Healing, Part I

Perhaps there is nothing as sweet a sound as “Amazing Grace” echoing off the hollow, eggshell-white, concrete walls of Pod B, the Ladies' ward. The result of human failure and subsequent brokenness reside here. But so also does true, genuine repentance. Their shame is handed to them in cream-colored jumpsuits. Every Lord’s Day, I join them in church attire, with hair done and fully make-upped - and pray I receive a portion of the honesty, boldness, and courage they possess.

They sing as if they know it to be true and I’m reminded of the depth of that truth by their conviction. My voice fades to a whisper as I hear their off-key testimonies between the lines of the old hymn. I’m ashamed of my yellowbelliedness. Of my quiet, inhibited, seeking-to-be-perfectly-harmonized praise. I’m in the presence of unlikely saints; this is holy ground; I echo Jacob’s wonderment, “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it.”

They sing on:

“Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,
(the drug deals, the shop-lifting, the petty theft, the breaking and entering, the assault and battery, the prostitution, the exploiting)
I have already come;
(I add mine: the lies, the perfectionism, the pride, the self-glorification, the extreme moral failure, the betrayal of friends and Christ)
’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
(Oh, Grace took us back!)
And grace will lead me home.
(Together, around that feast with the Lamb)

Some of them have hardened their hearts, yes. We hear them every Sunday morning up in their
cells, shouting angrily over our songs of deliverance. But we sing louder and with more conviction. This grace has saved us. It has saved us from Hell, yes, but it has saved us for living today – for the hope that grows like a reckless vine in my soul and bids the clouds depart from this dismal place. “This place is my classroom,” I hear her say. I’m dumbfounded. Lord, give me the same perspective that lets these ladies thank You for putting them here. Gratitude for a captivity that sets free the captive.

I’m not there as one ministering to these precious women. I am their sister and they are mine. I need the Gospel of peace just as much as they do. I need it to penetrate my calloused heart and lead me on towards freedom.