That Was One Deep Pothole

Prison Neighbors, Commissary, and Dragon Tattoos

Desperation can set your soul on fire. I was desperate, so I….. Five words most often used to explain some bonehead thing we’ve done. In our desperation we often question why God allows suffering in our lives, but perhaps we have to finish that sentence in order to gain some insight. Maybe that terrible desperation is intended to push us to the place where the next words are….. sought you or surrendered. Especially considering God’s ultimate objective isn’t our comfort but our companionship. 

There is no question that suffering sucks pretty bad from a today perspective, but sometimes we need to be in desperate straits to see the hope that’s right in front of us. I wouldn’t wish prison on my worst enemy but there is no denying God used it to educate and change me.

For example, I didn’t know that I needed to seek God to find Him. Am I the only one who missed that class? A lifetime in and out of church and suddenly I find that I need to do more than confess and be saved. Go figure!

In fairness, maybe I heard it and didn’t pay any attention, but still….why don’t we hear it shouted from the rooftops. Or maybe I’m just super passionate about it because it was such a game changer for me.

Now I’m not saying a moment at the altar can’t lead to a changed life, it just didn’t for me. Of course, I was a difficult case and I imagine God got pretty exasperated with me at times. For whatever reason, I could never seem to get God out of the church and into my life. In the past I would commit myself with great intentions, drive right into the gates of Heaven, and then immediately put my car in park. Going no further and therefore growing no roots. With no roots, pretty soon my car was rolling right back out of the gate. Read your Bible, Jesus tells a much better story about not growing roots.

So when I found myself in prison and desperate, it was more than enough to send me running after God. But even so, attempting to connect with God is no easy feat in an overcrowded prison. Every night the place sounded like a Latin American nightclub. Quiet time was……….. problematic.

And unsolicited advice seemed to echo from every corner. My cellmate volunteered that he could save me some time since he’d already read the Bible and had concluded that it couldn’t be true. But considering he’d made a career out of robbing banks, I figured he’d lost interest in the second chapter when God said, “Thou shall not steal”. Then there was my next door neighbor who claimed to have a divinity degree but I found it hard to trust a theologian who had dragon tattoos over every inch of his body. I wondered if he’d read Revelation because the dragon is definitely not one of the good guys! 

But I persisted, and as I read my Bible and got up early to catch quiet moments with God, a strange thing happened. I began to want to know more about Him. I believe He’s pleased with our earnest efforts, no matter how feeble they may be. That wanting became a fervent desire to know Him better and that gift is one of the greatest I’ve ever received. This reward for seeking God was a wonderful surprise to me and I imagined a smooth highway stretching out in front of me.

Then I hit the pothole!

That wonderfully smooth highway seemed to buckle in front of me after God let me know that the price for admission to His party is well……everything. Your entire life!

The Bible described a core change, a life completely centered around Jesus. Every decision, every action, and every word endorsed by Him. That just seemed absurd, not to mention impossible, until I read that He will do the changing but the initial steps must be yours. 

At this point, I was most definitely enthusiastic about Jesus, but the truth is, I secretly hoped He would turn into a genie and get me out of prison. I had it all reasoned out….prison had pushed me to seek Jesus, and now that I’d found Him, surely there was no reason to keep me in this nightmare any longer. 

Then He brings up this complete surrender stuff and I started wondering what I’d gotten myself into. Now I know what your thinking, a guy who had lost everything and was sitting in prison should have no problem surrendering. And I didn’t, until He put complete before surrender. Who knew what He might ask me to do? I would learn later that sometimes obedience means bad things for you but good things for others. Sounds a lot like Jesus, doesn’t it?  

But back then, complete surrender flew in the face of everything I’d ever known. 

My agonizing over this may seem melodramatic but I’d already gotten the message that He wasn’t asking me again (see previous post - Entertaining Angels). Plus, it was kind of a big deal since it was a promise to God! In the end, it came down to trust. The Bible says that God is sovereign over this world and everything that happens to me is for my ultimate good. But did I trust Him enough to follow when everything around me looked like a dumpster fire? 

Turns out I didn’t! 

Maybe it was my pride or short roots or just plain disbelief, but I couldn’t do it. Not completely. In the end, I invited God to take over the living room of my life and told Him we’d get to the bedroom and the basement later. 

God politely listened to this hybrid surrender I’d concocted and then went about setting things in motion to get what He wanted. Over the next three years, every time I turned around there was some obstacle forcing me to make a decision between my will and His will. Each submission seemed to bring me one step closer to that dreaded complete surrender. 

One of those obstacles arose when I couldn’t stop wondering how in the world He expected me to love my neighbors. Surely He didn’t mean my………prison neighbors! Not the convicted felon who can’t vote but still shouts political commentary to the TV every morning at 6am. Seeing my struggles, a Christian friend brought up the idea of not trying to feel love for them but instead trying to demonstrate love for them. His idea was to place my commissary list at the bottom of the stack. 

As soon as he said it, I groaned inside. 

For all you non felons, commissary was your once a week, grocery and everything else shopping trip. Picture Walmart with one cashier and 200 people in line. Every week you got a list of things in stock, you checked what you wanted, and then put your list in a stack that got picked up the day before you shopped. Now the people working in the commissary weren’t very imaginative and generally went from top to bottom, which meant that the list on the bottom, checked out last. And being last mean’t that you stood outside the commissary building from 5:30 in the morning until well into the afternoon. All while getting eaten up by mosquitos in the summer, freezing in the winter, and dripping rain in the spring. Fall was nice!

Can you see why I groaned? If you were last, they might not even get to you that day and you’d have to start over the next morning. And even though my very Christian friend volunteered to put his list at the bottom with me, it was crazy hard to do each week. But we did and oddly, the only time I went last was the very first week. After that, I inexplicably began getting called earlier and earlier. Sometimes God just wants to see if you'll do what He asked!

It was three years before I’d finally had enough.

My complete, irrevocable surrender and how He finally got me there is another story, but if I could do it all again, I’d give up the very first day. I endured a lot of heartache over those three years and I believe much of it could have been avoided. And isn’t that the greatest tragedy of all, what your life would look like if you’d followed from day one. 

Make today your day one!