Doing the hard things

Obeying the commands in the Bible can often be difficult, but I've always done my best to obey them to the best of my ability. If God says for me to do something, I want to do it. That's why I became part of a prison ministry about 20 years ago. I don't even remember how I was introduced to the program, my mind isn't as sharp now as it was then! What I do remember is the ministry, Saints Prison Ministry, reaching out for volunteers to write inmates. Since I love to write, I figured it'd be a perfect way to help someone else and obey God's command. 

The ministry assigned me "pen pals." Over the years, some of those inmates have been put to death and some are still incarcerated. A few of the inmates stopped corresponding after a note or two but others have kept in touch throughout the entire 20 years. Some have been believers and others have not. Currently, my longest prison relationships are with a male believer and a female Muslim. 

When I first started writing them, I had no idea what to say. I didn't know whether to ask about their sentences or not and I had no idea how they'd respond if I did, so I left it alone. Over time, they did divulge their crimes and I felt honored to be trusted enough to receive that information. I was shocked to find out the male inmate had been sentenced to life without parole for molesting little boys. The female had been sentenced to life for second degree manslaughter. After learning of their crimes, I almost stopped writing them. Their crimes were horrendous and made me sick but then, I heard Jesus whisper in my ear, "Judge not lest ye be judged." So I kept writing. 

The ministry had given us guidelines for our own safety and protection. We weren't to give our real address. We weren't to share very personal information. Basically, we were to keep things generic. We were also given a list of prison rules regarding suitable topics, what we could send through the mail, and that all our correspondence would be read by prison staff and censored. I was thankful for those protections. 

The first few letters were very impersonal. How's the weather there? It's hot here. What do you do during the day to stay busy? Do you have friends or family who visit? I tried to think of things that might segue into other topics and help me get to know them better. It was almost like fishing. My words were the bait. If I threw them out and they were taken, I could gently and slowly reel them in to find a prize on the end - my prize though wasn't a fish, it was a person with thoughts and feelings. And though they'd committed horrible crimes in my eyes, I was reminded that all sin is horrendous in God's eyes.With Him, there are no degrees to sin. A lie is as bad as murder. 

I worked hard at building those relationships. I tried to read between the lines of what they said and didn't say. I could always tell when they were sad or lonely, angry or depressed, feeling rejected or unloved. And I began to truly care about them. 

I can't imagine what it would feel like to have all your freedoms taken away, to be locked up and separated from all you know and love... Even worse, knowing you'd spend the rest of your life behind bars, grow old and die there, it seemed a very long, harsh sentence that was difficult to grasp. 

How many times have we acted without thinking about the consequences? Our little "crimes" may not have warranted sentences like my prison inmates have received, but still, the Bible says God is Omniscient. He sees and knows everything. And one day, we'll stand before Him and give an account for our actions. Of course, as believers, our debt for those crimes has already been paid in full, but I think God will let us see a slow motion movie of the poor choices we made in order to help us understand the depth of our depravity. 

My prisoners, Charles, and Terri, have become long distance friends. I doubt I'll ever get a chance to meet them in person but I hope they've felt loved and cared about through our conversations. 

I thought about stopping all correspondence with them last week. I was tired of buying online postage to write them and it felt more of an obligation than a ministry after all these years. When I mentioned the possibility of stopping to my youngest daughter, she chided me. "Mom, you may be the only person they hear from each day." Wow...I hadn't thought of it that way. 

So today, I sat down and wrote both my inmates long emails. I tried to give them the latest news on my health, our upcoming plans, and so many other things. I tried to imagine how I'd feel if I'd waited all day to hear from a friend and the letter never came. I'd be heartbroken. 

It's sad they don't have much to look forward to, but hopefully, the emails I send bring them a little ray of sunshine on some really dark days.

 

Matthew 25:36 New King James Version (NKJV) - I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.

An Interesting Ministry Opportunity

We received a text late Sunday afternoon telling us about a service project. As soon as the text came in, I felt a tug at my heart strings. The project was to help sanitize a house for a single mother of five. Immediately, I replied, “Count us in!” While I knew it would be a challenging project, I had no idea how challenging it would be.
A few minutes later, I explained to my husband, Phil, that I’d signed us up. He was perfectly fine with it, which I knew he’d be. After 30 years of marriage, we know each other well.
That evening, we pulled out our work clothes, set the alarm so we’d get up early, and went to bed. We knew Monday would be a long, hard day and we needed our rest.

The house we worked on for the family.

I woke up before the alarm and jumped out of bed. I was excited for a chance to work on a worthwhile project. I showered and dressed then quietly went into the kitchen to have my devotional time. Shortly thereafter, Phil got up and put the coffee on.
Before we knew it, it was time to leave. As we drove to the address we’d been given, we made small talk. It was chilly outside, and we were thankful for the heated seat function in our car.
We arrived a few minutes before 10:00 a.m. and were about to pull in the driveway when Vicki walked up and told us it’d be better if we parked below the house in an open area. She mentioned there were nails in the driveway of the house and someone had already gotten a flat. Following her instructions, we moved down the street.
When we walked toward the house, my heart broke. I could tell the house was in worse shape than I imagined. Walking up the ramp, we were greeted by Luke Ayers of Hope Global Initiative. He gave Phi, Vicki, and I a quick briefing about the project and the family situation. Then, he told us where he’d like us to begin work.

The nasty stovetop

Vicki and I started in the kitchen. Luke explained the stove needed our attention.  Both she and I were dumbfounded by
what we found – the stove was encrusted in grease, dead roaches, and other buildup for years of neglect.
We did our best to clean it, but it was hard without running water. (A pipe had apparently frozen during the night leaving us to rely on 2 buckets of water Vicki had managed to collect.) I was so thankful we’d brought gloves. As we tried various cleaning products, eventually, we managed to release some of the grime.
While we were working on the stove, Denise was working on the tub, Phil was scraping the old wood tiles from the floor, Gary was assessing the plumbing situation, Dennis was working on other projects, and Luke was overseeing the team.

While we worked, we were reminded God’s immense blessings in our lives. Here we were, doing our best to be the hands and feet of Jesus, and that’s when I heard the Holy Spirit whisper to my heart – “Why are you really here?” Without saying a word, I thought about it. Why was I here? Was it just something to do? Did I want praise for joining in on a service project? What was the real reason? It didn’t take long for me to find my answer. I knew God had me there to understand how often and how easily I take many simple things in life for granted.

Filthy mattresses they slept on

As our team kept working, I noticed how focused each one was on their specific job. As I walked through the house, I took photos. I wanted to remember the squalor but also wanted to be remind how God wants us to serve others. Each member of our team was working for God’s glory, not for our own. It didn’t matter how many dead roaches were on the floor or how many spider webs or spiders were hanging from the ceiling. This family had been living here. They needed a clean, safe place to live.

I was amazed to see how they’d adapted to the conditions of the home. Things we’d normally be appalled by, they’d just accepted.

Little things hit me hard – a package of diapers on top of a nasty dresser, a football medal hung from a nail on the wall of a room without heat, a teen Bible covered in live roaches atop a shelf. They were doing the best they could with what they had.

A pack of new diapers in filth

The team leader from Hope Global explained to me that they’d had to remove so many of the family’s possessions because of their horrible condition, leaving them with only a few bags of clothing and some small possessions. He told me his organization had already reached out to
Habitat for Humanity for added help and he’d secured some good furniture and other items for the family.

I asked to be shown a photo of the family we were helping. I wanted to see their faces so I could pray for them. When Denise showed me their picture, I had to work hard to keep from crying. I was thankful I’d put on waterproof mascara this morning because I knew I’d probably cry over something and didn’t want to look like a raccoon.

It was a beautiful family. They were all happy and smiling in the photo even though they’d been through such tragic circumstances. I found out they’d originally lived in an apartment that had burned, then had moved into a home that was destroyed by the EF4 hurricane that hit Newnan in 2021. In dire need of housing, they found a place to stay through the Hope Global Initiative, but that home needed a lot of TLC due to the negligence of the previous owner who’d been an elderly man with a hoarding habit. Luke Ayers, of Hope Global Initiative, had become the landlord of the property and was doing his best to help this family use the home as temporary shelter until their application for subsidized housing was approved. Right now, according to Ayers, they’re number 5 on the list.

Luke Ayers, Hope Global

The team from Hope Global along with the hard-working members of our class, want this family to know God’s deep love for them. According to Luke, two of the older boys have accepted Christ as their Lord and Savior. If memory serves correctly, those two boys are twins.

The family

The children, aged 15-4, have a Mama who loves them dearly and is doing her best to support her family. She doesn’t make much money and must work long hours. Will you commit to pray for them in the future? Not only for their safety in this temporary shelter, but that God would make a way for them to be approved for housing quickly and for all of them to come to a saving knowledge of our Lord?

Our Sunday school class has recently been named Seekers, but while we were working, Vicki came up with a good idea – she said we should be called Seekers and Servers! I kind of like that idea! We should always seek those who are lost and seek to do the Lord’s will, but we should also be willing to serve in whatever role He’s blessed us to do. He supplies opportunities every day. We don’t have to go to a foreign country. Our mission field is in our backyards.

These days there are so many struggling. We need to pray and ask God how we can be a blessing to others. As we seek His will, I know He’ll show us what to do.

My prayer is that we’ll light a fire under our church. We can be a tiny spark that ignites Unity to band together to shine God’s light to all the community.

Thank you, Gary and Denise, for spreading the word about this need to us. It was our honor to serve alongside you, Dennis, Vicki, and the Hope Global Initiative team today.

My reminder

Before we left to go home, I got one last reminder from God. As I walked through a bedroom, I saw a plaque on a dresser. It said, “I am truly blessed.” In my heart, I shouted, “Yes, Lord! I get it! I am truly blessed beyond measure.”

Solo Deo Gloria! (May God alone be praised!)

***************************************

One of the Bibles 

A few more photos: 

This Bible was on a dresser in one of the bedrooms. It had roaches crawling on it. It made me so sad, but I was thankful someone had given the boys a Bible. 

The large garbage bags are filled with the only "usable" clothing the family had. There were only a couple of toys for the little boy. I hope Habitat can help provide replacements for all the things they lost. 

The photo of the plaque with the handprints was on the wall in the Mom's bedroom. You could tell she really treasures her family. 

Their only possessions are in these bags.

The kid's handprints

The Joy of Being Accepted

Last year, we visited a neighborhood church. We hadn't been in the community long and were hoping to find some godly, like minded people. We prayed and asked God where He'd have us to go. He led us to Unity Baptist Church.

On our first Sunday visiting Unity, we met a lovely couple. There was an immediate bond between Cindy and I. It was too overwhelming to describe and clear evidence that God had ordained the relationship. As we grew to know Cindy and her husband, Dave, we learned they were part of a motorcycle ministry called F.A.I.T.H. Riders. They were kind enough to invite us to participate in some of the events, which we did. We were pleased to be accepted so quickly and to be welcomed into the F.A.I.T.H. Riders community so readily. Our acceptance was unique since neither my husband nor I own a motorcycle and neither of us ride. We knew this had to be part of God's plan. It became more clear as months passed and we watched His plan unfold.

I feel like I need to give you a little history here. I've always had a heart for bikers. Perhaps it's the rebel side of me from my youth or perhaps it's the adventure and freedom biking affords, I'm not sure which, but it really doesn't matter. I've always loved bikes and I've always loved riding. If anyone offered me a ride, I accepted. I've been on the back of Kawasakis, Suzukis, Hondas, and Yamahas. I've been on raggedy dirt bikes and lush comfy Goldwings. It didn't matter what type of bike, I loved them all, but I was never brave enough to learn to ride one on my own.

As I expressed my desire to love and support the F.A.I.T.H. Riders group, I was encouraged to do so but how could I do it? How could a non-biker relate to full time bikers? I prayed and asked God how I could help. He prompted me to offer my administrative skills and my gift of encouragement. I didn't know it at the time, but the Director of the Unity Baptist F.A.I.T.H. Riders had been praying and asking God for help with those very things!

As I talked with the Director and shared my heart, it was as if a landslide of ideas began to pour forth. We collaborated and began to work on finding ways to minister to the bikers in our area. Our efforts started out small but began to blossom and grow. God has used my willingness to be part of the group to not only bless me, but to bless others.

I am so grateful to be a part of the Unity Baptist F.A.I.T.H. Riders. They are a wonderful group of men and women who love the Lord. As I've watched them interact with each other, I've learned a lot. There is a special bond between bikers and a beautiful code of respect their share.

Although I don't know how to drive a motorcycle, I've always loved riding on the back of someone else's bike. There's no greater experience than feeling the wind in your face, the sun on your back, and freedom from worry and care. Those feelings have been magnified for me since having been diagnosed with breast cancer.

Three years ago, I thought my life was over. I was told I had stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma breast cancer. The cancer had not only invaded my breast, it had traveled to my lymph nodes. At 56, I prepared to die. But God in His magnificent grace, gave me a second chance. Instead of allowing me to go through the trauma of chemotherapy, debilitating illness, and eventually death, He allowed me to live! Now I'm not going to sugar coat the past 3 years and make them seem like they were a piece of cake, because they have been the most difficult years of my life, but I know He had more for me to do and that's why I'm still here. Cancer made me realize how precious each moment can be and that I'd taken a lot in life for granted. That's where F.A.I.T.H. Riders came in...

The F.A.I.T.H. Riders have filled a need in my life. They're not just a passing fancy or a weekend hobby, they've become a vital part of my life's ministry. I find joy being able to pray for the special needs of the members. I look forward to waking up in the morning and writing mini-devotionals for their Facebook page. I am honored to be able to maintain and update their blog. And although I'm not a REAL biker, I've been accepted into their group.

Today, as we went to lunch, I wore my F.A.I.T.H. Riders leather vest with my colors. This was the first time I'd felt I had the right to wear my vest in public. As we entered the restaurant, I was proud to have the F.A.I.T.H. Riders logo emblazoned across my back. I was prepared and ready should anyone have questions about the group or my faith. Of course, Satan did his best to take away my joy. A fellow rider questioned why I was wearing the vest since I'm not a rider. At that very moment, my heart sank and I felt ashamed. I wanted to run out to my car, slip off the vest, and pretend I'd never worn it, but then...I felt God speak to my spirit and affirm that I did indeed have the right to wear the colors. I was a vital part of the ministry even if I didn't ride. He reminded me of all the hours I'd spent praying for each member, all the hours I'd agonized over planning material for the blog or the devotionals, and how He'd been using me to reach out to others. No, I wasn't a rider and I didn't pretend to be, but I did love them and I needed to be part of them.

A couple of months ago, I was on a ride with one of the bikers. Comfortably seated on the back of a Honda Valkyrie, we'd traveled the back roads of South Georgia. We covered 100 miles that day and my heart was full. One thing that touched me as we rode was the biker wave. I'd never paid much attention to it in all my years of riding with others until that day. As we rode, we'd pass other riders. As we approached, each driver stuck out their hand in a low wave. But it was more than a wave. It was a symbol of respect and camaraderie. It was a brotherhood. The riders were complete strangers and yet, they gave honor to the other rider. That spoke volumes to me. Shouldn't all of us be as gracious?

Many people look at bikers with disrespect. They judge them by their appearance. They assume they're roughnecks, foul talkers, and bar hoppers, and while there are some bikers who definitely fall into those categories, I assure you the F.A.I.T.H. Riders do not. These men and women live to a higher standard. Wherever they go, they represent Christ. They are His representatives and they want the world to know it. No, I'm not a biker, but I'm sure proud to be part of a group of riders. Maybe my gifts are small and maybe they go unnoticed, but I'd like to think I'm worthy of receiving the biker wave, at least in my dreams.