on to share how God had been working in her life since that day. Even though she would spend a few years in federal prison, she was attending church and every Bible study group they offered. She was taking self-help classes and even working on her GED. She was filled with hope and plans for her future! She asked if they would share her letter with that woman who shared the tissue . . .

I had my own tears streaming down my cheeks as I read her letter. They were partly for this woman, tears of joy. But they were partly in awe of the God we serve. He knew me, his daughter. He knew my feelings of inadequacy. He knew well that I would go in worrying about if I would know the right thing to do, the right words to say, the right scriptures to share. He made sure that I knew that as I went into the jail, I didn’t necessarily need to share all kinds of wisdom or advice or assistance in order to help these women. I just needed love—a crazy, radical, undeserved, and unconditional love. His love, overflowing from the place where he dwelled, within my heart. And maybe a tissue!

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts

and day after day have sorrow in my heart?

How long will my enemy triumph over me?

 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.

Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,

and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”

and my foes will rejoice when I fall.”

Psalm 13:1-4 NIV

“…I did not come with eloquence or human wisdom

as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God.

…My message and my preaching were not with

wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration

of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might

not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power.”

1 Corinthians 2:1b, 4-5 NIV

“But I trust in your unfailing love;

my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing the Lord’s praise,

for he has been good to me.”

Psalm 13:5-6 NIV