On Google Reader I'm reading a ton of blogs with beautiful, devotional reflections on Christmas.
Additionally, some of my writer friends sent me Tweets and emails wishing me Merry Christmas and sharing Jesus-y thoughts.
Jesus.
Not dirty toilets, spontaneous-combustion stoves, poopy diapers, toddler wrangling (and wrestling), knitted snakes stretched across hallways or all the other compulsory tasks that remain undone.
Jesus.
I'm forcing myself away from aforementioned thingies to reflect on the evidences of Jesus today. In my life. In December.
Most of you know my family dwells in a pit of trials and strife of all kinds. Accidents, injuries, job-losses and chronic pain conditions have depleted us to the brink of nothing. More so now than ever. Our needs increase as the ability to access them decreases.
On our own steam.
A kindly stranger overheard a conversation I was having with a friend about the hardships and weariness that plague my life. Filled with Jesus in her heart, she got my information from my friend after I left and sent me a HUGE check. It arrived in time to lessen my medical debt as I face two more MRIs this coming Sunday. God knew I was going to be hit hard again with headaches and more tests. He provided. I can get my MRIs.
John took his car in for an $18.95 oil change. $1000 dollars later...
God provided by allowing John's boss to double his Christmas bonus this year. He was able to pay for his car and some other unexpected expenses and due payments.
Christmas shopping for us didn't happen. It couldn't. Jesus moved some dear friends to play Santa Clause to my family by showering us with gifts not only for Kyle but for John and I! Something to look forward to tomorrow morning!
Earlier this month, Denver Water sent notice they were going to shut off water to our house due to ONE MONTH's unpaid bill. We're in that place where we have to let some bills go unpaid in order to eat.
In the same batch of mail was an envelope from my parents. In it was a check for the EXACT amount of money owed to Denver Water. I called my parents in tears. How did they know?
Mom said that God impressed it on Dad's heart to send us some money for food and bills. So they did.
This past weekend, Psalm 42 went to the Adams County Detention Center prison. We gave three concerts to two groups of men and one group of women. With each concert, we pulled out a few songs and added personal testimonies. Several men from each group received Christ and the women found hope and encouragement.
Get this. The group elected me to share with the female prisoners. My nerves buzzed with electricity as I agonized over what to share. I've never been to prison... er, a brick and mortar prison...
One young girl sat curled in a ball on the front corner chair. The sadness in her amber eyes was unmistakable. She was at the end. Life offered her nothing but bars and stripes. Why go on.
So I talked about something none of them were able to relate to: depression. After my ironic intro, the floodgates opened. ALL of the women wept. I touched them where they hurt the most. In that moment, God told me to share with them my depression experience that hurt the most. It was as if He asked me to expose my dirty underwear and shake it all around for the world to see. I was trying to forget my darkest moment. Bury it. I'm practically an outsider among certain circles at my church. I've been deemed a threat. Rejected by some of my once best friends. Why bring it out?
When God says "Do." You do.
I felt like a ventriloquist's dummy. The Holy Spirit snaked his hand up my back and moved my mouth. His words fell from my mouth. I didn't spare any details of my darkest moment of wanting to die and trying to do so.
Why am I here today?
Well, there was this little baby boy born 2000 + years ago in Bethlehem. Born to die. Born to save.
In a way I've never experienced before, I shared the gospel. The hope of this Jesus we celebrate. Jesus nudged my husband to come downstairs as I tried to cram pills in my mouth. Jesus surrounded me with new friends from ACFW and WFTJ. Friends who didn't look at me like I was a rotting grape, rather friends who gazed on me with compassion and understanding. Friends who have been there.
These women related with my story. The hope on their faces was the best Christmas present ever. Having God use me, weird little me, to send out a nuclear shock wave in a prison, reinforced His reality.
The chaplain asked if I'd come talk to different pods of women about depression and suicide. It's an epidemic in that place amoung the women.
Is Jesus real?
Yeah.
I wouldn't be here blogging and smelling a poopy diaper if he weren't.
Merry Christmas. Dwell on his presence in your life NOW.
Showing posts with label prison ministry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prison ministry. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
I went to jail yesterday.
Adams County Detention Facility loomed large and beige before me as the vehicle parked in the spiral shadows of barbed wire and high-tech cameras.
All of my belongings were "put away" for safe keeping. Including my identity (driver's license). I passed through the metal detector, me, myself, God, and a few other friendly folks. I nearly had a "Praise-ya-Jesus!" moment when my underwire failed to trigger the alarms.
God is in jail.
Psalm 42, the vocal ensemble my hubby and I joined, did three concerts in the lock-down. Two were for male prisoners escorted to a small empty room with the worlds most uncomfortable plastic chairs.
I was feeling anxious already, having passed through those mechanical doors that clank open, then slam shut with a bone-bumping echo. I couldn't escape if I wanted to! I felt trapped, and I knew I'd be going home in a few hours...
Those dudes were SCARY looking. An older with silver hair and faded tattoos sat cross-legged in the front row staring these "nice people who came to sing some songs" down. Deep lines carved canyons across his forehead. He sat front and center.
When the music began, his eyes shifted from upper left to upper right as if he dared himself not to look at us or get engaged with God as the gang-bangers and bank robbers around him raised their hands praising Jesus.
I stood in the very back of PS42, next to John, my back pressed against the cold concrete block wall. Do I make eye contact with these dudes or do I do the stage thing and let my eyes go blurry as if I'm gazing into another world? Never having done this before, I didn't want to send the wrong message or get myself mugged in the hall.
But God rained down on us all in spite of ourselves. I allowed myself to surrender to the music and share with these men, the gift of my voice along with the other PS42 members. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the room. Hardened criminals wept, prayed, sang and even danced a little, expressing love for Christ. Chaplin Micheal fired them up even more, calling them to account for their 7 week exercise in prayer and fasting. They eagerly recounted their time spent in Scripture over the week. When asked if they all belonged to Jesus, all men responded with resounding yesses.
I think I saw CHURCH for the first time.
Sure, there are probably a few posers hoping for early parole b/c of good behavior, but even they were moved by the Holy Spirit. Even the dude in the front row. He shook our hands and thanked us in a whisper on the way out of the room.
The hairs on our necks stood as if we were on top of a 14er in a lightning storm. Members of our group shot up spontaneous prayers for the next group. We were surrounded by the True Presence, the Almighty God (top that, Oprah and Eckhart!)
Men in white and yellow striped flooded into the room. They kept coming and coming...
Plastic chairs scraped the tile floor as they invaded each other's body space to make room.
Chaplin Micheal shoved his way through the men shouting, "This is incredible! The guys from the last group ran around the pod demanding everyone drop what they are doing and come to church! Incredible! They're all coming!" he bounced up and down on his toes, hands clasped to his chest.
If the previous service was CHURCH, the second one was CHURCH x CHURCH. Skeptical masks melted in mere moments. Young men with gang tattoos emblazoned on their chests, hugged their Bibles and cried out to Jesus b/c He is all they have. These men clapped, danced, hummed a bit and let loose. At the end, when the preacher gave the invite, no one moved. A young man, looked no older than 20, trembled. A huge bald guy next to him pulled him up and yelled out, "This brother wants to be baptized in the Holy Spirit! They pushed their way to the edge of the room. Young dude fell to his knees, begging Jesus to change his life.
Psalm 42 became Snot 42.
God wasn't done yet. And we had no clue.
The chaplains somehow achieved the unachievable by getting us access to one of the women's pods. They didn't come to us, we went to them. More big metal doors, guys with guns, and shouts of "Stay in Line".
It was a big room with cubicle-like cells all along the periferey. A dozen or so women in stripes sat at tables eating or in conversation. Another fifty or so sat stone-faced in those World's Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs. Arms crossed over their chests. Eyebrows furrowed. Mouths in deep frowns. "This is gonna suck." I thought as we shuffled around the little CD player (can't bring sound equipment in, could be used as a weapon. Death by Mic.)
Prison women scare prison men.
We were under a very tight time restriction to get in and get'er done. No time to pray, or prep. Our director hit 'play' and we started to sing. Halfway through, the women sat stone-faced. I imagined ice-vapors streaming from their nostrils. Okay, God, this really does suck!
Before our last song, Linda, one of our members stepped forward and preached. She begged the girls to open their hearts and just give Jesus a chance. We sang "I'm forgiven, because You were forsaken. I'm accepted. You were condemmned. I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me, because You died and rose again."
Amazing love.
We weren't two measures into the song before those faces melted like wax in front of a hot, hot fire. Heads swayed, hands raised, then when Chaplin Micheal gave the invite, 16 women dropped to their knees, crying out in loud voices to Jesus Christ!"
We didn't have time to be stunned b/c we were being ushered out (by people with guns).
In the hallway, Linda started singing "All for Jesus." I joined her. We got busted. No singing in prison hallways. Big Brother doesn't like it. So we whisper-sang and skipped. Others followed our guide, wiping tears off their cheeks.
17 people joined the family of Christ.
Someone doesn't like that. Please, please pray for Psalm 42. Satan tries to debilitate us in many ways so we can't or won't to and sing. 'Cuz there's revival behind bars!
Want more? Read Susie's blog!
That little stink pot beat me to posting!
All of my belongings were "put away" for safe keeping. Including my identity (driver's license). I passed through the metal detector, me, myself, God, and a few other friendly folks. I nearly had a "Praise-ya-Jesus!" moment when my underwire failed to trigger the alarms.
God is in jail.
Psalm 42, the vocal ensemble my hubby and I joined, did three concerts in the lock-down. Two were for male prisoners escorted to a small empty room with the worlds most uncomfortable plastic chairs.
I was feeling anxious already, having passed through those mechanical doors that clank open, then slam shut with a bone-bumping echo. I couldn't escape if I wanted to! I felt trapped, and I knew I'd be going home in a few hours...
Those dudes were SCARY looking. An older with silver hair and faded tattoos sat cross-legged in the front row staring these "nice people who came to sing some songs" down. Deep lines carved canyons across his forehead. He sat front and center.
When the music began, his eyes shifted from upper left to upper right as if he dared himself not to look at us or get engaged with God as the gang-bangers and bank robbers around him raised their hands praising Jesus.
I stood in the very back of PS42, next to John, my back pressed against the cold concrete block wall. Do I make eye contact with these dudes or do I do the stage thing and let my eyes go blurry as if I'm gazing into another world? Never having done this before, I didn't want to send the wrong message or get myself mugged in the hall.
But God rained down on us all in spite of ourselves. I allowed myself to surrender to the music and share with these men, the gift of my voice along with the other PS42 members. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the room. Hardened criminals wept, prayed, sang and even danced a little, expressing love for Christ. Chaplin Micheal fired them up even more, calling them to account for their 7 week exercise in prayer and fasting. They eagerly recounted their time spent in Scripture over the week. When asked if they all belonged to Jesus, all men responded with resounding yesses.
I think I saw CHURCH for the first time.
Sure, there are probably a few posers hoping for early parole b/c of good behavior, but even they were moved by the Holy Spirit. Even the dude in the front row. He shook our hands and thanked us in a whisper on the way out of the room.
The hairs on our necks stood as if we were on top of a 14er in a lightning storm. Members of our group shot up spontaneous prayers for the next group. We were surrounded by the True Presence, the Almighty God (top that, Oprah and Eckhart!)
Men in white and yellow striped flooded into the room. They kept coming and coming...
Plastic chairs scraped the tile floor as they invaded each other's body space to make room.
Chaplin Micheal shoved his way through the men shouting, "This is incredible! The guys from the last group ran around the pod demanding everyone drop what they are doing and come to church! Incredible! They're all coming!" he bounced up and down on his toes, hands clasped to his chest.
If the previous service was CHURCH, the second one was CHURCH x CHURCH. Skeptical masks melted in mere moments. Young men with gang tattoos emblazoned on their chests, hugged their Bibles and cried out to Jesus b/c He is all they have. These men clapped, danced, hummed a bit and let loose. At the end, when the preacher gave the invite, no one moved. A young man, looked no older than 20, trembled. A huge bald guy next to him pulled him up and yelled out, "This brother wants to be baptized in the Holy Spirit! They pushed their way to the edge of the room. Young dude fell to his knees, begging Jesus to change his life.
Psalm 42 became Snot 42.
God wasn't done yet. And we had no clue.
The chaplains somehow achieved the unachievable by getting us access to one of the women's pods. They didn't come to us, we went to them. More big metal doors, guys with guns, and shouts of "Stay in Line".
It was a big room with cubicle-like cells all along the periferey. A dozen or so women in stripes sat at tables eating or in conversation. Another fifty or so sat stone-faced in those World's Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs. Arms crossed over their chests. Eyebrows furrowed. Mouths in deep frowns. "This is gonna suck." I thought as we shuffled around the little CD player (can't bring sound equipment in, could be used as a weapon. Death by Mic.)
Prison women scare prison men.
We were under a very tight time restriction to get in and get'er done. No time to pray, or prep. Our director hit 'play' and we started to sing. Halfway through, the women sat stone-faced. I imagined ice-vapors streaming from their nostrils. Okay, God, this really does suck!
Before our last song, Linda, one of our members stepped forward and preached. She begged the girls to open their hearts and just give Jesus a chance. We sang "I'm forgiven, because You were forsaken. I'm accepted. You were condemmned. I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me, because You died and rose again."
Amazing love.
We weren't two measures into the song before those faces melted like wax in front of a hot, hot fire. Heads swayed, hands raised, then when Chaplin Micheal gave the invite, 16 women dropped to their knees, crying out in loud voices to Jesus Christ!"
We didn't have time to be stunned b/c we were being ushered out (by people with guns).
In the hallway, Linda started singing "All for Jesus." I joined her. We got busted. No singing in prison hallways. Big Brother doesn't like it. So we whisper-sang and skipped. Others followed our guide, wiping tears off their cheeks.
17 people joined the family of Christ.
Someone doesn't like that. Please, please pray for Psalm 42. Satan tries to debilitate us in many ways so we can't or won't to and sing. 'Cuz there's revival behind bars!
Want more? Read Susie's blog!
That little stink pot beat me to posting!
Monday, April 14, 2008
God is on the move - hasn't He always been?
Amidst all the concern over the blanket of false teaching that is billowing over the whole world via the internet and Oprah, people are seeking and finding the truth.
In considerable numbers and odd places like Boulder, CO.
Less than a month ago, I finally surrendered to God's call into a new realm of ministry. For years, I refused to give in b/c I was content where I was. I'd been attending the same Community Bible Study group for eight years. Deep study of the scripture and the relationships were and still are of high value to me. Why change?
God is using the Big D (depression) to rebuild my ruins. I committed to following His plan vs. mine earlier this year.
I let go of my "blankie" and stepped into Psalm 42 - a vocal/ministry ensemble that operates out of Green Mountain Christian Church in Lakewood, CO. One of my bffs, Susie, has been on my case to join for - oh - five years or so.
Two weeks into this new adventure (and only 2 rehearsals) the group was asked to sing at a memorial service in Boulder. The People's Republic of Boulder, Land of Fruits and Nuts. My apologies to the normal folk who live in that gorgeous place. I'd live there if I could afford it...
Anyway, Boulder is known as Berkley East. Some of the most liberal, immoral ideology eminates from that place.
The woman we memorialized was the sister of a Psalm 42 member. This sister who died, lived in the mental health system. She suffered from paranoid schitzophrenia. The family prayed for her salvation for decades. It wasn't until after her death, the evidence of her salvation revealed itself. This woman, deemed crazy by society, led people to the saving grace of Jesus. Contrary to popular thought, Jesus was able to make sense to her in the delusions of her mind. He got past the illness to the heart of the person.
On the drive up highway 93, we knew God was gonna do something big. I was on crutches, another member of the group blew out a disc in her back and was doped on prescription pain pills, and others had serious trouble slam into their families.
As we sang, the Holy Spirit filled the room. It was overwhelming! Pain and trials were forgotten as we tried to sing through tears of Joy from our Savior's presence. When the pastor gave the salvation message, people responded! Person after person after person - in Boulder!
Aside from the immediate family, many of the folks there were mental patients and mental health workers invovled with the woman who passed. NINE people recieved Christ and since have followed up on their commitment though Hope Boulder, the tiny church that held the memorial.
A few weeks earlier, the same weekend the Big Stink happened at MOPS b/c of my Dark Side of Christianity post, Susie had me tag along w/ Psalm 42 to the Mount View juvenile detention facility. I didn't want to go. At that point, I didn't want to join the group b/c I was tired. Wasn't I in the process of clearing my plate of Things To Do?
Half the group was sick, none of the men could sing. Ps 42 was hurtin' for voices, but that didn't matter to the incarcerated teens. The quality of music wasn't great either, that day. But, NINE kids responded to Jesus b/c of the testimony and song of this group. They responded to Susie as she belted out "Shakles" - a Mandisa tune.
In that moment I knew. I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the sound guy and bawled. This is for you. God whispered.
Yesterday, Psalm 42 sang at the Adams County Prison. John and I couldn't go b/c the prison only allowed 8 people in. Susie and Kendall stopped by our house on the way home to tell us all about it. They said God's presence was even more powerful in that max security place than in Boulder. Lives were changed, faith exploded. Prisoners and singers were blessed through three back-to-back concerts.
This coming Saturday, John and I will be part of the group that goes to the prison for the rest of the inmates (they only allow 25 in a room at a time for safety reasons). We can't wait!
But, with ministry comes attack. It's a war. Bad things happen to Ps 42 members - things that should make us bow out of a concert. You know a ministrie's power by the suffering its servants endure.
The director of the group introduces us as broken people mended by Grace. In our group there are testimonies of drug use/abuse, abortion, prison, theft, depression, suicide, suicide attempts, broken marriages, sexual abuse victims, etc. A collection of folks many churchies would brush off as "soiled".
Pray for Ps 42 as we rehearse tonight. Pray for the three or four concerts we'll be doing at the prison. Pray protection over our members. A family was whacked last night by a massive injustice after they ministered. Pray for more opportunities to go into places where few ninistries dare tread. We're trying to get into the immigration prisons to share Christ with illegal aliens waiting for deportation. We're also trying to get into the mental health system to minister to the mentally ill. Pray for my husband's sister, Debbie. She's very much like the woman who died. Pray Jesus can cut through her fog and bring her Hope.
In considerable numbers and odd places like Boulder, CO.
Less than a month ago, I finally surrendered to God's call into a new realm of ministry. For years, I refused to give in b/c I was content where I was. I'd been attending the same Community Bible Study group for eight years. Deep study of the scripture and the relationships were and still are of high value to me. Why change?
God is using the Big D (depression) to rebuild my ruins. I committed to following His plan vs. mine earlier this year.
I let go of my "blankie" and stepped into Psalm 42 - a vocal/ministry ensemble that operates out of Green Mountain Christian Church in Lakewood, CO. One of my bffs, Susie, has been on my case to join for - oh - five years or so.
Two weeks into this new adventure (and only 2 rehearsals) the group was asked to sing at a memorial service in Boulder. The People's Republic of Boulder, Land of Fruits and Nuts. My apologies to the normal folk who live in that gorgeous place. I'd live there if I could afford it...
Anyway, Boulder is known as Berkley East. Some of the most liberal, immoral ideology eminates from that place.
The woman we memorialized was the sister of a Psalm 42 member. This sister who died, lived in the mental health system. She suffered from paranoid schitzophrenia. The family prayed for her salvation for decades. It wasn't until after her death, the evidence of her salvation revealed itself. This woman, deemed crazy by society, led people to the saving grace of Jesus. Contrary to popular thought, Jesus was able to make sense to her in the delusions of her mind. He got past the illness to the heart of the person.
On the drive up highway 93, we knew God was gonna do something big. I was on crutches, another member of the group blew out a disc in her back and was doped on prescription pain pills, and others had serious trouble slam into their families.
As we sang, the Holy Spirit filled the room. It was overwhelming! Pain and trials were forgotten as we tried to sing through tears of Joy from our Savior's presence. When the pastor gave the salvation message, people responded! Person after person after person - in Boulder!
Aside from the immediate family, many of the folks there were mental patients and mental health workers invovled with the woman who passed. NINE people recieved Christ and since have followed up on their commitment though Hope Boulder, the tiny church that held the memorial.
A few weeks earlier, the same weekend the Big Stink happened at MOPS b/c of my Dark Side of Christianity post, Susie had me tag along w/ Psalm 42 to the Mount View juvenile detention facility. I didn't want to go. At that point, I didn't want to join the group b/c I was tired. Wasn't I in the process of clearing my plate of Things To Do?
Half the group was sick, none of the men could sing. Ps 42 was hurtin' for voices, but that didn't matter to the incarcerated teens. The quality of music wasn't great either, that day. But, NINE kids responded to Jesus b/c of the testimony and song of this group. They responded to Susie as she belted out "Shakles" - a Mandisa tune.
In that moment I knew. I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the sound guy and bawled. This is for you. God whispered.
Yesterday, Psalm 42 sang at the Adams County Prison. John and I couldn't go b/c the prison only allowed 8 people in. Susie and Kendall stopped by our house on the way home to tell us all about it. They said God's presence was even more powerful in that max security place than in Boulder. Lives were changed, faith exploded. Prisoners and singers were blessed through three back-to-back concerts.
This coming Saturday, John and I will be part of the group that goes to the prison for the rest of the inmates (they only allow 25 in a room at a time for safety reasons). We can't wait!
But, with ministry comes attack. It's a war. Bad things happen to Ps 42 members - things that should make us bow out of a concert. You know a ministrie's power by the suffering its servants endure.
The director of the group introduces us as broken people mended by Grace. In our group there are testimonies of drug use/abuse, abortion, prison, theft, depression, suicide, suicide attempts, broken marriages, sexual abuse victims, etc. A collection of folks many churchies would brush off as "soiled".
Pray for Ps 42 as we rehearse tonight. Pray for the three or four concerts we'll be doing at the prison. Pray protection over our members. A family was whacked last night by a massive injustice after they ministered. Pray for more opportunities to go into places where few ninistries dare tread. We're trying to get into the immigration prisons to share Christ with illegal aliens waiting for deportation. We're also trying to get into the mental health system to minister to the mentally ill. Pray for my husband's sister, Debbie. She's very much like the woman who died. Pray Jesus can cut through her fog and bring her Hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)