Devotion Apart

by Davin Bradley

  "Your circumstances may seem bleak, guys," I started, "but God is still in control."

  As I had taught natives in the rainforest, I started in Genesis and shared the record of creation and the fall of man. Occasionally, we wrote down a verse on the paper Uso had rounded up. What I scribbled down, they copied, so that they each compiled a brief outline of Bible principles and verses. In time, I would get them Bibles, even if I had to smuggle them in, but right now, the truth needed to pierce their hopeless souls.

  Within an hour, others in the dayroom who'd enjoyed the slap challenge demonstration moved closer to stand and listen. Their arms were crossed, but God has a way of reaching past stubborn hearts when a person's need is great. So, I raised my voice louder, and by the second hour, I'd invited five more to join us at the benches, pens in their hands.

  The Greek didn't join us, but I glanced up every few minutes to see him leaning over the railing of the upper tier, listening to the history of man, of Israel, and of God's revealed truth through His chosen people.

  As I spoke, I emphasized the hopelessness of mankind in all their efforts, so that these hard men were indeed communicated the whole counsel of God. I was not introducing to them merely some deity who loved them in their sin, but of a Savior who had died to defeat sin and death, because sin and selfishness were too terrible to be defeated any other way.

  That night, Uso and I were exhausted, and we spoke very little as we bedded down after a short prayer. Without being asked, he took one of his two mattresses and set one on my empty bunk. I laid down facing the wall, and fell asleep with tears in my eyes. The truth was changing men's lives forever. Sure, this wasn't the plan I had had for Devotion, but it was beautiful regardless!

  On that Monday morning after chow, we had just sat down at the benches for another Bible lesson when the wall speaker called me to report to the conference room.

  "It's not a conference room," Uso stated to me as I gathered my papers. "It's an interrogation room. You want me to call your friend on the streets? There's more than one phone in this block."

  "No thanks." I zipped up my jumpsuit. "My friend is probably behind this already."

  But at the front door, the two familiar officers appeared, and the previous Saturday's beating returned to my mind. This time, they were in uniform, and their name tags read Pollard, who was the bald one, and Hernandez, who was the Hispanic with dimples.

  "Walk," Pollard ordered. "Hands behind your back."

  I clasped my hands behind my back and walked where they directed me, until we arrived in a back room with no cameras. A single chair in the center of the room awaited me, and I was pressed by the shoulders to sit backward in the chair.

  Hernandez stood in front of me, legs spread, and arms crossed. His dimples seemed to contrast with his frown, as if he couldn't make up his mind to smile or pout. Pollard stood behind me.

  "We don't believe in wasting time," Hernandez said. "You brought heroin into our jail. Cop to it, and this can be over."

  "If you looked at the videotape—" I started to say.

  From behind, Pollard smacked me on the back of the head, hard enough to cause me to bite my tongue mid-sentence.

  "There is no video," Hernandez said. "It's our word against yours. We'd like you to think about what it means to be in our house. We're going to do whatever it takes to make you sign this confession."

  He held up a typed paper so I could read it. It contained two paragraphs, all lies. I understood they needed a signed confession to conclude the case they'd built against me. Since I'd been busy preaching and teaching in the jail, I hadn't been preoccupied with my personal problems. Now, I was trying to think of a way out.

  "I made a phone call," I said. "I'm going to be released tomorrow."

  "Who told you that?' Hernandez laughed. "We just came from the district attorney's office, and you're being arraigned tomorrow."

  "If I'm arraigned tomorrow, I'm pretty sure you two will be arrested. I might be wrong, but I think this conversation is being recorded."

  "No, it isn't." Hernandez glanced about the room. "Do you see any recording equipment in here?"

  "We're done playing games with you, Dalton." Pollard jabbed his knuckles into my shoulder. "Sign the confession. Now."

  When I hesitated, Hernandez punched me hard in the face and I fell backward off the chair. As my eyes watered, I lay on my back and fought despair. Maybe I was alone in this dreadful place. Maybe Craig wasn't monitoring my situation. He could be sleeping or unaware I had left the cell block. Maybe God had stepped back, and He was allowing this valley of the shadow of death to test me.

  Pollard knelt next to me and gripped my neck. He applied pressure, and stopped just short of choking me. Although my hands were free, I knew better than to fight back.

  "Are you going to sign the confession?" Pollard asked, maintaining his grip on my throat.

  I was wondering how long God wanted me to hold out under such abuse, when my eyes dropped to the equipment on Pollard's belt. Maybe I wasn't as cornered as I'd thought. As God had used me to reach violent tribes, Hernandez and Pollard needed to be placed in a position where they could receive mercy.

  While Pollard was focused on me answering his questions, he didn't notice as my right hand reached past his elbow. As a correctional officer, he carried a telescoping baton and a can of pepper spray. My fingers found the can's nozzle and trigger. I tilted it upward and forced down the lever. A stream of orange fluid shot from the nozzle and hit Hernandez full in the face. The mist of the spray alone immediately choked my throat and contracted my sinuses.

  Pollard leaped backward, ripping the pepper spray from my hand. He tried to secure his can as the lever remained stuck on spray. I rolled to my knees and crouched. With a firm left, I jabbed into his rib cage under his right arm. His face froze like stone, eyes staring, his breathing checked. Even his hands stopped moving where he'd been fumbling with the spray can.

  Blood leaked from my nostrils from Hernandez's punch, and mucous clogged my throat from the spray. I climbed to my feet and shoved Hernandez to the floor. From the back of his belt, I drew handcuffs and cuffed his wrists behind his back as he tried to recover. Before either man could catch his breath, I cuffed Pollard as well. Then I manhandled their bodies so that they both lay flat on their bellies, with me standing between them.

  Suddenly, Hernandez's phone rang once, then stopped. After a few seconds, it rang again, and I answered it.

  "You're about sixty seconds too late," I said.

  "Sorry." Craig sounded far too casual for the situation. "I was doing background checks on Pollard and Hernandez. They've been abusing inmates for years."

  "Not surprising."

  "What's your situation?" Craig asked. "I only have audio in that room, unless you turn the phone around."

  I showed him the room and my subjects.

  "Call Officer Grahm," I said. "Tell him where I am. Can you put a package together with the video of the visiting mess, and go ahead and check me out of this hotel? Get it to the DA, and that should do it."

  "I've already got a file ready, along with several assaults by those two. I can probably have you out before dinner, unless you want me to apply more leverage?"

  "No, just let Grahm know for now," I said. "I'm not trying to cause attention. I wanted to interact with the prisoners until tomorrow, but this puts a wrinkle in our plans."

  "Not my plans!" Craig scoffed. "You have better things to do than hang out in a jail."

  I frowned, realizing that even after all of my efforts in Devotion, which Craig had witnessed, he still wasn't grasping how eternal matters took priority over temporal matters.

  Done with the phone, I set it on the floor in the corner where the camera had a panoramic view of the room. Then, I set a hand on Pollard's back.

  "Neither of you are in any position to respond, so just listen." I placed my other hand on Hernandez, so they could both feel my presence. "I'm no one special, but I serve whole-heartedly a pow
erful God who has placed in my hands the ability to lift up or tear down. Both of you need some tearing down, and it sounds like we have enough on you two to get you fired—at the very least."

  "You're undercover?" Pollard gasped. "Are you Internal Affairs?"

  "A cop? No, I'm not a cop, but I am undercover, just not in the sense you're thinking. Now, listen to me very carefully. What's about to follow is going to be very trying on your lives. But you'll make it, if you humble yourselves and accept the consequences for your sins. At any time, you can cry out to God, and in an instant of faith, you will find that He is willing to forgive you, if you understand your need and believe in Jesus Christ's sacrifice. Otherwise, there is no hope for either of you."

  A light knock sounded on the door. I unlocked it and opened it an inch. Officer Grahm's pockmarked face pressed into the opening. Behind him were a handful of other state police, all armed. I recognized a couple of their faces from the slap challenge. Grahm had brought the big guns.

  "They tried to pressure me into signing a bogus confession." I opened the door wider, revealing the two cuffed men on their bellies. "Can you arrest them?"

  "That's what I'm here for." Grahm smiled. "I'm learning that when you call, my job security goes up. What am I gonna do with you? I didn't even know you were in jail!"

  "Put me back in the cell block. My release is being arranged as we speak. I'm not finished here yet."

  Grahm moved into the room.

  "Get these dirt bags down to booking," Grahm ordered the deputies. He took me by the arm. "You look shot-out, Dalton. You're lucky they didn't kill you before I got here."

  The deputies gave Grahm free reign as he escorted me back to my cell block.

  "You're okay from here?" he asked as the block door buzzed open.

  "I'm fine." I backed into the room. "I'll be in touch."

  "Yeah." He shook his head. "I don't doubt it."

  I watched through the Plexiglas as he walked away. A lot had changed since we had faced each other the first time. Someday, we would have a heart-to-heart about his eternal destiny.

  When I turned around to face the block, I surveyed everyone as they stared back at me. A couple days earlier, I had stood in that same spot and faced them as strangers. Now I faced them as the mixed group of believers and uncertain men they'd become. Christ was tearing down barriers.

  "What happened to you, Cord?" Uso stepped toward me. "You look like you just got stomped out again. Wasn't that the same cop from the challenge?"

  "Yeah, but we're cool now." I laughed and felt my swollen face. Blood from my nose had soaked the front of my jumpsuit. "Would you believe he and I just won another challenge? Gather everyone, Uso. I have an announcement."

  Believers and nonbelievers came to us at the benches of the dayroom. Uso stood next to me, his hand on my arm supporting me. The rest stood nearby, most of them with postures that showed they were skeptical of what I had to say next. The Greek was the only one missing from the group. He stood on the tier above, critically gazing down at me.

  "The few days I've spent with you has touched my life," I said softly. "Some of you were not receptive to what I had to share about Jesus Christ. Most of you just wanted to learn how to get slapped without blinking."

  They chuckled lightly.

  "Those of you who have taken a step of faith and believed, you already know the hope that rises above even a life sentence in this place. And because you're part of the family of God now, I'm taking your names with me to the streets, and godly men and women will be writing you, discipling you, and praying for you. You're not alone."

  I prayed for them aloud, a short prayer, asking for God's grace and enlightenment on them all. When I lifted my head, I expected the men to scatter as they had the day before. Instead, I sensed a yearning, as if the very prayer I had prayed was already being answered. As much as I wanted to get alone with Uso and the other believers for a few final minutes, I couldn't deny the hurting souls who gazed eagerly for more.

  "You don't need me to live new lives for Jesus Christ," I said to the melancholy faces. "I was once a lost soul, looking for fulfillment in every selfish thing. One day, a kind man helped me see my deepest need, and I confessed I was a sinner. If you come to Jesus Christ, God in the flesh, and admit your need for forgiveness, He promises to receive you, no matter your past."

  They glanced sheepishly at one another. Then, one white supremacist gestured with his hand.

  "I want what you're talking about," he said, "but my whole life, I was raised to hate the Jews. Wasn't Jesus a Jew?"

  "Yeah, Jesus was Jewish. That was His human bloodline. Prejudice is one method of rebellion that Satan uses to keep people from moving into the only salvation from sin's penalty that exists. If you're stranded in the ocean, do you care what nationality or skin color the captain of the rescue boat might have? Of course not. If you need saving, you're grabbing onto the Savior. Forget what other drowning swimmers may say to criticize. Salvation is for those who accept the hand of the lowly Savior, not for those who listen to the drowning."

  After that, no question was withheld. One after another, they asked and I did my best to answer. Since I wouldn't see most of them again in this life, I wanted them equipped with the tools to move confidently into the aggressive and ruthless atmosphere of prison without flinching in their faith.

  When I left around noon, most of us embraced. A gang of hardened convicts had become an army of humble Christians. The Greek was one, however, who refused to even shake my hand upon my departure. Sadly, some who are drowning still refuse their Savior.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Monday I was released from county jail, Officer Grahm and Detective Fletcher walked with me to my Jeep, which was still parked in the garage across the street. Grahm had recovered my satchel with my few belongings inside.

  "I'm just saying," Fletcher shouted, even though he was at my side, "you could've called me, Cord!"

  "I know that, Fletcher." We reached my Jeep. I shook both of their hands. "Look at it from my point of view. You both have different skills. I value you both for different reasons. And I definitely don't want to take advantage of either of your positions. If the last month is any indication of how much I'll still be relying on you, then brace yourselves. I hope that's okay."

  "Hey, if it keeps me on track for a promotion," Grahm chuckled, "then you can call me day or night. I'll be governor in a year at this rate."

  "Drive safely, Cord." Fletcher's frustration saturated his voice. "I'll call you later."

  From the jail, I drove to my father's house. When he opened the door and let me in, he showed me a new fishing pole and talked for ten minutes about it before he noticed my battered face. When he finally asked about it, I described my whole weekend. His fishing pole was set aside as he sat on his cluttered sofa, and I was blessed to share with him about God's mighty work in the jail.

  "You could sue 'em for millions!" Dad said.

  "You're right. I could." I sipped at a warm soda he'd given me. "But I think I'd be missing out on what God is doing if I focused on how I was mistreated. This world is broken, Earl, and we join its brokenness when we chase after fairness for our own sake. If you and I find contentment in who God is and what He provides, we'll never need to seek retribution. Justice is good to go after, but just because we can do something doesn't mean we should."

  "You sure view things differently." He frowned. "I wish I saw things that way."

  "You can, Earl, starting right now. If you're ready to trust God and turn from your sin, He promises in the Bible to give you a new heart and begin to renew your mind. Are you ready to take that step of faith with your life?"

  "I. . .sort of like things the way they are, as long as we can go fishing once in a while."

  "I see." Discouragement touched my heart for a moment, but I couldn't give up hope. I set the soda aside. "I have a friend who thinks he knows who killed your daughter, Cora. I'm going to check it out, but there's some danger involved.
"

  His eyes gazed afar off.

  "I remember Cora. She made good peanut butter and cucumber sandwiches."

  "Yeah, she did." I rose to my feet and set a hand on his shoulder. "I'll see you in another day or two, okay?"

  "We'll go fishing?" His eyes brightened.

  "Next time I'm here, we'll plan our next fishing trip. Deal?"

  From my dad's place, I went to the duplex on the lake.

  "Oh, Cord!" Karen's trembling hands first went to her mouth, then she reached for me. "Get in here. What happened? Here, sit on this chair in the kitchen, and lean your head back in this lighting."

  "I'm fine, Karen," I said, but didn't resist her doting.

  "Talia!" Karen called, and the Brazilian woman came from the living room. "Get me a clean towel and warm water. Cord's gone and made a mess of his face."

  "She keeps talking to me like I understand her," Talia said in Portuguese to me, then moved aside as Karen fetched first aid items herself. "Does that hurt?"

  I flinched when she touched my cheek.

  "Yeah. When you do that it does." I chuckled. "How're things here?"

  "Stop talking and hold still!" Karen forced my head back, then she dabbed at my face with a wet towel.

  "It looks worse than it is."

  "Yeah? Then why don't you hold still?"

  Surrendering to her treatment, I listened as Talia shared about the English and Bible lessons she was learning through Portuguese internet sites that Karen had found for her.

  "I never knew the Bible had all this in it," Talia admitted. "Now, we're both trying to get Ruth to learn about God."

  "How is Ruth coming along?" I asked Karen in English.

  "It took her four miserable days to kick that junk, but she's coming around. It'll take time for her body to recover. Hold still, Cord! You men are such babies when it comes to pain. Hopefully, some of the resumes Ruth filled out will bear fruit. She's never held a real job, but I'm teaching her what I can. Talia is amazing with her, even though they don't speak the same language. There. Your face just needs time. There's no permanent damage."