View Blog Entry

Once upon a time, I spent seven years of my life on the same three acres of land.

Doing so wasn't by choice. I was a guest of the State of Florida. The name of the place was Marion Correctional Institution, and it was a maximum-security prison in central Florida.

Never in my life had I been as alone or as much a stranger in a strange land as I was those first couple of years in prison. In prison, there are two sets of rules. One is the rules of the institution, written by the institution and printed up helpfully in a nice handbook that officials give to every inmate. Mostly, it is a list of all the myriad ways an inmate can run afoul of said institution. The other set of rules appears in no handbook. They aren't written anywhere. But knowing these rules are the difference between life and death. The strong survive. The weak die, if not in body, then in spirit, as they succumb to the hell that is life inside prison.

Some find protection in gangs—strength in numbers. Although I was recruited, I resisted. I tried to avoid all the games and distractions that most inmates desperately cling to. I walked my own path, as quietly as I could, while I clung to my Father's promise that I would go home. I wasn't a walking talking Bible-thumping evangelist. That wasn't me. There were guys who were, that acted the part, and it's not upon me to judge their hearts. As Forrest Gump would say: "That's all I have to say about that."

But to say the entire experience was terrible would be a lie. Through God, I found an inner strength I never knew I had. And perhaps strangest of all, in that most unlikely of places, and again through God, I found someone who would become a life-long friend, closer than a brother. Russ's quiet dignity in the face of the overwhelming odds against him was what first caught my eye.

Russ was looking at spending the rest of his life incarcerated. He was a tattooed biker, hard as nails, whose worship of his older brothers had led him to an infamous journey of mayhem across the country. And although we did actually look alike, you couldn't have found two more different people.

Thrown together in a working environment, I realized in time that Russ was different. He had a deep and questing intellect riding on top of those tattoos. And despite all he had been through, Russ was a man of good heart. Over the years, through the trials of living in prison, we formed a lasting friendship. Russ came to know the Lord through our conversations, and I came to know that I could trust Russ completely. And together, watching each other's back, we made it out of that hell.

Through God's grace, we were both given second chances. My original forty-six-year sentence became just seven years, and Russ was proved innocent on appeal. We were released about the same time. Russ made a new life for himself as a long-distance trucker and found a charming and beautiful wife, Connie. This year they will celebrate their twenty-seventh wedding anniversary, and they enjoy their grandchildren in a beautiful home they own. I'd like to think I had a small part in changing Russ's life, but in reality, it was all our loving, forgiving, wonderful Lord.

Today Russ and I remain close friends, trying to visit each other once or twice a year. And I still trust Russ to watch my back, in any situation.

You never know how God may use you, even in the most unlikely of places. Are you living a life that He can use?

(Photo courtesy of pixabay.)

(For more devotions, visit Christian Devotions.)