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I think it was maybe ninth grade, and he sat right in front of me in class. I don’t remember what class it was. It was a long time ago, and there is so much I have forgotten, so it is funny how vividly I remember this.   We called it junior high back then, rather than middle school—seventh through ninth grade. You remember—the age where there are so many hormones, so many changes, so much drama and trauma! Like the culture and world at large, we seem to have a great tendency to develop our own little cliques. Every generation has had them. From the greasers and the socs in the ’50s to the emos and the hipsters of late, we form these groups by which we identify and then include and exclude based on our standards.   In the early ’80s, there were the jocks, the preps, and the burnouts. The jocks were the athletic type; the preps were usually wealthier and overachievers; the burnouts—well, you know, the ones who did drugs and got into more trouble. You could pick each group out by their attire. The jocks wore Levi jeans and T-shirts—often with their favorite sports team or the school mascot—and the latest trend in athletic shoes. The preps could be found sporting Ralph Lauren polo shirts under a button-down Oxford, ideally with expensive jeans like Guess or Gloria Vanderbilt, and loafers. The burnouts had flannel shirts and waffle-stompers (otherwise known as hiking boots).   So, this guy that sat in front of me in class was clearly in the burnout group. Yet, one day, he showed up minus the flannel and waffle-stompers and wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Yes, that’s right, he was masquerading as a jock! I called him on it, asking what was up. He said, “You know, I used to be good at sports. I was good at running, and I liked it. The other day, I tried to go running, and—since I started smoking—I couldn’t even run anymore. I decided it just wasn’t worth it. I’m going to make some changes.” I couldn’t help but admire his gumption to make such a drastic lifestyle change, and I secretly wished him the best.   He wore his jock outfit for a while and then, one day, he showed up in his flannel and boots again. Again, I asked him what was up. I was heartbroken by his response. The jocks, many of them my friends, wouldn’t let him “in.” He had been shunned, excluded—rejected. Even if he wanted to change, they weren’t going to make room in their clique to give him a chance to try. He looked so sad. I was sad. Sad for him, disappointed in my friends. To this day, I wonder where life took him. If he ever was able to break free from that burnout culture. Is he leading a business somewhere? Or sitting in jail or a rehab facility?   Years later—too many years, to be honest—I have found myself in a very similar situation. I am becoming aware of the cliques we form in society and all too aware of how we can exclude those who “don’t fit in.” God has broadened my world. I have jumped over the high walls surrounding the modern church and ventured out into the world. I now not only know  of  these other cliques—I  know  them. I knew there were people who were abused; now I know people who have been abused. I knew there were people caught up in the drug world; now I know people struggling with addictions. I knew there were people in jail; now I know people in the jail.   And some things never change. We still set up some pretty firm boundaries on our little cliques, on the inclusion/exclusion criteria. As I have gone into the jail, it has taken a long time for them to let me “in.” I have had to work really hard to gain their trust and to show them I really do love them and care for them. In all honesty, I had to make a lot of changes to gain that acceptance. I didn’t pick up their habits, but I did have to let go of a lot of judgment and hypocrisy.   And as these women come to accept Christ, I have watched them really struggle to be accepted by people in the church. They share stories of feeling shunned, excluded—rejected. They talk about how the “church ladies” see their tattoos before they ever even talk to them to see where their heart is for Christ. They are judged for their skin color, their clothes, their language. And just like my friend, so often they go back and put on their “flannels and waffle-stompers.” If we won’t let them in, they have to either go it alone or go back to their old friends and their old ways. It’s hard to go it alone. Most don’t make it. And they are so sad. And I am sad. Sad for them, disappointed in my friends. After all, we’re not just talking the difference between business school and treatment center here . . . this is about souls . . . for eternity. We must do better. Let them in.   “May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ Jesus had, so that with one mind and one voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.” Romans 15:5–7 NIV   “Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in filthy old clothes also comes in. If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say,"Here’s a good seat for you,” but say to the poor man, “You stand there” or “Sit on the floor by my feet,” have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?” James 2:2–4 NIV   “When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”” Matthew 9:11–13 NIV

I’ve never worked at a fire station—or even really seen the inside of one. One time we got a tour of the garage of our hometown fire station. We got to see the trucks, they fed us hot dogs and chips. My grandsons even got to ride around the block in a fire truck and received complimentary red plastic fireman helmets and an official-looking sticker badge. Yet, somehow, I feel like I know all about the inner workings of a fire station. Admittedly, my knowledge is based solely on books and movies, but I can just picture the guys hanging out, cooking meals, eating together, sleeping on bunks or cots and then the bell goes off and down the pole they go, ready to run to the rescue of those whose lives are in danger! Surely, they must have some classroom time where they learn how to fight fires and rescue babies from eighth floor apartments. They must do simulations where they practice hooking up the hoses and running the ladders. I bet they learn all about the protective gear and how to properly wear each piece—protecting themselves so they can protect others. And then, when they get the call, they are all ready. They can respond to the call and save lives.    I was thinking . . . what if they got so busy training that they missed the call? Or so distracted cooking meals and playing cards that they didn’t notice the fire was actually fast-approaching the station itself? Or, worse yet, so comfortable that they chose not to respond to the call at all . . . at least they were safe . . . maybe the fire wouldn’t reach the station . . .   And then I got to thinking . . . isn’t that a lot like too many of our churches?   The fire is raging! The flames are practically licking at the doors of the churches. Some churches have been consumed. And yet, too many of us remain within its walls—serving one more potluck, doing one more Bible study, practicing our evangelistic strategy one more time. We spend so much time planning social events (which benefit our own) and doing Bible studies (when convenient) that bring us comfort (yet rarely convict), that we fail to hear the call or look out the window to see a raging fire all around us. A fire that is consuming our culture, our country . . . our children. We don’t even see the poverty, abuse, and addiction that is rampant in our very own communities. We conveniently position our homes and choose our churches so that we can drive to the “fire station” without ever noticing the fires. We feel so good about the fact that we are training to be firemen that we fail to see that we have yet to ever jump out of a comfy bed, slide down that pole, and go out there and use our training to save lives! Because that is what is at stake here. Lives. Not just physical lives, but immortal souls.    What will it take to make us willing to make personal sacrifices? To take great risks? I think, at some point, we have to stop training and go do the job. We have been forewarned that we will have to give up comforts, even relationships, and make great sacrifices. The Bible talks of many who, once they realized the great risks, turned back and quit following Jesus. I think we have to take some pretty serious moral inventory—is our fireman’s helmet and badge the real thing? Or simply cheap plastic and paper? We need firemen. Not imposters. The world is burning up.   “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” James 1:22 NIV   “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach.”  Matthew 23:2-3 NIV   “What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’ ‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went. Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,  but he did not go. Which of the two did what his father wanted? “The first,” they answered.” Matthew 21:28-31a NIV    “On hearing it, many of his disciples said, “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?”” … “ From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.” John 6:60,66 NIV

Sometimes they call me the science lady or the dinosaur lady. I’m sure they’ve never been to a Bible study quite like mine. I doubt there are many chaplains who talk about dinosaurs and fossils and rock layers! There are many times I question whether it is really important to bring evidence-based teaching to the women in the jail. It seems like I should just bring love and grace! They are in such great need of both. But I constantly need to remind myself of the call God placed on my life to help restore the authority of his Word, to help dispel the myth-like qualities that have been put on the Christian faith—the “Santa Claus effect” as I call it—and to replace them with solid truth and a firm foundation. There are times when I question, and then there are times I am affirmed. On more than one occasion, it became clear that a little hard evidence could make all the difference. Dinosaurs in the dungeon (a little evidence behind bars) could dispel darkness after all!   “It Would Mean Everything!”   On one occasion, several women had decided to come see what the dinosaur lady had to say. This time, I believe we were addressing the reliability of the New Testament—the fact that there are nearly 25,000 manuscripts, found as early as within 40 years of Jesus’ death (well within the eyewitness period), found in abundance in every century since, and copied with 99.8% accuracy all the way up to the time of the printing press. Not too shabby, eh?!  It’s the best manuscript evidence for any writing of antiquity—BY FAR!—and with archaeological evidence to back it up. So, it was in the aftermath of bar graphs and a nearly cold-case style investigation of the evidence for the authenticity of the New Testament that I posed a simple question: “If we can trust the Bible and God’s promises, how would your life be different?” It was then I heard a nearly inaudible response from the woman who had been sitting quietly to my left the whole time. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she said, “It would mean everything! I would need to start living my life for him. I would need to be sure my kiddos knew about God.” It was one of the most honest confessions of faith—and its implications—that I had ever heard.   She went on to share that in the absence of a responsible mother in her life, her grandmother had been the one to take her to church. When she lost her grandma at the age of nine, she started to question God and slide away from the faith. It was an inexorable descent to the place she currently found herself—incarcerated, separated from her own children, unwittingly following in the steps of a mother she had not intended to emulate. I asked if it was that she had become angry with God or if it was just that she no longer had a spiritual leader in her life. She felt it was likely a combination of both. But on that day, in the aftermath of bar graphs and a cold-case style investigation, she inadvertently discovered what I had desired to bring in the first place—love and grace! She discovered she could believe in God and she could trust his Word. She discovered that the promises found there were for her and for her children. That they themselves could become children of God and heirs to his kingdom. That day, I was A-OK with being “the dinosaur lady”! May we continue to proclaim the truth boldly— in love!   The Revolving Door   As I continued to go into the jail, I began to realize a sad truth. These sliding doors were also revolving doors. The gals would come in, and they would go out . . . and they would come back in again. As it turns out, sanctification often comes slowly. For many and varied reasons, I would see familiar faces returning to our weekly study. Even as I found myself beginning to judge them, I had to take an honest inventory of my own faith journey. How many times did I slip back into old habits, old ways? In fact, I had one foot on the slippery slope in that moment, thinking somehow that I was better than them. Even Paul himself bemoaned, “For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing” (Romans 7:19 NIV). Sanctification often does, indeed, come slowly. It was just easier to point fingers at them since my sins of judgment and self-righteousness didn’t put me behind bars.   Facts & Evidence   On another occasion, there was a woman I had met some months before. She had been attending weekly and growing in her faith prior to her release. Yet on the outside, she had slipped down the slope and back through that revolving door. So, she was back in the jail—but also back in the Bible! She wanted to share with the group what it had meant for her to come to know about Jesus and the Bible. She said that, growing up, her favorite teacher had been a science teacher. “She got me,” she shared. “She said that she didn’t believe there was a god because she was a scientist and she needed facts, evidence. And so, I stopped believing.”   But then she went on to share how she had wound up in the jail and at my Bible study. She could hardly believe it! Here, in a  Bible  study, was a lady that was a scientist who was providing facts and evidence! Little by little, the evidence won her back to trusting and believing that there is, indeed, a God. And even though she had slipped off track and found herself in jail again, she also found it a time to refocus on God and his will for her life.   Beyond what the facts and evidence could reveal, she had discovered so much more about faith. She had found a joy that transcended her circumstances. She had such a desire to share Jesus with others. She was praying for her siblings. She was sharing with her cellmates. She had her hope restored. We are all on our own journey of faith. Our sins may look different, but we all still have much to learn. We trust the good Lord to complete the good work he has begun in her . . . and in us!   “So he reasoned in the synagogue with both Jews and God-fearing Greeks, as well as in the marketplace day by day with those who happened to be there.” Acts 17:17 NIV   “Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation.” Joel 1:3 NIV   “As was his custom, Paul went into the synagogue, and on three Sabbath days he reasoned with them from the Scriptures,” Acts 17:2 NIV   “Now the Berean Jews were of more noble character than those in Thessalonica, for they received the message with great eagerness and examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true.” Acts 17:11 NIV   “…he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6b NIV

Our family has a tradition of camping at Snake Creek campground by Platte, SD, over Memorial Day weekend. Since our kids were young, we have met some friends there and made many great memories fishing, playing at the beach, and sitting around the campfire. Even as our kids grew up and my daughter started a family of her own, we continued the tradition, with the grandkids enjoying the same things our kids loved so much.   It was no different on this particular Memorial Day weekend, except that my daughter and I had a bridal shower to attend on Saturday morning. We would drive back to Sioux Falls and return later that afternoon. That meant we left three grown men in charge of three little men. Three  very  busy little men. Our youngest grandson was just a wobbly toddler, but still got around amazingly quick and always seemed to find any source of potential danger—and a campsite is filled with them! The dangers were real and abundant, from hot ashes and fire pokers to thistles and jagged rocks to the nearby river itself. My parting words to my grown son were, “I don’t care if he has been fed or changed or had his nap . . . just keep him alive!”   Upon our return, they were indeed all still alive. But according to my son, there had been some hairy moments! At one point, he had just plunked the toddler in the little high chair that clamped to the bench of the picnic table and strapped him in. The toddler was none too happy and was quick to let them know. Most of the campground, in fact, likely knew of his disapproval of his incarceration. He shouted and cried and banged on the high chair tray. My son told me, “I didn’t even care if he was mad at me; at least he was safe!”   As I have continued my ministry to the women in the county jail, they sometimes seemed a bit like my youngest grandson. They were quick to let me know how much they hated their current situation—the perceived denial of their rights, their loss of freedom, and how slow the wheels of justice seemed to move. They got mad, they cried, and they banged the table. But at least they were safe! It occurred to me that, just as my son had scooped my grandson up out of impending danger and strapped him safely in that high chair, a loving God had scooped these women up and put them someplace safe. Safe from themselves and their addictions, safe from traffickers and the abuse of others.  Not  where they might want to be . . . but at least they were safe.   I can’t tell you how many times I have made that analogy to these women. And most of the time, they get it. It was like a holy time-out. What may not seem “nice” may be the most loving thing that could have happened to them. Just as my son had watched that little man run around, narrowly averting disaster time and again, God watches his children run around, narrowly averting disaster. And, unlike my son, God knows what lies ahead! I couldn’t help but wonder how often a timely arrest and necessary (if undesired) incarceration kept these women from something even more disastrous that had been awaiting them just around the corner.   It was an analogy that made them stop and think. It changed their perspective—from one of discontent and anger to gratitude and relief. But, most importantly, it made them think about God differently. Maybe what seemed like punishment could actually be love? For many, the thought of God as a loving Father was hard to grasp. It wasn’t a concept they were familiar with. Many of them didn’t really even know their human fathers. Healthy, corrective discipline was often foreign to them. But the ones willing to surrender their “rights” to their Father were the ones in which I was blessed to see the transformation. With a newfound maturity, they stopped being so angry; there weren’t as many tears or clenched fists pounding the table. Rather, they found acceptance for their current situation and, oddly enough, peace, patience, and even joy! I just pray that I can remember my own preaching when I find myself crying and pounding my fists on the table! God is a good Father, indeed. May I never forget it.   “Now the LORD provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.” Jonah 1:17 NIV   “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” James 1:2–3 NIV   “Blessed is the one whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty.” Job 5:17 NIV   “The LORD will keep you from all harm— he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” Psalm 121:7–8 NIV

One day at the jail, we neared the end of our time together and I asked for their prayer requests. Several spoke up and then one woman asked that we pray for her roommate. She wanted to pray for her because her roommate had kept her up all night with her crying . . . about a boyfriend . I could sense a bit of disgust in her voice as she gave the reason for all those tears, but it was her next comment that really struck me. She said, “I vowed a long time ago to never cry over a man again.” Every man in her life had done her wrong—abandoned her, used her, beat her . . . My heart just broke. I was realizing that so many of these women had no idea what a godly man looked like; what a healthy marriage looked like. I gently assured her that there were men worth risking love on, that there were indeed godly men who would lead and provide and love and cherish.    In a world that has been trying to tear down the role of men, of husbands, we are bombarded with images of weak men and browbeating women. Sitcoms, commercials, everywhere you turn, the woman has to help the man survive. She is smart and strong and has it all together, he is an inept oaf! It may have started as a means for feminism and women’s rights to be entrenched in our society. In some ways, it has been a self-fulfilling prophecy. As a culture, we have certainly not been encouraging men to step into the role God would have for them. I went home to my amazing husband more grateful than ever for who he is—how he leads our family and lives his life, the husband he is to me, the father he is to our children . . . I am certainly blessed. While far from perfect, I pray that our marriage can be a witness to a watching world of the beauty and balance that God intended between men and women, united as one in the covenant of marriage, for life.   “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved he church and gave himself up for her…” Ephesians 5:25 NIV   “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.” Ephesians 5:22 NIV   “Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” 1 Timothy 5:8 NIV

As I was doing ministry in the jail, a woman came to my study one Wednesday afternoon and started giving evidence before I could give it. It turned out she had been in jail some months before and had heard the very same lesson. She said she had actually been sharing it with people on the outside, using it to defend the Bible . . . but she was an atheist! An evangelistic atheist! An unbelieving apologist! She said that part of why she turned herself in on a warrant was because this was the only place she ever heard anyone give actual evidence for the truth of the Bible.   When I asked what kept her from believing in God, her answer sucked the breath from me. With tears forming in her eyes, she said, “I have not been a virgin since I was two years old. Every man in my life has used me and abused me. If there is a God in heaven who would forgive those men . . . I would rather burn in hell.” There was hardly a dry eye in the room.   It was no longer time to talk about the geological evidence of the pre-flood world—it was time to talk about forgiveness. Wisdom that was not from me began to flow from my mouth. Reassurance that forgiveness was not just for the offenders, but for her. It was a gift that could free her heart from the anger and bitterness that had consumed her and dictated her choices for years—for her entire life. Verses came to mind, words of comfort and encouragement. It was one of those strange moments in which I knew the power of the Holy Spirit just flowed through me to be a blessing to someone else—to a room full of broken and hurting women in desperate need of forgiveness and hope.   She didn’t come the following week. I didn’t know if she had been released, or if she was still wrestling with God. I just had to turn it over to him.   Sometime later, she was back in jail and returned to Bible study, where I was sharing the same lesson again —it’s not that I had done it that many times, either! She just had to laugh because what were the odds? But this time, she started coming regularly. She did laundry at night and slept during the day, but she had someone wake her up so she wouldn’t miss Bible study. She loved the evidence, and God was getting her heart! She was hungering for the Word, reading her Bible all the time, and drawing others in the block into the study with her. God was at work!   This woman continued to come and often was the one in the group to share how God had truly changed her heart. She would share that she had been an atheist not that long ago, and now she found she couldn’t put the Bible down—and beyond that, she had as many as 16 women gathering with her as she studied her Bible out in the block. Broken, hurting women—eager to learn with her!   One day she brought another gal to our study. This woman was clearly not a believer, and it appeared she came only on the promise of “evidence.” She listened with great interest throughout our time together. The next time I came, she started bubbling about how the evidence I shared had gotten her to open a Bible for the first time. God’s Word pulled her in, and now she simply couldn’t get enough. Moreover, both of these women were now sharing how God had transformed them—and others were testifying to the changes they could see in these women.   A few weeks later, the first woman was released, but the second continued to literally run to Bible study, and others would just laugh at her eagerness! This time she brought a friend of her own, one who had been raised in the church but had become disillusioned and fallen away from the faith—angry with God. In that study, you could see God working in this third woman’s heart.   As I later reflected on this remarkable chain of events, I saw clearly how the early church could have started and spread so quickly. As these women were given a firm foundation to place their trust and faith, they began to devour the Word. That, in turn, was transforming them in a simply contagious way. These women didn’t have to be told to disciple; their changed lives spoke volumes, and they simply couldn’t help but share all that they had seen and heard. I think that looks a little like the early church we read about in Acts! Praise God! His truth simply does not return void.   “But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.” 1 Peter 3:15 NIV   “Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” Ephesians 4:31–32 NIV   “Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony.” John 4:39 NIV   “Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.” John 11:45 NIV

The stories I was hearing and the things I was seeing ripped blinders from my eyes that I didn’t even know were there. These things were happening right in our community, right under our noses . . . yet we were oblivious. While we were busy with potlucks and ladies’ luncheons, children were going without any meals at all. While we bickered over the color of the paint and carpet in the sanctuary, they lived in homes with no heat and frozen water. While we nursed wounded egos from something someone said, they wore long-sleeved shirts in the summer to hide the bruises from their mother’s latest boyfriend. Little girls dressed as boys so that maybe that boyfriend would only hit her . . . little boys discovered being a boy didn’t seem to stop them. Right under our noses. Oblivious. It was as though two worlds existed, and seldom did we venture, one to the other. Even though scripture not only implores but commands us to take the light into the darkness, I’m afraid we have found it far more comfortable to retreat to our homes and churches . . . and put up walls.   Those Kids   And so, as we worked to develop a horse ministry at the Christian camp where I was working part-time, I was resolved that it would not just serve the privileged and the already churched that it had so loyally served. With zeal, I went on to describe the ministry I envisioned. Could this camp become a place where those worlds began to merge? A bridge from one side to the other, where we could meet one another, learn from one another. Brené Brown has said, “People are hard to hate close up.  Move in.” So, what if we no longer held the camp for those  kids on a separate week? What if we invited all to come, and we got to know one another?   The members of the special committee that had been formed to help develop this horse ministry were largely quiet after my emotional appeal. And then one of the board members voiced what was probably on most of their minds: “My grandchildren attend camp every summer. I’m not sure we want  those  kids to come.” In all fairness, there were real, practical issues that may need to be addressed: additional mentoring, monitoring, counseling. Some behaviors may be introduced that would warrant new practices and policies. But what hurt my heart was that those walls that we have placed around our churches, our Christian camps—even (maybe especially) our homes—once again threatened to keep “them” out. These walls that were meant to protect us might do so in a worldly, physical sense, but the spiritual damage from being disobedient to God’s call—to go therefore and make disciples of all nations, to seek after the least and the lost, to care for the widow and the orphan—would be far more costly.   Kids Like That   I’m sure it was no coincidence that, not long after that meeting, I found myself visiting with a friend who has given herself entirely to the children in the foster care system. She has run camps and programs to serve foster children and has committed to informing and educating as many people as possible about their plight. She has five biological children and has adopted something like eight children out of foster care. But when she talks about "her" children, it’s not just those in her home. She considers every child who comes to camp, every child who attends a program, every hurting child placed in her path as “her” child. So, when I gave my impassioned plea for an “integrated” camp to her, her response was quite surprising. “I’m not sure I want my kids to go to a camp like that. They suffer at the hands of kids like that enough every day at school.”    In response to the unasked question etched on my face, she went on to explain. They would endure taunts for being smelly—their peers were completely unaware they had been sleeping in their car with no chance at a shower in days. Kids would make fun of their clothes—not realizing they didn’t have a washer, dryer, or even a car to get to the laundromat. Kids would take offense at their language—failing to understand that those words were tossed around in those kids’ homes in such a commonplace manner that they didn’t even consider them swear words. Kids would call them “stupid” because they struggled in their studies—never considering that maybe they couldn’t focus because they hadn’t eaten yet, or they were worried that CPS might come for them, or they were scared that their dad would come home drunk again—or if their dad would even come home.   High Walls and Burned Bridges   And so, it would seem there was resistance from both sides. The pain caused to one by the other was part of what kept burning the bridges that we try to build across the divide. And yet, as Christians, we are not called to build walls or burn bridges. We are called to share the good news! If we are honest with ourselves, how many people have come to Jesus because of the truth we have personally shared? How many have seen Christ because of how we have loved (including those who may be hard to love)? In what ways are we taking the light into the darkness? Isaiah 30 warns that if we disregard what God has called us to do, seeking to hear “pleasant things” and “illusions,” those walls will collapse and bring utter destruction. Perhaps that is what we are seeing play out in our culture today.   A Bridge to Hope   But the beauty of our gracious God is that if we cry for help and wait upon him, he will bring provision, blessing, and healing. Let us humble ourselves and turn back to the Lord. Let us tear down the walls we have built and let’s build bridges!   “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:26 NIV   “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”  Matthew 25:40 NIV   “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” James 1:27 NIV   “…this sin will become for you like a high wall, cracked and bulging, that collapses suddenly, in an instant.” Isaiah 30:13 NIV “…if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” 2 Chronicles 7:14 NIV

As I go into the jail to proclaim the gospel with evidence, I never know who will choose to come to Bible study—or why. One day, a woman shared with me why she had decided to come. Although her mom had been raised in the church, they hadn’t been taken as kids because her mom didn’t want to “force her beliefs on them.” So, while not raised as a Christian, she was aware of “them” and it seemed to her in her daily encounters with people that at times she was quite certain she could identify them. There was something different . . . it seemed there was a glow about them. She and her boyfriend came to call them “shiny faces.” Upon leaving a gas station, for example, she might turn to him and say, “She was a ‘shiny face,’ wasn’t she!” It was as if there was a light from within . . .  The difference was undeniable, and always desirable.   I am uncertain of the circumstances that brought her to the jail, but once there she received a Life Recovery Bible . As she opened the cover to check it out, a verse at the bottom of the very first page caught her eye.  It was Psalm 34:5:   “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.”   She had been right! They were  “shiny faces”! This simple connection between what the Bible says and what she saw in the world was an important part of her newfound spark of faith. It was a joy to watch her seek truth and grow in her faith as she made more connections between what the Bible says and the evidence we see in the world.    As I thought about her testimony, I found her observations were convicting in some ways. I couldn’t help but wonder . . . was I a “shiny face”? How many people who claim to be Christians shine in this dark world? Maybe it’s time to ask . . . are you a “shiny face”?   S.H.I.N.E. Soaking in His Illumination Now and for Eternity   “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” Psalm 34:5 NIV   “In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:16 NIV   “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light…” Ephesians 5:8 NIV

In eastern South Dakota, we have a whole lot of holes—prairie potholes, they call them. They are not really holes, just little, shallow wetlands here, there, and everywhere—catching and storing up the rain that falls onto the vast, flat prairie. While they are beautiful in their own way—abounding with cattails, pocked with muskrat homes, and graced with ducks and divers—they aren’t a place you would go for a refreshing dip.   The water that collects there has nowhere to go. It remains as long as the scorching summer sun allows, concentrating as evaporation steals the water away, and only occasionally being replenished by the spring thaw or an occasional thunderstorm. The water is murky, the algae is abundant, duckweed lies on top of the still water like icing on a cake. The cattails live and die, falling over into the stagnant water. The muskrats, ducks, and divers leave behind what animals leave behind. The organic debris accumulates on the floor of the slough and begins to decay. The waders of a hunter sink deep into what is probably many seasons worth of death and decay which sucks at their feet and clings to their boots. Once disrupted, the characteristic sulfur smell—like that of rotting eggs—wafts up to offend the disrupter. On the western side of the state, you will find the Black Hills—apparently not really big enough to be called mountains, but with far more altitude than the glacier-swept eastern half of the state. In the valleys between the craggy hillsides, you will often find a babbling brook. A rainstorm will send water rushing down the hillsides, gravity calling it all to the valley below. For a time, the streams become engorged—water rushing, sweeping debris downstream to some unknown collection point—only to recede once again to a babbling brook. Left behind is crystal clear water where you can see the clear definition of every rock and pebble and little fish darting from one hiding place to the next. Sometimes, there is a waterfall that cascades from an outcropping high above. One is aptly named Bridal Veil Falls—which fans slightly over the course of its long descent, like the draping of a bride’s veil. As you come upon a waterfall, you often hear it before you see it. A dull roar whose volume grows louder as you near the falls. Then, as you draw nearer yet, there is a distinct freshness to the air. As though the air itself has been swept clear of debris by the rushing waters. A fine mist rises from the crashing waters, clears the dust, and dances in the sunlight like tiny little crystals. A beauty to behold.   I have thought about the differences of these two scenes, and it occurred to me that it is much like our spiritual walk. As a Christian, we often soak up God’s Word like a sponge. Like the prairie pothole, we can gather all kinds of knowledge at church, Bible studies, conferences. Much like the catch basins in the prairie though—without letting it flow through us to others, it can become stagnant. As we allow the Holy Spirit to not only dwell in us, but flow through us, we take on the freshness of the cascading waterfall and babbling brook. The dirt and debris are washed away. Things become clearer. There is new life! The Bible speaks of living water. Let us be that! Let the Spirit flow through us bringing new life—not only to us but to those around us.   “My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.” Jeremiah 2:13 NIV   “Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” John 7:38 NIV   “Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:13–14 NIV

A friend introduced me to an online devotional. In our prayer time together each morning, we would often start by reading the message for that day. It was clear that the devotionals were written by and for people who had come from hard places. I noticed how much encouragement there was and how often the devotional reminded the readers that they were worthy and loved. It spoke against the shame and the lie that they would never be good enough. It was interesting because, at this very same time, God had been working on me to remind me that I  wasn’t  “good enough”—without him. That I  wasn’t worthy—but Christ died for me anyway. And it was only through God’s grace that I would be saved. The contrast became increasingly obvious to me, and I had to stop and think about what God was teaching me.   After wrestling with it, I have come to call it the Pit and the Pedestal. So many of the women I walk with have never been loved or encouraged the way they should have been. They have experienced and done things that bring shame and, in their thinking, an impenetrable wall of separation between them and God. They live in the Pit and feel as though God would never want anything to do with “someone like them.” In my life, I have always felt loved and encouraged, and I have been a “good girl.” So, I’m afraid that, in some ways, I had come to believe that I was somehow “good enough.” Surely, someone as good as me would get into heaven! Without realizing it, I had put myself up on a pedestal. And from my lofty heights, it was easy to look down on others. What God showed me in this season was that we are all separated from God. From the depths of the Pit or the lofty heights of the Pedestal, there is a great divide called sin. While some may struggle with sins of commission—things they do that are wrong in the eyes of God, I struggled just as much with sins of omission—things I failed to do, things that God clearly asks of us. They may go to jail for their sins. I may get a promotion or accolades from my peers. Both make us fall short of the glory of God. The scary thing is that we live in a society that actually encourages and promotes a lifestyle that keeps us from fully surrendering to God—chasing after achievements and clinging to comforts. Sometimes I found myself a little jealous of their need for God, their desire for God, and their passion for God.   I watched as God gently lifted these women from the Pit. He spoke words of love and encouragement to them. He made them feel worthy of true love. They began to realize that the harshness they experienced in life wasn’t his design but a consequence of a sin-cursed world. I watched women realize that they deserved to be treated well—to be loved and cherished. That they could be, and  were , loved by God himself! I watched shame fall from them like old rags as they put on their new robe of Christ’s righteousness. God’s love gave them new life! They were children of God—daughters of the King. They had to give up their old identity to receive this new one.   On the other hand, I had to be taken out at the knees a little bit. God had been stripping the things in which I wrongly placed my identity. It was not my intelligence, career, title, accomplishments, or even acts of service that made me worthy—it was Christ alone. I had to give up one thing after the other, surrendering until I came to the point of realizing that I could never do this on my own. I had to be brought down. I had to be humbled. And I received new life! I was a was a sinner in need of a savior. I had to realize that before I could ever receive my new identity.   Scripture suddenly came to life. Verses I memorized and had always known—but not really  known —jumped out at me. The concept of the Pit and the Pedestal was nothing new. I just finally got it. The Bible speaks over and over about this very thing. He will bring down the mighty and exalt the humble. He opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble. Our pride will bring us low, but the lowly will obtain honor. And it leveled the playing field. They were raised up, I was brought low, and we walked side-by-side together in Christ.   “I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.” Isaiah 61:10 NIV   “For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” Matthew 23:12 NIV   “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.” James 4:6 NIV   “Pride brings a person low, but the lowly in spirit gain honor.” Proverbs 29:23 NIV

When I was in high school, I was a “good” girl. I didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. I made good grades and obeyed my parents. I had a lot of friends, but I wasn’t always invited to things. I specifically remember the time when I had asked my best friend to spend the night. She told me her mom had said no. And that was all fine and dandy . . . until I found out that she had lied to me. She didn’t want to sleep over because she had gone to a party. And I was not invited.   Even at the time, I knew I wouldn’t have gone to that party. But it still hurt to be excluded and lied to. Funny, isn’t it? That we bemoan the fact that we weren’t asked to do something we know very well we would never do anyway?   Things haven’t changed much. There are gatherings and events that I am conspicuously not invited to. And it still hurts. My mind starts to wonder, why am I not invited? Am I too preachy? Too religious? Too “good”? Am I not nice? Not fun? Not “cool”? I realize that sometimes people know I wouldn’t like the drinking, or some of the joking or conversations . . .   I know that sometimes they know we may not be able to afford it—or choose to spend our money that way . . .      I do want to be careful to not dismiss the first questions too quickly.  I know that sometimes I push the God thing hard. Maybe too hard. Or not . . .?  And I still struggle with being judgmental, for sure.  Funny thing is, my judgement has swung from those who keep doing things they shouldn’t do . . . to those who aren’t doing the things they should.  Bottom line is that if I am not being kind or loving, I am not representing Christ well.  It’s such a balance—being “nice” and “fun” and standing for truth and God’s will.  “Nice” and “fun” can have very different meanings to different people.  I am reminded, we are to be in the world, but not of the world. I resolve to be as kind and loving as I can be when I am invited. Lord, please convict me if I need to change my ways.  But if it’s something they wouldn’t invite you to, I guess it’s okay if I am not invited.   “Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man.” Luke 6:22 NIV   “I have given them your word and the world has hated them,  for they are not of the world any more than I am of the world.” John 17:14 NIV   “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Romans 12:2a NIV

Once again, I would learn that it isn’t how many come, but who comes—and there are no mistakes in who attends. My time was not any better spent when many chose to attend than when only a few would come out. Indeed, sometimes the most powerful times were when there are only a few of us. Such was the day when only two women came out when they opened the sliders of C-block.   Mary had already been to the study a number of times, so I wasn’t surprised to see her. I was surprised, however, at what happened within minutes of getting started. Mary began to talk . . . and talk, and talk. It was like someone shook a bottle of soda pop and popped the top! Years of grief, frustration, and hopelessness that had been bottled up erupted like a volcano. Amidst tears and sobs, I learned the sad story of a little girl who had never known a family, grew up in institutions, was diagnosed with every disorder and labeled with every acronym known to the psychiatric field, was on more medications than a person battling cancer, and as an adult had spent the vast majority of her life in residential treatment or incarceration. I had been getting small doses of these women’s realities over the prior weeks—this was a crash course and a wide-open window into a world I had never seen or known.   Before I could even move to console Mary, the other gal began to talk . . . and talk, and talk. Emboldened by Mary’s vulnerability, she too began to share deeply. She had moved off the reservation in hopes of finding a better life. Those hopes seemed dashed as she found herself back in jail, again. “You don’t think I want what you white ladies have? A house of my own, a man who comes home every night, a family that sits around the table and eats together? I moved to Sioux Falls, hoping to get away from the influence of people that aren’t good for me. I got a job, got a place. My family . . . they started calling me an apple.” In response to my confused look, she clarified, “Red on the outside, white on the inside.” The pull had been too much, and she sunk back into the mire she had tried so hard to escape. Like a zebra in quicksand, it seemed that the harder she tried, the deeper she sank.   My mind was reeling, and my heart hurt. So much raw exposure, emotion, and hardship. I didn’t have the words to say; I didn’t know how to fix them or make it all better. To be honest, I don’t know what I said in return to their raw vulnerability. But I know it changed me. I got a crash course in depravity, fallenness, and despair. I remember feeling gratitude for things I had always taken for granted: a family, a home, and an amazing husband. I remember wishing she knew we didn’t come in different “colors”—red and yellow, black and white. That the shade of our skin on the outside doesn’t define who we are on the inside. That there was just one race . . . the  human  race! I remember thinking, too late to share with them, that what she wanted wasn’t “white”—it was  right . It was  godly . And I remember being so sad that her family had robbed her of that. It was one of the first times I experienced (or at least recognized) how people tend to want to drag people down to their level. Misery does indeed love company.   I hope I offered some encouraging words. I hope I offered some hope. I hope I prayed with them. I hope they felt heard—and loved. I don’t honestly remember. But I remember that Mary was in for nearly a year—probably one of the longest runs of any of the gals I have seen in the jail, as they are usually released, bailed out, or moved on to prison. She didn’t have anyone on the outside that cared about her. She never got any money put on her commissary account. She never got any visits or mail. But . . . she did get Jesus, and she did get hope! I couldn’t believe the transformation. This woman, who had been on a dozen medications when she came in—for everything from depression and anxiety to schizophrenia and bipolar—no longer needed any medications. And she was more balanced and joyful than she had ever been. Even the guards marveled at what she had become. She was bringing some of them to Christ! I am not saying that coming to Christ will fix every medical or psychiatric problem. But I know he can work miracles! I saw him work a miracle in Soda Pop Mary.   “Continue to remember those in prison as if you were together with them in prison, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.” Hebrews 13:3 NIV   “But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,” declares the LORD, “because you are called an outcast, Zion for whom no one cares.” Jeremiah 30:17 NIV   “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3 NIV