Until Forever (Women of Prayer) (6 page)

The nurse on duty had thought Mark was asleep when he left him for a few minutes to get a sandwich and a cup of coffee. It was just enough time for Mark to hobble over to the nurses’ supply cabinet and get a razor blade. His hands, which were swollen from the fight he’d had earlier and proof that he did get in a few good jabs, were almost too sore to handle the small razor blade. It took too long to get his bandaged hands to cut through the skin on his left wrist. He had just made the final cut when the nurse returned. His only hope was he would be too busy with his sandwich and coffee to look in on him. He heard shouts just as he passed out.

When he came to his left wrist was bandaged, he was in restraints, and a guy in a white robe was standing over him, seemingly in prayer. At first he thought he might be dead and he was being given his last rites. Then he figured out he wasn’t dead and the guy was the jail chaplain. He was about to curse him and tell him to leave when he felt a strange sense of
déjà vu
came over him. He suddenly had a memory of his grandmother in prayer. He would sit and watch her, knowing that what she was doing was a sacred thing. He loved to watch his grandmother pray. She looked peaceful. His grandmother had passed away when he was six years old, so why he remembered such a thing, he did not know.

Although he questioned the motives of the chaplain, he remained silent. He had desperately desired the feeling of nothingness death would bring him, and he was sorely disappointed that once again he couldn’t properly complete something once he had begun. If he had succeeded, he would be floating along on a cloud of nothing right now. No more guilt and no more nightmares. His life had become a living hell, and he wanted out. Someone, namely the chaplain, cared enough about to him to pray over him. Mark wanted to know why. He quietly watched the chaplain pray. Suddenly the chaplain lifted his eyes and met his own. What Mark saw shocked him. He saw love and understanding, not condemnation and pity. He saw compassion and forgiveness, not judgment and hatred. What he had really seen was God’s love; he just didn’t know it yet. He hadn’t spoken a word to the chaplain that night. And the chaplain didn’t say anything to him. He just finished his praying and then turned and left.

A week after being admitted to the infirmary, even though he was still a bit sore, Mark’s injuries were healed enough that he could go back to normal prison life. Get up, eat breakfast, wander around the courtyard, eat lunch, read a book, watch some television, eat supper and watch some more television, and then get locked into his cell for the night, get up the next day, and do it all over again. He knew that some of the guys went to a church meeting on Tuesday nights. Normally he avoided the Tuesday meeting completely. This Tuesday was different. He wanted to attend just to check out the chaplain. He couldn’t get the guy out of his head. Mark had received a gift, a picture of hope. The guard escorted him to the chapel. He slipped into the last row of chairs and waited.

***

Chaplain Bill was a normal guy who worked a job, had a family, mowed his lawn every Saturday afternoon, and went to church on Sundays and Wednesdays. He also happened to care a great deal for some guys who didn’t have a normal life. As a matter of fact, you could say Chaplain Bill loved these guys. He considered the men at Oklahoma State Reformatory his mission field. They were the ones that God had appointed for him to reach with the gospel of Jesus Christ. He prayed for them daily. He met with anyone who asked him to, no matter what their crime. Most of the time, he didn’t even know what crimes had been committed. He didn’t care. Jesus loved them, every one. If it didn’t matter to Jesus, he couldn’t let it matter to him. That was his motto: Love them and lead them as they are. God will do the rest. He called out a few hellos and asked a few of the guys how they were. The men were making their way into the room and sitting on the metal folding chairs when he stepped to the front of the room. When his eyes rested on Mark sitting in the last row of chairs, he took a quick breath and held it a second before letting it out. He continued calling on a few men by name but still questioned God about the man in the back row.
This is the one, Lord. I don’t understand it, but I trust you, and I will do as you ask
.

He had made it his mission to learn as many names of the prisoners as possible, especially the ones who regularly came to Tuesday meetings. When a new person attended the group, he would add his name to his list and pray for him daily. No matter how long it took, he prayed for each one of his little flock daily. He’d watched many men grow in their faith while under his tutelage. Some went on to teach Sunday school in their home churches. He’d even seen a few go to Bible college and then go into the mission field or youth ministry, even becoming pastors in nondenominational churches.

A week ago, when he had prayed over the man in the back row, God had told him he had a very special purpose for this man. Of course, Chaplain Bill tended to forget that this was usually the case with each of the prisoners God had pointed out to him. He treated each prisoner as though he was someone special, somebody unique, and somebody that God would personally call upon. He did it because each man was in the process of becoming who God wanted him to be. He didn’t see anyone else as being all that different from himself. He may have made different choices in life, but he was still on the same path—becoming who God wanted him to become.

Chaplain Bill opened in prayer. “Dear heavenly Father, thank you for each man here tonight. I pray, Lord, that you would touch each man’s heart like only you can do. Stir in them a desire to know you better and better. Mostly, Father, I pray that each one may come to understand the unconditional love that you have for him. I also ask that what I am about to share from your Word would be received in the manner it is given. In love, Lord. In love. Amen.

“I’d like to read to you tonight from the book of John. If you have a Bible, open it up to John. If not, see me when we are finished here tonight, and I’ll see that you get one. Jesus had been speaking to Nicodemus, a religious man, about being born again. Nicodemus was confused and did not understand the term ‘born again,’ so he had asked Jesus several questions, trying to understand. Finally, Jesus explained the phrase in a way that made it very easy to understand. That is what I want to read to you tonight.”

Bill started reading from his Bible. “John 3:15-16: ‘That whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.’

“Do you believe in Jesus Christ? Do you believe that God sent his only Son to die on a cross for your sins? Do you believe that God could love the world so much that he would sacrifice his one and only Son? Let me tell you that he
does
love the world that much. I’ll even narrow it down further. He loves me, and he loves you that much. Why? Sometimes I too wonder about that. I don’t deserve to be loved. I know some of you feel that way too. Yet, he still loves us. There is nothing we can do to make him stop loving us. Isn’t that good to know? God will always love you. It doesn’t matter what sins you’ve committed. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve committed those sins. He still will open his arms wide and embrace us if we will allow him. Now, if you sit there with your arms crossed and a big old scowl on your face and tell him no, you won’t accept his gift of love, even then, he still loves us. We just don’t get all the goodies that go along with his gift. He’s just waiting for you to love him back. I have a secret for you. You know all those people, the ones you think can do no wrong, God loves you just as much as he loves them.”

Bill heard a few guffaws coming from the prisoners. Even those who had accepted Jesus as their Savior still had major issues with self-condemnation.

He continued on. “Yes, it’s true. God doesn’t discriminate. He loves us all the same. It breaks his heart when we don’t love him back, though. I’m gonna read a little bit more.

“Verse seventeen, ‘For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.’

“Wow. I don’t know about you, but I think that is awesome. Jesus did not come here to point fingers at me and remind me of all the sins I’ve committed. The Bible says he came here to save me. That’s why he died on the cross. It’s the best way he could show me he loved me. He doesn’t bring up the past. Once you ask him to forgive you, it’s all done. Those sins will never be brought up again. That’s how much Jesus loves you guys. Once we accept Jesus’s love and forgiveness, the hardest part sometimes is forgiving ourselves. He doesn’t bring up our past, but more than likely we will. It doesn’t always have to be that way. The first step is believing in the One who came to save you. Then we need to ask for forgiveness for the things we have done wrong. I promise you that once you do that and ask Jesus into your heart, Jesus will fill you up so much with love that you’ll nearly burst with the joy of it. Is there anyone here tonight who would like Jesus to fill them up with his love?”

Bill didn’t ask for bowed heads like some churches did. He figured if a decision was going to be made here, it was going to have to be lived here, out in the open for everyone to see. One of the guys he’d been talking with over the past few weeks raised his hand. Tears rolled down Bill’s face as he asked Denny to come to the front and pray. As Bill prayed with him, Denny began to weep.

Mark wasn’t sure why Denny was crying. He was literally bawling like a baby. He wanted to get a Bible from Chaplain Bill but wasn’t so sure about hanging around for one. Things seemed kind of unpredictable, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the midst of whatever might happen next. What if he started bawling? Besides the tears that fell during the accident, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He didn’t even cry when his old man passed away. What was there to cry about? He wasn’t the most caring father in the world. His kids were low on his list of priorities. He could never tell what his dad’s first priority was. His work or booze. Anybody’s guess was as good as his.

Mark saw a stack of Bibles on a side table and wandered close enough to the table to get one. As he picked it up, he made eye contact with Chaplain Bill, who nodded his consent with a small tilt of his head. Mark left with a plain black vinyl copy of the Holy Bible, the most precious book he would ever own.

It seemed as if it were just yesterday, yet here he was, on the outside looking back. Neither the years, nor the book in his pocket, could erase the painful memories of his past. Now it was time to face them.

Chapter 5

Jessi breathed in deeply. The scent of blooming lilacs reminded her to get out her cutting shears and cut enough for every room in the house. Lilacs were one of her favorite early summer flowers now that she lived in Wisconsin. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to the change of seasons that Wisconsin’s climate provided. She had made the move north three and half years ago. She’d needed to make some changes in her life, so she decided a change of scenery was in order. The only thing she had to overcome was leaving Ethan’s grave and leaving Aunt Merry. She finally decided to move, promising herself she would come back every year to visit his grave. She said her good-byes to Ethan on the third anniversary of his accident and moved north to a small community in southern Wisconsin where she taught second grade in the local elementary school. Each June when school got out for summer, she returned for her yearly visit. She called it her pilgrimage to her past. She had never fully recovered from his death, and if it hadn’t been for little Olivia being born eight months after the accident, Jessi probably would have died right along with him. Getting pregnant right after Mark got out of rehab hadn’t been the plan, but it saved Jessi’s life. Olivia changed everything for Jessi. She gave her a reason to live. At five years old, almost six if you asked Olivia, she was the light of her mother’s life.

Olivia knew that she’d had a big brother and that he had died and gone to heaven. Jessi had explained it to her when Olivia was old enough to question her mother about their annual trips. After that, the only time they talked about Ethan was when they were traveling to Oklahoma for their visit, which they were about to embark on. On their journey Jessi would tell Olivia all about the escapades that were a trademark for Ethan—riding his bike with no hands and jumping off the high dive when he was only three years old. He’d almost given her a heart attack.

Talking to Olivia was one way to keep all the memories alive. As the memories found their way to the forefront of her mind, so too did the pain and guilt. She had never forgiven herself for allowing such pain to come to her son. She doubted she ever would.

A week after school let out, Jessi and Olivia headed south on I-90. The trip would take them two full days of driving. To break things up a bit, they stopped at a hotel in Missouri. Jessi watched as her daughter immediately took off her shoes and climbed up on the hotel bed. “Olivia Jean, you be careful jumping on that bed.”