She was sitting alone, staring into the emptiness of her future. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and she was wearing the authorized prison jacket, stamped boldly on the back: Convict. It wasn’t a day or temperature for a jacket, but perhaps it was her only means of hiding from the misery that had her imprisoned.

The chapel was gradually filling with other prisoners who either came to worship or were seeking a break from the bleak life in the “zone.” I stood at the back of the chapel intentionally greeting and welcoming the striped Sunday attendees for the day. As I scanned the group looking for a seat where God would lead me, the lone blonde still sat isolated at the end of her row. That was my place next to her. I had no doubt.

I spoke with a smile as she scooted her knees to allow me to step into the row. She made no response when I sat in the seat beside her. The first song of the worship service began, and the prison Field Minister asked for everyone to stand and join in the worship of the Savior. I stood; my blonde neighbor didn’t move. As the usual pattern of the service continued, the speaker shared her Scripture reference and asked the audience to turn to Matthew. My neighbor didn’t have a Bible and continued to sit motionless. 

The message was appropriate for the congregation, but my mind would run between the message and praying for the one who was beside me. I knew it wasn’t my imagination; I could sense her despair and hopelessness. It was obvious to me that God wanted me to sense what He knew.

The service ended and before my object of prayers could leave, I turned to her and asked her name. I continued with small talk, knowing most prisoners don’t have much in their past they want to relive. Then I shared how much God loved her and had brought her to this service so we could meet and I could share such wonderful, hope-filled news with her. 

The words engaged her interest, and we continued to talk. Did she have a family? Her dad and mother had died when she was eight and there were no other relations that she knew. A family familiar with her situation took her in, but they were drug addicts. She dropped out of school in the 8th grade to have her first child. A marriage, another child and a divorce followed before she was the age most girls are in their senior year of high school. With a summation of her empty life she said, “Drugs have ruined my family.”

How do you respond to such a plight and tragic past? I did what Jesus would have done if He had sat by her. I shared His love and the new life He could give her. I assured her of His endless, unconditional love and the plans of a bright future he had for her. A special Field Minister came over and I introduced the two. Now my new friend had a godly friend who promised to visit her and help her in this new path.

Before she left, she reached out and gave me a hug of hope and assurance that the enemy had taken from her. The light in her eyes told me a new follower was approaching the Kingdom. 

Once again, I understood the verse that applied to one more in the incarcerated world: “You [the enemy] meant it unto me for evil, but God meant it unto me for good.”

Camille Anding, The Daily Leader, P. O. Box 551, Brookhaven, MS 39602.