Merry Christmas! Tamar's Redemption Style

She entered the room. Everyone stared. Some whispered. They thought it was a bold move by the one who had created the latest scandal, showing up in public, displaying the evidence of her choices for all to see.

She cradled the evidence, the newborn, protectively, nervously, in her arms. She had come to this gathering to honor her dad.

Her father ignored their stares. Her father ignored their whispers. And right in front of everyone, he strode toward his daughter. He welcomed her, his face beaming. Then he snatched up the evidence, and cradling the newborn in his large, worn hands, he moved from person to person saying, "I'd like for you to meet my new grandson."

Nothing else matters to her regarding that day. All the stares and whispers are but a faded memory. She understood that she was loved. She knew that her child was cherished.

And it was her father who helped her take her first step toward healing, her first step toward her heavenly father--her first step toward redemption.

Merry Christmas! 

Luke 1:17 ". . . He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children . . . " (NLT)

I Once Was Blind...(The Second Step in The Road Toward Redemption Series)

The sound of praise music filling my mini-van didn't calm the argument blaring in my mind, "Someone might see me. I don't want to do this. Prison. I can't believe I'm doing this...I can't believe I'm thinking this way. I shouldn't care if someone sees me walking into a prison." But I did.

I was out of my element; my comfort zone crumbled around me. I had all kinds of preconceived ideas--judgments ruling my thinking. I nearly shook as I handed the officer at the prison gate my ID, and when he asked for my license and quipped, "You'd be surprised how many people are driving around without a license", I was appalled. The country girl who left home years ago for the burbs of the big city was now driving through the gate of the county jail.

"Lord, what am I doing here?" I whispered.

The waiting room was crowded. People of all shapes, sizes and colors stood in line--another check point. A little one clung to her mother' s legs while her baby brother rested in an infant carrier suspended by his mother's arm. I smiled nervously as her big brown eyes peered up at me while I waited to show my ID to the CO (Corrections Officer) standing at the counter behind bullet-proof glass.

"Mam, are you chewing gum?" I nodded. "You need to spit it out," the CO said into the microphone as she passed my ID back through a small opening, our fingers unable to touch. "Take a seat."

I found an open chair and I waited. And I judged. "Who's she here to see? A boy friend no doubt." Her belly was swollen with the promise of new life, yet I couldn't see a ring on her finger. "She's having the babies and raising them while he's serving the time." I rolled my eyes. "Why are some women so stupid." And my trips to the prison continued for weeks along with my judgments until...

Perhaps it was those little eyes that innocently peered up at me each week reminding me of my own children, or the conversations I had with the grandmother who faithfully visited her granddaughter every week reminding me of the love my mother has for her grandchildren, or the blond-haired woman who wanted her son to know she stilled loved him...no matter what...who looked a lot like me ...I don't know, but my heart changed. My judgments turned into observations. Where I was once blind, I now began to see. This country girl was no different than the people she spent her Thursday afternoons with each week at the county prison. And from that moment forward, I didn't care who saw me drive into that prison. I was free.


Our second step in walking beside someone on their road toward redemption requires us to break out of the prison of our preconceived ideas. As we pray for changes in those we long to see change, we must be willing to let God change us. (For first step, see post entitled "Baby Steps", June 24th, 2009)

Baby Steps

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.