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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

The mirror in my bathroom had always portrayed a very confident, capable, accomplished, kind, Christian individual. (There is probably a reason they call it the  vanity !) Yet at the jail I came to see that, in so many ways, I was not the kind, loving Christian I meant to be. They had no idea they did it, but the women at the jail provided a mirror in which I finally came to see myself a bit more clearly.   For so long, I spent my time with people who were like me, and they also reflected this confident, capable, kind Christian. I wanted to believe it, and so I did. I think it was a bit like the emperor who wore no clothes. Everyone around him told him they were such fine clothes, so he had no idea he was naked! In this fable, it was a child who said, “But he hasn’t got anything on.” These women at the jail didn’t exactly tell me I was “naked,” but as Colossians 3:12 became more real to me, I realized I had better make a change of wardrobe if I was to be clothed with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience!   It is not that these women necessarily confronted me directly or pointed out my flaws point blank. But rather, indirectly, they shared their experience with the church—with the Christians they had met—and I began to see myself through their eyes. It broke my heart to hear how we made them feel. How they felt unwelcome in so many churches, how they felt judged and unworthy. How they read of love and generosity and hospitality in the Bible yet had experienced none of this from those who called themselves Christians.   It seems they didn’t care so much if we had served Swedish meatballs at the Fall Festival; their fridge was empty once again. It didn’t seem to matter if we had the most amazing talent show to raise funds for our mission trip to repair the orphanage in Jamaica; their pipes had frozen in their trailer on W. 12th Street. They wouldn’t know anything of our warm welcome of the young couple that was doing mission work for Wycliffe in Papua New Guinea; we had made it pretty clear they wouldn’t be welcome in our little church with their tattoos and revealing clothes.   I didn’t want it to be true . . . especially of me. I think I tried to wipe at the mirror, scrub off the steam from the shower. Surely this reflection of me wasn’t accurate?! But if I was honest, it was. I had been quick to judge, slow to love. I had thought I was somehow better than them. I had drawn lines, boundaries, inclusion/exclusion criteria. Who would be welcome, who would not. Not overtly, of course, but in my heart.   In the book of James, we read, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like” (James 1:22–24 NIV). I have read this to mean that, if we look in the mirror and see that we have something stuck in our teeth, we don’t merely go on without doing something about it. We pick at it until we get it out! No one would just shrug their shoulders and move on, heading out the door with a chunk of food stuck in their teeth! And yet, how often do we do that with God’s Word? We do our Bible studies, learn all these things. But are we doing what it says? When it says love your neighbor . . . are we doing it? When it says to welcome strangers . . . are we doing it? When it says feed the hungry and clothe the poor . . . are we doing it? (Not, “Are we paying our taxes for social welfare programs?” The question is, are  we  doing it?!)   I don’t know if we just skipped over some of the hard (convicting) passages—or if I was arrogant enough to think they didn’t include me. But it was like the scales had fallen from my eyes and there they were, staring me in the face. You see, I knew the verses about not drinking too much, about working hard, about fidelity, about gathering together, and about studying the Word. I was passing these with flying colors, which made it that much easier to point fingers at “them.” But then, there these passages were. It was as if they leaped off the page.   The one from Ezekiel: “Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy” (Ezekiel 16:49 NIV).   Ouch. That one hit pretty close to home.   The one from Matthew: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 7:21 NIV).   Yikes. It seems there is much more to it than simply  claiming  to be Christian.   These, and so many others. Convicting, for sure. So, I am grateful for the mirror I found in those women at the jail. The emperor was no less naked before someone told him, and I was no less guilty before I looked into a more honest mirror. Like James infers, sometimes you need a mirror to see what you need to fix. I’ve got some work to do!   “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” Colossians 3:12 NIV   “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.   Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.” James 1:22-24 NIV   “Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” Ezekiel 16:49 NIV     “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.” Matthew 7:21 NIV

The third of three boys, my youngest grandson is always trying to keep up with his big brothers, and he has more try than anybody I know. It started at a very early age, evident even as he began to learn to walk. Before his legs could keep up with his brain, he would trip and stumble and fall . . . repeatedly! But it never kept him down. Back up he would climb, trying again . . . and again . . . and again. The goose egg on his head was testament to his encounter with the corner of the coffee table. The bruise on his cheek came from the tile flooring by the patio door. Yet, despite all the failed attempts, the frustrations, the injuries, he kept on trying.   It was at this very time, as he was learning to walk, that I began my jail ministry. I had had a particularly rough week, feeling as though I was completely inadequate. I didn’t know how to answer their questions, I didn’t know enough Scripture, I still failed to love them unconditionally, I found myself judging . . . again. There was a voice in my head telling me to just give up! I was probably doing more harm than good. They would be better off without my visits to the jail. I was listening to that voice as I watched my tenacious grandson take a particularly tough spill and crack his forehead on the coffee table . . . again. As I watched him determinedly get back up, I heard another voice. It was saying,  “Get back up! Go back in. Just as he keeps getting better, you will get better too. Someday he will be running! So will you. Get up, my daughter.”  I’m not saying it was an audible voice. It was a whisper of the Spirit to my wounded soul. And with it came this dawning realization that I wanted to run!   I thought about what would happen if my grandson just gave up. I had this ridiculous image in my head of a 15-year-old crawling around the living room. Too timid to get up and try to walk. Too afraid of failure. Too afraid of getting hurt. What would he miss?! No tag, no baseball, no football. Can you just imagine him crawling down the aisle on his wedding day?! It seemed so silly, but without a little try—without persistence—that’s where he would end up.   Another dawning realization was that, for these many years in my spiritual walk, I had actually been crawling. I am so grateful for my little grandson’s unintentional witness. I resolved to keep trying. I would get better. I might fail. I might “crack my head on the coffee table.” But I would just get up and try again. I didn’t want to miss out on what God had planned for me. I wanted to run!   “You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” Hebrews 10:36 NIV    “ Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus,  the pioneer and perfecter of faith.” Hebrews 12:1-2a NIV   “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”  Romans 5:3-4 NIV   “Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.” Ephesians 4:14-15 NIV

As my friend and I began our women’s ministry at the county jail, I began noticing that many of these women would talk about their "mom" or their "daughter," yet realizing they weren’t their real mom or daughter.  At first, I thought it may just be one of those blended family issues, with steps and exes, etc.  But then I began realizing there was no formal relationship at all.  These were simply broken women, finding family in each other.  Often, they were women who had lost their moms and been placed in foster care, and then had borne children that were taken from them  and placed in foster care.  Younger women and older women who found each other—on the streets or in the jail—and bonded in a special way.  It made me realize how strong the desire is to be nurtured and to nurture.  Even in the chaos of their worlds, where the God-given family structure was nowhere to be found and even their version of family had been annihilated by their circumstances and their choices, these women longed to be mothers and longed to be daughters.  And so, I would see these 40 somethings taking the 20 somethings under their wings, to console, to mentor, to teach.  It was beautiful in a sad way.  Strong testament to the God-given urge to give and receive love in the bonds of family, heart-breaking to see how far removed it was from what God had originally intended.   One day, only two came out for Bible study.  It may have been one of those "mother"/"daughter" relationships.  The 40 something had been coming regularly, and it was clear that she had a lot of clout in the block.  Even as she attended Bible study and was truly making strides in her faith walk, it was pretty clear that only certain gals came out when she came and others would stay back, even if they may have liked to come.  (Justification may come quickly, sanctification is most certainly a process!)  Regardless, this day just the two of them came to Bible study.  It didn’t take long to realize that the 40 something had a bit of an agenda, and it seemed to be an attempt for the 20 something to have a place to share her story and seek the help she needed.  God could use even the "clout" and the "screening" for his good!   The young woman began to just pour her heart out.  In the times that I had met her it was clear that she had little to no education.  She had made it sound like she was in trouble for stealing at Walmart.  She had had questions about whether it was okay to lie in order to protect people she cared about or to try to minimize her sentence.  Yet on that day, as her story poured out, so much became clear.  No wonder she did not have an education, she had already been in the sex industry for years.  She had been  arrested at Walmart, but it was for trying to "recruit" other young girls into the trade.  She was wondering about lying because she was looking at some serious charges and a lengthy sentence for her role in the sex trafficking circles.    And yet, as I listened to her and watched her, I couldn’t help but wonder . . . who was the victim here?  This was the same girl that had naively asked what would happen if a woman had sex with a horse when we were studying how kinds reproduced after their own kinds in Genesis!  She went on to explain that when she was like 5, she and her cousin were watching a porn movie where a woman was having sex with a horse.  (She did offer a brief comment that she realized she shouldn’t have been watching that.  You think?!)  Her older and wiser cousin—age 7—had informed her that the baby would be half human and half horse.  This 20 something still did not know that this was not how it really was!  I had an innocent, five-year-old grandson at the time.  I tried to keep my jaw from hitting the table as she shared this story from her childhood.  What kind of life could a child hope to lead if they were exposed to bestiality at 5!!!  Little did I know at the time, but this is a common way in which traffickers "groom" young children for the sex industry.   I can still remember her just sobbing.  The feds wanted to meet with her.  They expected her to rat on the others in the racket—her "cousins," which I would come to learn were more likely fellow gang members than her aunt and uncle’s children.  In exchange they would give her some leniency in her sentencing.  The sobs racked her body as she cried out, “Who is going to look out for me!  The feds expect me to help them out, but who will help me!  Sure, I might get out or get out earlier, but to what?  I’ll just get sucked right back into the same lifestyle, the same awful things, the same running and hiding.  Who is going to help me!”  My friend and I just looked at each other.  We hadn’t been coming to the jail very long.  We were green, we were naïve, we were shocked to our core as we caught glimpses of a life we knew absolutely nothing of.   A life that we wanted to pretend didn’t really happen, not in the real world.  But the hard truth was that it did.  And this 20 something was just one of so many.    My friend and I had come wanting to make a difference.  We had been convicted that we were to move beyond the walls of the church.  Jesus had left the synagogue in Jerusalem to care for the lepers and the outcasts . . . where was our mission field?  Well, this was it.  The jail would teach us so many things, hard truths, helpful responses, not-so-helpful responses.  The light of Christ certainly shines brightly in such darkness, and that was something that we could bring in with us—past all the security guards, the metal detectors, through the heavy doors that slammed shut behind us.  But what about when these women walked out those heavy, slamming doors?  What would they be returning to?  And what was God asking us to do about it.    As a part of the work at the Christian camp God had pointed me towards, I had recently visited a horse ministry for young girls in Minnesota.  One that was specifically for young women caught up in trafficking.  We shared that bit of hope with her.  Maybe she could find a place like that to help her start a new life.   My friend had been learning all about trauma-informed care because of her adopted son.  She had shared of her desire to start, what she called, The Brain House.  A place where people understood how trauma impacted the brain and, thus, behaviors.  At one of our first coffees, we had agreed, maybe we were to combine our visions.  Horses are a really powerful tool in the battle against trauma.  As we stood in the hub area at the jail, waiting for the next block to come out, she just looked at me and said, “We need to build The Brain House.”   Little did we know that these little steps of obedience would lead us to the founding of a nonprofit we would call Chrysalis…and, ultimately, to unveiling truths of what brings genuine transformation.   “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the 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   “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.” Ephesians 6:1 NIV   “Just as a nursing mother cares for her children,   so we cared for you.” 1 Thessalonians 2:7b-8a NIV

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

I have a friend who has been plunged deeply into the world of foster care, and she is not one to mince words. She shares perhaps more than she should about the circumstances "her kids" come from. And yet, her stark honesty has been a part of how God has broken my heart for what breaks his. If these children’s darkest secrets stay in the dark, we in the church or in society in general have no idea of what goes on.    She tells of the infant who was brought to her in a church parking lot, with little or no notice, as her other children were trunk-or-treating. This little one had been in three foster homes in the past 24 hours. He simply would not stop crying! The others had not been able to take it and Child Protective Services was forced to try and find yet another home to care for this little one. My friend ended up taking the baby to the doctor, only to find that the poor child was so malnourished that he had literally made a hole in the roof of his mouth with his constant suckling, when there was nothing to suckle.    Another boy had been in her custody for a while when he was returned to his mother. The return was short-lived, however, and the boy was once again in her care. During that brief time—in what should have been the safety of his home, with the one who should have been his protector and caregiver—the little boy had been raped so badly that, in her words, he "couldn’t poop normal for a year."  My heart breaks, Lord, for what breaks yours.   “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NIV   “May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other  and for everyone else, just as ours does for you.” 1 Thessalonians 3:12 NIV   “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” Philippians 2:3-4 NIV

God brought this image to me at a time when I was realizing how many people I knew and loved—who had once been "in" the church—were no longer believing in God or were having serious doubts about their faith. Among others I had already been aware of, right around this time a family member shared with me that they were not just agnostic but atheist, one was struggling with homosexuality, another had serious questions about God. A co-worker shared that she had become disillusioned with and left the church, a childhood friend and fellow confirmand informed me that he, too, was now agnostic.   This one was more of an image than a scene that played out. Again, in the early morning hours, I saw in my mind’s eye an image of a man’s hands repairing a fishing net. Having worked fisheries for a number of summers during college, I was well aware of what a tear in a fishing net would look like and even how to go about repairing it. These tan, strong hands were busy repairing the tear.   When I woke up, again it was immediately clear that the net represented the church and the hands were the hands of Christ, himself. It was clear that "fish" that had been in the net could have easily slipped out through the tears. The fish that escaped the net were all those who had been raised in the church or been going to church, but had somehow slipped out. The organized church was clearly broken. Even before I was aware of the statistics and the research that showed the mass exodus (especially of young people) from the church, this vision impressed on my heart that we had to do something about how the church was representing Christ to the world. After all, we are his ambassadors. We needed to stop merely going to church and start being the church.      “But I am afraid that as the serpent deceived Eve by his cunning, your thoughts will be led astray from a sincere and pure devotion to Christ.” 2 Corinthians 11:3 NIV “My brothers, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and someone brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.” James 5:19-20 NIV   “Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” 2 Corinthians 5:20 NIV