Children and Poetry

Yesterday I had the JOY of speaking to a group of 6th graders at St. Paul Christian School. A close friend of mine teaches there and asked me to come and share my heart with her students. Those kids were so attentive as I spoke about the journey that God took me on which led me into prison ministry. If we can plant seeds in our young believers about how God loves ALL people - right where they are - we will fan the flames of faith. Love wins. Prayer works and only GOD can fix broken people.

I had the pleasure of meeting two other 6th grade teachers who work with my friend, Susan. Just like Susan, Kay and Richard have hearts that beat for their students. They want those children to love God and care about people. How refreshing and beautiful! Work God will reward.

Richard shared a poem with me that was in "The Contributor" (a newspaper put out by homeless folks in town). I wanted to share it with you all as I found it to be powerful and so very real. You know I love me some real! And I love my girls in prison - in the middle of their mess - I love them. Because I know all about mess. I've made plenty that Jesus had to clean up. Thank the LORD for GRACE!

Strive to avoid being passive about your faith.
Strive to redeem the time and the opportunities given.
Then RUN your RACE! No one else can run it for you!

Prayer for a Prisoner
by Leslie Collins
Prison Doctor

I know you, but call you friend
only to myself;
and this prayer, too, must be only with myself.
I have read your history of cigarette burns to your baby flesh,
of being passed from mother to cousin to neighbor;
that you no longer celebrate Christmas at home
with fireplaces, presents, children,
or have a Cocker Spaniel curled in your lap
or open a refrigerator for a late night snack.
You don't dream of the next date,
go through the McDonald's drive-thru,
invite friends out for pizza,
or choose your food,
your glasses,
your clothing.
You can't stand under trees (I'm so sorry!),
or see colors other than denim blue.
You cut yourself with anything you can find.
I wish you knew that I am not unfamiliar with self-inflicted wounds.
You put yourself in prison, believing that this was what you deserved.
To say to you now
that a man died on a cross for you
2000 years away
seems trite (Forgive me!).

My prayer is that you will live.
My prayer is that the old story will redeem it all.
Or my prayer is to understand how the story's not so far away
or that we will both be forgiven and free
or
that I will be able to pray at all in the face of such sadness,
such unredeemed loss!
Or it may be that, unable to pray, I can only say
another human being has witnessed your sorrow
and has mourned for you,
and that surely I am not the most tender-hearted being in the universe.

Amen.