The End Game

I was used to being ushered through the hallways but on this particular day, they patted me down and allowed me to go through security by myself.

The hallways had a different feel as I was walking alone, even though they were the same as last week. I started praying that I wouldn’t make a mistake and get in trouble.

The cinder block walls were painted gray and with no windows, I felt trapped. I wasn’t aware of my anxiety but without warning, I started sweating. My heart raced and I had a hard time focusing on the job at hand.

Reminding myself of my purpose, that these women longed for books, I was able to breathe a prayer.

“God, please… direct my steps. Help me to do this.”

After filling the cart with a new selection of books that had been donated and approved, I made sure that the pencils were sharpened, nothing too sharp, and that there were only two available. Before leaving the closet that housed everything, I remembered to look through the requests. The ladies didn’t ask for much, but when they found a good series, the book would finally make its way back to the book cart tattered from being passed around the cell for weeks.

Opening the door slowly, I gingerly started to roll the overweight cart down the corridor to the 500 hallway.

I waited for what seemed to be forever, then heard a buzz. After a few more minutes the door buzzed again. This time I instinctively pushed on it. A metal click echoed and the 300-pound door finally opened enough for me and the cart to enter. There was a block wall directly in front of me and a narrow hall. After I cleared the door it shut quickly and forcefully with the sound of an automatic lock that made my blood run cold. I froze in fear with the realization I was trapped in a hallway built of cinder blocks about two stories tall with no windows. Reminding myself once again to breathe I decided to follow the hallway around. The echo of the squeaky cart wheels were the only sounds louder than my pounding heart.

The end of the hallway was less than a football field away, but seemed to go forever. With each step the thought of being stuck in the local jail seemed to invade my focus to the point I was about to panic. Suddenly a voice came from nowhere telling me the deputy would be with me in a second and to just hang tight.

After what seemed to be forever, the deputy finally appeared and ushered me to the first door, where there was nothing but glass between me and the female inmates. And a line had already formed.

They were allowed to come out into the hallway in pairs but were rushed from the second they got to the cart.

“Do you have any Daily Breads?”

“I sure do,” I stated as I handed her one, but that started a feeding frenzy. Even the women who hadn’t been able to get out the door were yelling for the person who was at the book cart to grab them one before I ran out. I put that in my memory bank, to stock up on devotionals.

The deputy was getting irritated and I didn’t understand why. She kept going over to peek in the last cell. Then before I knew what was going on, the ladies were told in a very stern voice to get away from the door and it was being shut abruptly. The cart I was holding onto was pushed to the side, and a voice that seemed to come from behind me said, “stay right beside me and I’ll protect you.”

That’s when I realized an inmate somehow didn’t make it back to the cell before the door was shut. Once again frozen in fear, I stood still as the main door from the hallway was forcefully opened.

Three deputies, fully suited in complete riot gear with body shields entered and you could tell by their demeanor, they meant business. The third cell door was opened at just the right time. They charged the bottom bunk and exited with a very noncompliant young lady. Her feet were not touching the floor, but whoever was in those uniforms had enough strength to carry her between them.

After the door was securely shut, I was able to finish getting books to the women in the first cell and the young lady who had been my self appointed bodyguard was put back in her cell.

I tell this story because of its many analogies that relate to life.

First when I didn’t have an escort to walk me back, I could have let insecurities stop me from walking through the first door. Jail ministry was new to me and I had only gone once before and we hadn’t even made it to the female side of the jail. I had no clue what I was doing. I just knew what door to walk to and what my end game was: allow the female inmates to check out a book.

Secondly, when that 500 Hallway door didn’t open automatically, I could have turned around and quit. I didn’t know that it was going to require an action out of me (push door after buzz).
I have to wonder how many times God has answered a prayer with Yes, but I haven’t opened the door.

Thirdly, when I finally walked through the door, the paralysis of the unknown could have had me pass out right then and there. I could have even turned around and banged on the door to be let out. But I didn’t. Once again I remembered the end game, to allow the ladies who were somewhere behind all this block, the ability to check out a book to read.

Fourth, when the deputy didn’t come right away, I could’ve had an attitude of indifference or even been so angry that I could’ve decided to never come back. Once again, I was reminded of the end game, to allow the ladies the opportunity to read.

Fifth, after being a bystander in an extraction that involved our local SWAT, I could’ve told the deputy I was done, packed up and gone home, never to return. But once again, what was the end game? This book cart was the women’s only outlet. This was also how they received Bibles.

As you can see I had plenty of excuses to quit, but I kept being reminded of the end game.

How many times in life, though, do we quit trying to attain a goal with far less opposition?

If I am being honest, I would raise my hand and say “Too many times.”

Even though I have spent years working on my self-esteem and self-discipline, there are times when I have taken one emotional hit after another. One rejection after another. And I allow myself to fall back into old ruts and beliefs. The words that were spoken over me as a child by my step-father, come flooding back. The expectation that became my lot in life was: I wasn’t good enough to accomplish anything of value and that no one wanted to hear what I had to say.

I believe God wanted me to write this story, not only to share with you, but also to remind me that I need to remember the end game He has asked of me. He also has been bringing to memory the verse found in 2 Timothy:

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7 (NLT)

And in reality I need to start breathing this prayer daily:

“God please… direct my steps. Help me to do this.”

What end game do you need to bring to the forefront and get back on track in your God-given purpose?