Jesus Walks...

Before I went to jail, I was told that there would be no outside books brought in.  So the thought of bringing and cookbooks or my GQ magazines was out of the question.  Not that I was completely sure why they would be adverse to bringing in magazines or literature that would help me keep my mind off of the hell I was experiencing from within, but that was the law of the land.  Nothing I could do about that.

However, I could bring a Bible...or some sort of religious text.  Naturally, being of the Christian faith (Baptist) and at the prodding of my family, I carried my Bible on the inside with me, hoping some mystically power from within would help me through my ordeal.

I often found in my short time here on Earth that skepticism and faith cannot exist in the same space.  That we cannot hope without hope, dream without actually having a dream ourselves, or inspire without first having being inspired. 

Those first few days, the words on the tattered pages of a old Christmas gift , held only significance because that was what my grandmother taught me.  She wanted me to believe early that God so loved the world, that he had offered the life of his only son to save fools and followers alike.  Yet, I was trapped, in this cage of granite, having been shackled in the midst of my peers.  The shame, I tell you, was like none I've ever experienced.

Jail.  Prison.  Mental Institutions.  they say that those places are a form of rehabilitation, "correcting" wrongs that can be made right.  But was that through means of serious reflection?  Confinement to the gallows of society where many a man could reach for the worse if no better?

Yet a Bible was all they allowed me to bring in.  My sanity lay in the power of a book that spans millenniums before my birth.  My comfort spelled out in the words of Jesus as he spoke to the people
in hopes of leading them to salvation.

Salvation???  Was I able to be saved???  Was jail God's way of saving me from myself???

I just had to ask.

Was locking me up God's way of keeping me off the street for a while? 

So that I'd not have another night similar to the one when I got arrested...so that instead of being in chains for charges only applicable to my own error in judgement, I wouldn't be facing charges attached to the tag identifying the body of another if not my own?

Often we reach for the redeeming hand of OUR FATHER when we are at our lowest.  I was no exception to the rule.  Flashbacks of the seizures on the cold, floor of the holding cell just a few short months ago.  The friendship of suicide lingering in my ear for but a brief moment.  The chains of judgement that held not only my body captive, but that of my spirit.  I was nothing short of feeling broken.  It wasn't that I had no sense of praising the MOST HIGH before, or that I didn't make efforts to give praise as often as I could (not should), but the clasp of my fingers felt as if superglue had held them together.  I couldn't have prayed any harder or asked for forgiveness more sincere than I had then.

That Thursday, I happened to be browsing through the "library" after  having stomached through a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and some white stuff that looked like grits.  I was looking for something long enough to keep me occupied as I was going to be released the following Friday.  I couldn't say that the book I would pick up was as eye catching as the others, books about Coach K's tips to winning at life or Dr. Myles Munroe's "Releasing Your Potential" (a self-help manifesto regarding the use of our special talents for the glory of God); however, there was a healing power in the spirit of its pages--something I wasn't quite sure I was ready for.

Letters to God was Tyler's story...yet I somehow felt the testament of the young boy in myself.  I hadn't lost my father in a car accident as he had (he and my mother divorced) nor did I have older siblings to whom I looked up to (I'm the oldest).  And I wasn't dying of cancer...

Tyler's unbelievable reach to hearts of the characters in that book--from the drunk postman with whom he became friends to his widowed mother who wanted to have a love of her own again to his neglected older brother who just wanted to grieve in his own way--could not have come at a better time. 

Instead of asking "God, why me,"  I should've focused more on answering "God why not me???"

Often we believe we suffer as a means of punishing our deeds than are less than flattering, never thinking that the true purpose for our lives can be revealed when our faith is in jeopardy.

God's hand had been on me the whole time.  It was through Tyler's bravery through adversity that I could finally feel a hope for my own perseverance through my time.  I was not to question the plan.  HIS grace was sufficient enough.  I share that grace with you through these words:

And he said to me, My grace is sufficient for you: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest on me.

I had finally found my church in the wild...