Easter passed with no changes. The hardest thing Jessi ever had to do was pull the plug. It was early in May that she sat by her son and watched him breathe his last breath. Tears coursed their way down her cheeks as she said good-bye. Aunt Merry sat by her side and held her hand. She too wept.
Ethan was buried in the Oaklawn Cemetery. His tombstone simply read:
Ethan Richard Jensen
January 27, 1994 – May 6, 2000
Beloved Son
Chapter 3
Meredith Duvall opened the door for the first of her guests. Well, really she called them friends, but anyone who graced her door was treated like a guest. One by one, Caroline, Betsy, Mabel, Judy, and Georgina all made their way into Meredith’s dining room. First, they spent time catching up with one another and what was happening in their lives and the lives of their children. Snacks were shared, and tea was poured for a time of fellowship. Soon a quietness settled upon all of the ladies, and they made their way to the living room. Each woman retreated to her own private prayer closet, whether it was kneeling by the sofa or sitting upright in a chair because of arthritis. It didn’t matter, as God knew each heart and where each woman was coming from. They had been meeting for years together to pray. A couple of their original prayer partners had gone home to be with the Lord. A few new ones were added. God brought them in, and God took them home. While it was in some ways sad, they all knew where their final destination would be and they all longed for the day when they would be told, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
In the meantime, they all had a purpose here on earth, and praying together in one accord they saw many miracles happen. Most of the time, their prayer hour was a quiet time. Sometimes one or more of the women would pray out loud, wanting the backing prayers of the whole group. Most of their petitions remained the same, for the miracles usually didn’t happen overnight. They certainly happened; they just took time. When a woman entered the group, she added her unsaved loved ones’ names to the prayer list. This prayer list was their main goal. They didn’t pray for things that would pass away; they prayed for the things which would not pass away.
Before Ethan had gone to his heavenly home, Meredith had been sorely tempted to deviate from their normal order of things to pray for his healing, not that she didn’t do this in her own prayer time (as did many of the other women). But long ago this particular time was set aside for the saving of souls. She already knew that little Ethan, should he die, would be waiting for her with the Father. That little guy had more faith than most adults she knew. She would never understand the ways of God, and what was done was done. So all of her efforts went into praying for Jessi and Mark. Her patience was beginning to wane, and she needed the strength of her fellow prayer warriors to help build her up.
Meredith loved music, and knowing the power there was in worship, she began to sing. “I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice, to worship You, oh my soul, rejoice…” All the ladies joined in. Their voices lifted as one unified voice in worship to their heavenly Father. One song led to another, then another. Each song was a powerful expression of love to their creator. Gradually, the music faded and the prayers began.
Kneeling on her favorite chair, she began to pray out loud. “Dear Father, I love you, Lord. Oh, how I love you. You know my heart’s cry, even before I speak it out loud. Lord, you know it. Even so, Lord, you have made me a promise, and I am here to respectfully ask for that promise to be fulfilled. I love that girl. She was the daughter that I could never have. I practically raised her while her mama and daddy were off doing their own thing. She was my own answer to prayer. You blessed me so much when you put that little girl in my life. Father, please, she is going through so much right now, and she needs you more than she knows. Only your strength will be able to get her through all she has to endure. Father, surely you, Maker of the universe, know that. Please, Lord, let it be soon that the angels in heaven are rejoicing over her name being added to the Lamb’s Book of Life. Father, I beg of you to protect her. I also know that you have a strong calling on her husband, Mark, Lord. Only you know what that is and what it’s going to take to get him to recognize it. I am but flesh, Lord, and it pains me sometimes to see that man hurt Jessi like he does. Yet I know that he too is your creation and you love him with a love my sinful self will never understand this side of heaven. Oh, Lord, let your will be accomplished soon and let the pain come to a halt, just for a season of rest. Even you rested, Lord. How much more is rest needed for a frail sinner, Father?”
Many tears fell, and many prayers were lifted that day on behalf of Mark and Jessi. As each woman felt a release from the Holy Spirit, she would quietly leave and make her way home. Meredith lifted her eyes to see an empty room. She was the last one to be released from prayer time, and rightly so. It was her little girl they were praying for.
Chapter 4
Mark turned to look at the building he had slept in, eaten in, breathed in, and lived in for the past six years. He remembered the day he was first brought here. He’d had his day in court and had been found guilty. He was sentenced to prison for his third drunk driving charge. His sentence was considerably longer because of the vehicular assault charge involving a minor, his son, Ethan. He’d walked into the Oklahoma State Reformatory in Granite, Oklahoma, with an attitude the size of Texas. It had taken a while, but eventually his attitude was chipped off his shoulders one knock at a time. He was mad at the world when he was sentenced to spending the next eight years of his life in prison. The object of most of his fury was Jessi. She was the reason he was here, and he hated her with a passion. He wasn’t able to unleash his anger toward Jessi. He’d never had the opportunity to look upon her face again, so he directed it toward anyone he came in contact with—the guards, the other inmates, the cooks (though he learned to rein in his temper as he maintained a healthy appetite), as well as the chaplain.
The only person who saw the defeated, broken man he’d become was the only person who had ever visited him, his sister, Julia. His brother, David, gave up on him long ago and would have nothing to do with him, even more so when he heard why Mark was in prison. During his first and only outburst at his sister, when she visited for the first time, she stood to leave and told him if this was what she was in for by coming, she wouldn’t be returning. He quickly apologized and asked her to please sit down. This was also when he started to realize just how beaten and broken he was. Later that night in the infirmary, after being beaten by a couple of inmates who were tired of his macho attitude, while sleep still alluded him and nightmares occupied what little sleep he did have, he realized that his life was not worth living. There was nothing left to live for. His wife had divorced him. She wouldn’t take his phone calls, and the few letters he sent her were given back to him with “return to sender” stamped on them. He’d killed his son while he was drunk driving. He couldn’t stand the skin he lived in, the smell of himself, his face in a mirror, or the haunted, lost look coming back from eyes that always stared him down in his reflection. He wanted out. He wanted to die.
The nurse on duty had thought Mark was asleep when he left him for a few minutes to get a sandwich and a cup of coffee. It was just enough time for Mark to hobble over to the nurses’ supply cabinet and get a razor blade. His hands, which were swollen from the fight he’d had earlier and proof that he did get in a few good jabs, were almost too sore to handle the small razor blade. It took too long to get his bandaged hands to cut through the skin on his left wrist. He had just made the final cut when the nurse returned. His only hope was he would be too busy with his sandwich and coffee to look in on him. He heard shouts just as he passed out.
When he came to his left wrist was bandaged, he was in restraints, and a guy in a white robe was standing over him, seemingly in prayer. At first he thought he might be dead and he was being given his last rites. Then he figured out he wasn’t dead and the guy was the jail chaplain. He was about to curse him and tell him to leave when he felt a strange sense of déj
à vu came over him. He suddenly had a memory of his grandmother in prayer. He would sit and watch her, knowing that what she was doing was a sacred thing. He loved to watch his grandmother pray. She looked peaceful. His grandmother had passed away when he was six years old, so why he remembered such a thing, he did not know.
Although he questioned the motives of the chaplain, he remained silent. He had desperately desired the feeling of nothingness death would bring him, and he was sorely disappointed that once again he couldn’t properly complete something once he had begun. If he had succeeded, he would be floating along on a cloud of nothing right now. No more guilt and no more nightmares. His life had become a living hell, and he wanted out. Someone, namely the chaplain, cared enough about to him to pray over him. Mark wanted to know why. He quietly watched the chaplain pray. Suddenly the chaplain lifted his eyes and met his own. What Mark saw shocked him. He saw love and understanding, not condemnation and pity. He saw compassion and forgiveness, not judgment and hatred. What he had really seen was God’s love; he just didn’t know it yet. He hadn’t spoken a word to the chaplain that night. And the chaplain didn’t say anything to him. He just finished his praying and then turned and left.
A week after being admitted to the infirmary, even though he was still a bit sore, Mark’s injuries were healed enough that he could go back to normal prison life. Get up, eat breakfast, wander around the courtyard, eat lunch, read a book, watch some television, eat supper and watch some more television, and then get locked into his cell for the night, get up the next day, and do it all over again. He knew that some of the guys went to a church meeting on Tuesday nights. Normally he avoided the Tuesday meeting completely. This Tuesday was different. He wanted to attend just to check out the chaplain. He couldn’t get the guy out of his head. Mark had received a gift, a picture of hope. The guard escorted him to the chapel. He slipped into the last row of chairs and waited.
***
Chaplain Bill was a normal guy who worked a job, had a family, mowed his lawn every Saturday afternoon, and went to church on Sundays and Wednesdays. He also happened to care a great deal for some guys who didn’t have a normal life. As a matter of fact, you could say Chaplain Bill loved these guys. He considered the men at Oklahoma State Reformatory his mission field. They were the ones that God had appointed for him to reach with the gospel of Jesus Christ. He prayed for them daily. He met with anyone who asked him to, no matter what their crime. Most of the time, he didn’t even know what crimes had been committed. He didn’t care. Jesus loved them, every one. If it didn’t matter to Jesus, he couldn’t let it matter to him. That was his motto: Love them and lead them as they are. God will do the rest. He called out a few hellos and asked a few of the guys how they were. The men were making their way into the room and sitting on the metal folding chairs when he stepped to the front of the room. When his eyes rested on Mark sitting in the last row of chairs, he took a quick breath and held it a second before letting it out. He continued calling on a few men by name but still questioned God about the man in the back row. This is the one, Lord. I don’t understand it, but I trust you, and I will do as you ask.
He had made it his mission to learn as many names of the prisoners as possible, especially the ones who regularly came to Tuesday meetings. When a new person attended the group, he would add his name to his list and pray for him daily. No matter how long it took, he prayed for each one of his little flock daily. He’d watched many men grow in their faith while under his tutelage. Some went on to teach Sunday school in their home churches. He’d even seen a few go to Bible college and then go into the mission field or youth ministry, even becoming pastors in nondenominational churches.
A week ago, when he had prayed over the man in the back row, God had told him he had a very special purpose for this man. Of course, Chaplain Bill tended to forget that this was usually the case with each of the prisoners God had pointed out to him. He treated each prisoner as though he was someone special, somebody unique, and somebody that God would personally call upon. He did it because each man was in the process of becoming who God wanted him to be. He didn’t see anyone else as being all that different from himself. He may have made different choices in life, but he was still on the same path—becoming who God wanted him to become.
Chaplain Bill opened in prayer. “Dear heavenly Father, thank you for each man here tonight. I pray, Lord, that you would touch each man’s heart like only you can do. Stir in them a desire to know you better and better. Mostly, Father, I pray that each one may come to understand the unconditional love that you have for him. I also ask that what I am about to share from your Word would be received in the manner it is given. In love, Lord. In love. Amen.
“I’d like to read to you tonight from the book of John. If you have a Bible, open it up to John. If not, see me when we are finished here tonight, and I’ll see that you get one. Jesus had been speaking to Nicodemus, a religious man, about being born again. Nicodemus was confused and did not understand the term ‘born again,’ so he had asked Jesus several questions, trying to understand. Finally, Jesus explained the phrase in a way that made it very easy to understand. That is what I want to read to you tonight.”
Bill started reading from his Bible. “John 3:15-16: ‘That whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.’
“Do you believe in Jesus Christ? Do you believe that God sent his only Son to die on a cross for your sins? Do you believe that God could love the world so much that he would sacrifice his one and only Son? Let me tell you that he does love the world that much. I’ll even narrow it down further. He loves me, and he loves you that much. Why? Sometimes I too wonder about that. I don’t deserve to be loved. I know some of you feel that way too. Yet, he still loves us. There is nothing we can do to make him stop loving us. Isn’t that good to know? God will always love you. It doesn’t matter what sins you’ve committed. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve committed those sins. He still will open his arms wide and embrace us if we will allow him. Now, if you sit there with your arms crossed and a big old scowl on your face and tell him no, you won’t accept his gift of love, even then, he still loves us. We just don’t get all the goodies that go along with his gift. He’s just waiting for you to love him back. I have a secret for you. You know all those people, the ones you think can do no wrong, God loves you just as much as he loves them.”
Bill heard a few guffaws coming from the prisoners. Even those who had accepted Jesus as their Savior still had major issues with self-condemnation.
He continued on. “Yes, it’s true. God doesn’t discriminate. He loves us all the same. It breaks his heart when we don’t love him back, though. I’m gonna read a little bit more.
“Verse seventeen, ‘For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.’
“Wow. I don’t know about you, but I think that is awesome. Jesus did not come here to point fingers at me and remind me of all the sins I’ve committed. The Bible says he came here to save me. That’s why he died on the cross. It’s the best way he could show me he loved me. He doesn’t bring up the past. Once you ask him to forgive you, it’s all done. Those sins will never be brought up again. That’s how much Jesus loves you guys. Once we accept Jesus’s love and forgiveness, the hardest part sometimes is forgiving ourselves. He doesn’t bring up our past, but more than likely we will. It doesn’t always have to be that way. The first step is believing in the One who came to save you. Then we need to ask for forgiveness for the things we have done wrong. I promise you that once you do that and ask Jesus into your heart, Jesus will fill you up so much with love that you’ll nearly burst with the joy of it. Is there anyone here tonight who would like Jesus to fill them up with his love?”
Bill didn’t ask for bowed heads like some churches did. He figured if a decision was goin
g to be made here, it was going to have to be lived here, out in the open for everyone to see. One of the guys he’d been talking with over the past few weeks raised his hand. Tears rolled down Bill’s face as he asked Denny to come to the front and pray. As Bill prayed with him, Denny began to weep.
Mark wasn’t sure why Denny was crying. He was literally bawling like a baby. He wanted to get a Bible from Chaplain Bill but wasn’t so sure about hanging around for one. Things seemed kind of unpredictable, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the midst of whatever might happen next. What if he started bawling? Besides the tears that fell during the accident, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He didn’t even cry when his old man passed away. What was there to cry about? He wasn’t the most caring father in the world. His kids were low on his list of priorities. He could never tell what his dad’s first priority was. His work or booze. Anybody’s guess was as good as his.
Mark saw a stack of Bibles on a side table and wandered close enough to the table to get one. As he picked it up, he made eye contact with Chaplain Bill, who nodded his consent with a small tilt of his head. Mark left with a plain black vinyl copy of the Holy Bible, the most precious book he would ever own.
It seemed as if it were just yesterday, yet here he was, on the outside looking back. Neither the years, nor the book in his pocket, could erase the painful memories of his past. Now it was time to face them.
Until Forever (Women of Prayer) Page 4