She needed redemption unlike anyone I'd ever known. We sat a small round table, she on one side, me on the other. I was allowed to hold her hand, but when I moved closer to sooth her tears, the loud speaker jolted me back, "Mam, get back in your seat." I had forgotten the rules. I had forgotten where I was...
Driving to the prison that day my mind swirled. I had many things I wanted to say...none of which were kind. "What were you thinking? You've lost everything! How could you hurt your family like this? Drugs...you were selling drugs... in my neighborhood." And the litany of questions and accusations went on and on. I knew I needed help.
Lord, there are so many things I want to say, but I know my words are not the words she needs to hear. Help me.
And somewhere between my driveway and the razor wire, the waiting room and the metal detector, the tedious walk through tightly monitored steal doors and the little round table at which we sat, the Lord stripped my mind down. All I could do was listen.
And I gained the privilege of walking beside her as she took her first steps toward redemption.
Walking beside someone on their road to redemption is, humanly speaking, a futile task. It takes patience and wisdom beyond our abilities. Honest prayer is the first place to start. And the impossible becomes miraculous.