Glimpse of Heaven

One of my favorite days of each month is when the Spanish language and English language groups of our church come together to celebrate and remember the Lord's Supper. Being a leader of the church and having the wonderful blessing of speaking English and Spanish I get to help lead the service.

Standing behind the pulpit gives me the wonderful blessing of seeing all the faces of all in attendance. There are Latinos, African-Americans, Asians, whites, and many that are mixed. I also see men with tatoo covered necks, arms and even faces; scars and old injuries that remind all of their dark past lives.

Yet, all these men come together to celebrate and remember the one who saved us all – Jesus Christ.

You see, in prison it is not okay to mix with the "other" races. Your race determines who you are. Even if the whole prison world – staff and inmates – knows that you are not part of the gang scene, by rule, you are still one of them. If your "race" gets in trouble somehow, just by being part of that race, you too receive the punishment. It's just how things are done in prison.

Sad, but race is a big dividing wedge in prison. However, because of what Christ did for us, those who proudly proclaim to be children of the Living God can come together without race division. As one we can come together to worship the One and Only who died not just for one race, but for all.

As I stand up front once a month, I imagine that I am seeing a tiny little glimpse of heaven, all nations and languages as one. In Revelation 7:9, John said he saw "there before (him) a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb..." Prisons are far from that, however because of the Word of God, slowly we are able to see a tiny little glimpse of heaven growing throughout the prsons of this nation.

Please continue to pray for the men in prison, that God will protect and keep safe those who dare to cross the race line to worship as one.

from Adrian's cell

"Love is arguably the most powerful word in man's vocabulary. The feelings that warrant those four letters have given birth to both the most wonderful and horrific acts that time has ever seen. The very substance of that term is what the empty heart longs to be filled with. In the absence of true love, my friends, one will never know "unfeigned happiness" and without love, an individual is saved from devasting pain. Songs have sung of its sweetness; the pages of books have recorded its essence; movies have reinacted its magic; while poems have whispered its deepest mystery. We can all say the word—for it is not hard to pronounce; you and I may experience it vicariously through the before mentioned means; but how many of you reading this update can say with confidence, "I know what love is?" (Taken and adapted from Bryan's sermon on 1 Jn 4:10, titled, "Learning to Love.")

"I'm going to present myself to the firing squad tonight," said I [Bryan], in a moderate and somewhat sarcastic tone. With a puzzled, but serious look on his face, Adrian stepped close to the door, now able to see my otherwise silhouetted face. Judging by the expression written on his countenance I was sure that he knew exactly what I was talking about, but nonetheless I repeated my earlier statement and clarified it. "I'm going to present myself to the firing squad tonight, and whatever happens happens. I know that Steve and Bill (names have been changed to respect privacy) have something against me and I'm going to come out tonight, approach them, and let them fire away." Adrian was taking all of this in and no doubt turning it over in his mind, when I put a wrench in those brilliant gears of his by asking, "Are you with me?"

Through this very website the Lord has brought a wonderful and caring man of God into my life. Even from the first letter I received I could feel the warmth of his love radiate from each line of his print. As he wrote more and I read more, his compassion became inescapable. He told me of a period in his life when his pastor would take him along on his visitations, training him for the role that he would one day possess. As he expressed the turmoil of soul, and the pain in his heart each time a wounded saint would tell of his/her darkest sins, I found myself wanting to feel this very pain. I want a heart that would truly ache over another's despair; yea, I hunger for a soul so sensitive that it would mourn upon hearing of the distance that uthe child had run from its Father. I just want to learn to love. So I asked for his prayers in this area.

I made it to the execution site (a dayroom table) first and said to Steve, after shaking his hand, "Brother Steve, I want you to know that if I have done anything to offend you then I apologize, and ask for your forgiveness. But, I also need you to tell me what it is that I have done so that I will not repeat my actions in the future." Steve went on to explain that he is only worried about looking at himself, and working on those problems. "Whew," I thought to myself, "that was easy." So, hoping that my next moment of vulnerability would go the same, I presented to Bill the same statement I had only seconds before said to Steve. However, and much to my disappointment. Bill wasn't in the mood to look within himself and he began to fire away. In the hail of verbal gunfire Adrian arrived and suggested that we move away from the gathering crowd lest they get hit by a stray bullet.

[Adrian]

Allow me to back-up. . .Before I arrived to the execution site, I stood at my cell door, waiting for it to open. Through the cold steal door I monitored the activity at ground zero. My heart was racing much faster than my overweight body could handle. I started to notice that Bryan was going to face the firing squad all by his brave self.

My door started to open—yet it did not open fast enough. As the gears struggled to open the steal door, I sucked in my gut and managed to squeeze—out hoping to shave a few seconds off my arrival time. As I quickly walked there, I noticed that members of the same political party were starting to gather. Not a good sign. One too many times I had witnessed similar gatherings--ending in a horrible mess. I quickly found an excuse to ask the participating parties for a change of venue. With some hesitation and a few unpleasant looks, I managed to move the royal rumble to another site—the table next to the first.

Bryan and I sat across from each other, as did Steve and Bill from themselves. As I looked into my friend and ministry partner's eyes, I noticed that he sensed this was not going to start, nor finish well.

After a few seconds (though it felt more like hours) of cease-fire. Bill shot a warning-shot that grazed Bryan's ears. I sat quietly observing and counting the ammo fired. Bill had his information all wrong and was angry for no true reason. Bryan gently corrected Bill with facts that could be proven by simply looking at a single sheet of paper that freely hangs in the chapel's window.

Steve and I were looking at each other eye-to-eye waiting to see who would make the first move. And because of my Simon Peter complex, I jumped in full throttle, Steve is not a man to stay quiet long, so I started asking him questions. One thing lead to another and Steve and I were firing away like mad men.

Bryan and Bill were still sorting fact from fiction, while Steve and I competed to see who had the largest guns. Sixty minutes later, Bryan, holding his wounds close, said he needed to go in and fulfill a prior commitment with his cellie. So before he left, Bryan bravely stated that this whole matter was due to wrong facts in their information, and assumptions—the two fuels that flamed the pride within Bill and Steve.

Oh, but the fuel-hungry, fire-monster was not done. Soon after Bryan was secured in his cell, the monster jumped on me like white on rice. For another sixty minutes I took on a "Shock-and-Awe" size attack. I had no choice but to dodge and cover.

Holding onto my shattered remains, I quickly visited Bryan's cell door. I asked him if he would be staying in during tomorrow's Dayroom time. At first he said no, that he needed to run-off his stress out on the yard. However, as I came a foot closer to his door, Bryan was able to see my wounded spirit and quickly—like the true friend he is—changed his plans and guaranteed me that he would stay in with me.

As I spiritually limped back to my own celly I did not expect what waited for me. Remember that I had asked to move tables due to too many ears listening in? Well, my cellie took that very personal. Not knowing that I was actually saving him from an ugly—UGLY!—situation.

As the gears of my cell door turned and squealed, I looked at my cellie's face hoping to find some brotherly comfort. What I found was an angry and confused man. Taking the little that he knew about the situation, he used that to fuel his own personal monster against Bryan and me. Catching me caring for my spiritual wounds, I tried my best to smother his fire by explaining the fact, without trying to start gossip. But that only made the situation worse!

At the peek of this small war, my cellie put down his fire power and simply shut me out of his sight. Exhausted and stressed I climbed into my bunk and tried to sleep that day away. Eleven and a half hours later, with no sleep, I finally had the opportunity to speak to Bryan.

At Dayroom Bryan and I spoke about the issue and bounced ideas back and forth on how we should properly handle them. Bryan was sick and tired of being sick and tired. His resolve was to discommunicate Bill and Steve and let them drown in their own pride-filled pond. I was suggesting just the opposite: I wanted us to suck-it-up and forgive them, and simply move on with God's work. We both had good reasons for our ideas, but we didn't have the time to come to an agreement.

Days later Bryan and I found ourselves meeting with our Chaplain. We explained—in no detail—our problem and asked for pastoral counsel. The Chaplain stated that we had to forgive and forget. The next day Bryan had the opportunity to do just that. I, on the other hand, could not find the time to do likewise. Being a bit busy and living on the opposite side of the building, I had found it very hard to bump in with Steve and Bill. My part went undone.

Days passed and the Christmas Banquet had arrived. After a great, smooth-running, and glorious event, Bryan and I were feeling the weight slowly come off our shoulders (since we bore the success of this event on our shoulders). As I became consumed in organizing the return of the men to their cells, I failed to notice that behind the backdrop of a smooth, calm shore line, Bryan was busy trying to stay a float in a rip current powered by Bill. With no time to spare, I needed Bryan and Bill to help the cleaning crew out, so I asked them to join me.

Forty-five minutes later, as Bryan, Bill, and I walked back to our housing block, the rip current started its deadly pull again. At first I was only being affected by the movement of the flow. However, Bryan was kicking and waving (spiritually), trying to escape the trap that was set before him. Seconds before we would depart our separate ways, the rip current grabbed the bottom of my heel and sucked me right in. Bill had thrown me a hook and bait, and I bit on it so hard that it punctured me deeply, ripping every strand of humbleness that I had.

For the next week, I purposely gave the cold—and rude—shoulder to Bill. I would not speak, touch, or be in the same room with him. I now was the one telling Bryan that we should leave them to drown in their own pride-filled pond. And in turn, Bryan was the one telling me that forgiveness and forgetting was the only way to "love".

LOVE! What did love have to do with all this? "Love" had been coming out of Bryan's mouth for a couple of days. He would tell me how he had been working on a sermon based on I John 4:10 and how God was opening his eyes to the true meaning of "love".

Blah, blah, blah; that is all I heard. Love this, love that...blah, blah. I did not want to hear about his new found wisdom. No! I wanted war. I wanted revenge. I wanted to win! Little did I know that God was using Bryan to show him and me how a Father spanks His children.

It was Friday and I found myself listening to Bryan's sermon. The Holy Spirit took hold of those words and spiritually bent me over His knees and spanked my spiritual behind. Every word of "love" that came from Bryan's mouth was like another solid swat on my behind. As my pride slowly decreased, the guilt quickly rose. As a loving brother and friend, Bryan had tried to warn me that his sermon would be one God wanted me to hear. He tried to prepare me for it...now I see why.

As Bryan closed his sermon and I approached the pulpit to conclude the service, I had to confess' to the congregation and ask for forgiveness and prayer. As one of the leaders in the Chapel, I had been acting and behaving like a immature child. Bryan's sermon—through the guidance of the Holy Spirit—opened my eyes to help me see that I was not being the man and leader God gifted me to be.

Later, I found Bill and surprised him with a. hug and begged for his forgiveness. "Love" sure does help in difficult situations.

"...Love is giving all of yourself to another who doesn't deserve it, and cannot return it as they currently are. Notice that our verse opens by declaring. This is love; but before it defines its previous statement our love (so called) towards God is disqualified. What this means, gentlemen, is that whatever it is that you are currently doing toward God is not fit to be defined as love. Mind you, that many of us here are putting forth a worthy effort, but when an example must be given; when perfection is paraded; and a model is to be followed; it is God's love toward us that is presented," (Taken from Bryan's sermon on 1 John 4:10, titled, "Learning to Love.")

Time makes the heart grow fonder. Whether it be days, weeks, or years, time slowly erodes and smoothes over life's rough edges. It has been a month now since the first pains of our growing church made themselves known; and though the injury has come and gone, I am often reminded of the wound when the climate here goes cold. But I no longer harbor the disgust that I previously had, and the details that used to eat me up inside seem less and less unpleasant everyday. What once irritated is now irrelevant. But can this numbing amnesia be wholly attributed to time?

No, of course not. Brother Adrian has done a wonderful job in vaguely summing up the details of our growth spirt, and I must admit that he portrayed me in a much kinder light than I deserve. But time itself, or the leaving of things alone, did not remedy our pain. For if I would have had my way, then never would we have come to a happy ending. No, not unless Steve and Bill agreed that Adrian and I were right, and they themselve were 100% wrong. And believe me, dear reader, that Israel and Palestine have a greater chance at reaching a permanent peace agreement then the before-mentioned coming to pass. So, if not time, nor an admittance of guilt played a key role in our healing, then to what may we attribute this current resolve?

Love. Far too often I am reminded that you and I know not what to pray for. Sure, the asking of God to give us patience, tolerance, and the ability to love sound like noble requests indeed; i.e. until we grasp God's methodology in granting these petitions. He teaches us patience by making us wait; tolerance by allowing others to constantly push our buttons; and love through the pain and betrayal of others. "I just want to learn to love" was my request, but never was I prepared for the means which He would use.

I don't know, perchance I was expecting to get pierced by one of cupids arrows; maybe God just has a pitcher of "love" lying around up there and would be obliged to pour a measure into this vacant heart of mine, or, better yet, I would just wake up one day all lovey-dovey. Well, as I have found out. God's ideas and mine are worlds apart; and I have learned to love by those that are closest, hurting me the most. I have learned that it's not always important for those that have done the offending to know and admit their wrongs. What counts is that we—that's you and I—love even when we don't want to love anymore. Oh, my dear friends, often times it is the act of loving that hurts the most.

Nobody wins when love loses its way. Steve and Bill, as well as Adrian and I have all been hurt by these events, despite where the blame should be cast. However, I do see the four of us being made all the stronger in the long run. Unfortunately, though the schematics will change, this is a lesson that will be learned over and over again. But he who will love much will get hurt the most.

Until next time, Adrian and I will be learning to love; undoubtedly in the most painful of ways. And, of course, we'll share these experiences with you.... straight from our cells.

(Hebrews 13:3 NLT)

"BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE in recent years has expounded the simple truth that 'behavior that is observed changes.' People who are accountable by their own choice to a group of friends, to a therapy group, to a psychiatrist or a pastoral counselor, to a study group or prayer group, are people who are serious about changing their behavior, and they are finding that change is possible.

"Studies done in factories have proven that both quality and quantity of work increase when the employees know they are being observed. If only God knows what I'm doing, since I know He won't tell, I tend to make all kinds of excuses for myself. But if I must report to another or a group of others, I begin to monitor my behavior. If someone is keeping an eye on me, my behavior improves."

—Bruce Larson

You have heard me teach many things that have been confirmed by many reliable witnesses. Teach these great truths to trustworthy people who are able to pass them on to others. 2 Timothy 2:2 (NLT Bible)

In this update we (Bryan and Adrian) will be sharing with you brief thoughts on why we feel mentors are needed in the lives of Christian inmates:

(Adrian) I think many Christian inmates are "dying on the vine" for lack of encouragement from other believers—especially from outside these walls. Proverbs 15:23 says, "A man has joy in an apt answer. And how delightful is a timely word." Since the time I was accused of murder, I've had "timely words" come from men I proudly call my mentors. Trusting God while fighting a horrible charge like murder, and not seeing the doors fly open, really puts one's faith to the test. I know it did for me. I had many valleys in my early faith-walk. Many a time I wanted to give up. But it was at those moments that God would put wonderful and refreshing words in the lips of these men to lift me back up. I truly think that if I did not have these strong Christian men in my life, I would have had given up on God. In the few years that I have been in jail/prison, I have seen many men pick up the bible and find a wonderful relationship with the Lord. However, when the storms would hit or the peer pressure would build, the once flaming zeal would become a just hot enough ember. And soon the ember would burn out. What happened? Why would a God-loving man turn back to his old ways? I strongly believe it was because he had no "timely words" to fuel his fire. I've seen this happen over-and-over again. It is rare when an inmate grows strong with the Lord without a mentor to give him timely words. But the ones that do survive (without a mentor) are the strongest fruit of the vine. Bryan is an example of this.

(Bryan) "To Timothy, my dearly beloved son..." (2 Tim 1:2). Oh, dear readers, how often I have longed for a father/mentor in the faith. A strong Christian man that has already trekked that path that I have just begun to trod. Somebody to help guide me; to believe in me; to answer my tough questions when they arise. For without one I've taken my share of wrong turns and lost my way. I have slipped into tempestuous theological waters, and as the current has threatened to take me down I've reached for help, I have extended my hand. But sadly enough it has never felt the firm grip of discipleship, only the absence thereof. So there I sink, the weight of loneliness and unanswered questions speeding my descent. And then, when all seems lost, miraculously I find myself back on the path, my step sure and strong. The Holy Spirit has more than made up for the lack of others in my Christian walk, but it has been so very hard. Now granted, I have been blessed with some great Christian friends on the outside, my family too, that have encouraged me when I've needed it most. But there is no substitute—so I have been reliably told—for a solid Christian mentor. The apostle Paul was without a mentor in his Christian walk, but he did have his Timothy and Silas; two strong men, one on his right and the other on his left, to support him when the trials of life pressed in hard. I thank God that He has sent me my Timothy and Silas—my Silas being an extraordinary brother by the name of Adrian.

(Adrian) The late Larry Burkett once wrote, "A kindergarten in one town sat right on a corner by a busy highway. Although the school had a nice yard in which the children could play, at recess they would huddle right up against the building. The cars whizzing by frightened them. "One day, workmen erected a steel fence around the school yard. From that point on, the children used the entire playground. The fence did not limit their freedom; it actually expanded it." He finishes off by stating, "Children need fences, for they feel more secure having the discipline of clear boundaries." Just as the children needed boundaries, we new Christians need them too. A "timely word" is one part of the much needed help behind these walls. Inmates, when they come to know Christ, don't just drop their old ways--the ways of no boundaries. Even I had trouble in this area. My old self poked his head out every time I wanted to get my own way. However, my mentors were always there to set boundaries. I found that with clear boundaries I was able to mature in my faith-walk faster and with more confidence than many others around me. The accountability of those boundaries always played a large part in how I saw the outcome of my situations. Sadly many new Christian men in prison never mature or just plain never give root to their faith-walk. Making them another statistic in the God-did-not-work-for-me" camp. Bryan and I see the faces in the /chapel pews revolve faster than we can teach them. The pews (seats) stay warm just long enough to seat a new face. Sadly, the odds of that new face staying true to his new walk is also slim without a strong mentor setting fences for him.

(Bryan) It was a cold, blustery night, the kind that makes you wish that you had put on a second pair of pants. But being warmed by sin within we were oblivious to the outside temperature; and as the festivities of the evening came to an end for most, we found ourselves gathered together in my neighbors condo. "Crackle, crackle, sizzle, pop," spoke the fireplace as each of us were wrapped up in our own conversations. Then, out of the blue, a woman by the name of Ann Marie stood to her feet, quieted the room, and said, "Excuse me! can I get some attention please?"

Though in a different way, I and every inmate that gives their life to Christ behind these prison walls, echoes the words of my spoiled friend, "Excuse me! Can I have some attention please?" I sought and prayed for a guide; I have cried the words from above, "Excuse me! Can I get some attention please?" But rather than send me flesh and blood, it seemed good in the eyes of God to send me paper and ink. So I found my way by walking in the steps of histories greats. I fell in love with the writings of Bonar, Ryle, Whitefield, and Spurgeon, gleaning from them whatever I could. But what of those that reach and find not, settling for the cultic and heretical material that floods these prisons? How will they fare?

Dear friends, you who are reading this today, we desperately need solid Christian men, those that are sound in the faith and knowledgeable in the Word. Many of the men here confine their Christianity to their cell, getting the bulk of their teachings from those on TV. It's charismatic chaos and we need your help! You would be so surprised at how much weight a single word from the outside carries in here; of how much of a help you would truly be. So, I implore you, please sign up today and save these men from the error of their ways, and become an instrumental part in shaping their future. Thank you, and may God move your heart to do so.

UNDER ROMAN LAW there was a time for the coming of age of a son. But the age when this took place was not fixed as one might assume. Rather,, the father had the discretion in setting the time of his son's maturity. A Roman child became an adult at the sacred family festival known as the 'Liberalia' held annually on the seventeenth of March. At this time, the child was formally acknowledged as the son and heir by his father, and he received the plain toga adults wore in place of the toga with a narrow purple band at the foot of it, which children wore. He was then conducted by his friends and relatives down to the forum and formally introduced to public life. We (Adrian and Bryan) know many men that would like to reach the point were they can turn in their purple band toga for an all white one. A mentor as yourself can help bring these men to a mature walk in Christ. We welcome you—and encourage you—to prayerfully think about becoming a mentor to Christian inmates behind prison walls.

Having our own toga party...and enjoying God...Straight From Our Cells...

Adrian & Bryan.

If you've gotten anything at all out of following Christ, if his love has made any difference in your life, if being in a community of the Spirit means anything to you, if you have a heart, if you care—then do me a favor: Agree with each other, love each other, be deep-spirited friends. Don't push your way to the front; don't sweet-talk your way to the top. Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don't be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourselves long enough to lend a helping hand. 2 Philippians 2:1-4 (The Message Bible)

REVENGE IS a kind of wild justice; which the more man's nature runs to, the more ought the law to weed it out... certainly, in taking revenge a man is but even with his enemy; but in passing over it, he is superior, for it is a prince's part to pardon. -Sir Francis Bacon

In the last update my ministry in-prison-partner, Bryan, spoke of his old butcher block and the stories it would tell, if only it could speak. He also brought to our attention the many stories that the prison's cells would tell, if they too could speak. Today, I want to share one story, of two men, that the cells would gladly tell, if only they could speak...

Oscar and Johnny, both, adopted the gang life style at an early age in their lives. Fighting to protect the loyalties to their own city and neighborhood, many a time they found themselves in the custody of the law. Coming from different cities and neighborhoods, being enemies was only natural. If they met on the streets their first natural instinct was to cause hurt to one another. This instinct only amplified even more while serving time behind prison walls.

On one occasion, the opportunity arose for one of them to stab the other (Honoring the aggressor's wishes, I was instructed to withhold the names of who-was-who to protect any ill boasting that could be misunderstood). With a homemade weapon in hand and adrenaline pumping at full force, the aggressor prepared himself to badly injure his enemy. As the events unfolded and one event led to the other, a fight between Oscar and Johnny broke out. At full force and each convinced not to lose, the one with the weapon took it out. With a right handed upper-cut motion he moved the weapon to meet its intended victim. Only by the protection of God--we know this today--did the weapon not only miss, but bent and deeply scratched the upper lip of the handler. The attempt was so fast that the intended victim never saw what could have been of his life on that day. The scar, now hidden under a well trimmed mustache, bears the mark of the failed attempt.

Every day, every week, every month, and every year the revenge grew hotter and hotter in Oscar and Johnny's hearts.

Friedrich Nietzche once stated, "Revenge is the greatest instinct in the human race." If this is true, then why did Oscar and Johnny give this "revenge" up, and now are the best of friends? It is almost impossible to see one without the other at his side. They work out together. They minister the Word together. They share chapel duties together. They live next door to each other. They eat together.... I can go on-and-on. So what happened in these men's lives that not only changed their attitude toward one another, but made them love each other as if they were each other's family?

If you are thinking Only a living God could do such miracle! then you are correct. A book in itself can be written on the awesome conversion, and the process the Lord used to bring these two mighty and godly pillars together. I truly believe that you will not find one officer or prison staff member, that has had contact with Oscar and Johnny, that can utter one negative word about them. Their faith-walk is not only true, but very contagious. Many men (and probably not just inmates) have come to know the gospel through these two's every day walk. The gospel of Christ screams out with grace in every thing these two do.

Oscar and Johnny's lives describe the words author William Arthur Ward wrote in his book Thoughts of a Christian Optimist, "We are most like beast when we kill. We are most like men when we judge. We are most like God when we forgive."

With your continued support to Truth Frees Us, there can be many more wonderful stories brought to you like this one. Not all men that are written off by society turn out to live like "beast". No, some turn out to live for Christ.

After listening to the message given at church, thinking she understood the theme, the little four-year-old girl prayed as she prepared to go to sleep, "Lord, and forgive us our trashbaskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets". Like the simple innocent prayer of this child, help Mark, Bryan, and me continue to bring encouragement to the Christian men on this yard, that have forgiven the "trash" put in their "baskets".

Sharing stories that the cells would love to share, with love, grace, and peace...Straight From Adrian's Cell....

Rejoicing over His love,

Adrian T.

"Two people can accomplish more than twice as much as one; they get a better return for their labor. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But people who are alone when they fall are in real trouble....A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken."

--Ecclesiastes 4:9-10,12 (New Living Translation)

"THE MOST CONSISTENTLY ENDEARING human trait is warmth. Everybody responds to the person who radiates friendliness from a serene core. Such people are lovely to be around because they don't reject or belittle and, best of all, they bring out the best, most generous qualities in the people they encounter."

-Barbara Walters

It started as a simple visit to his step-daddy's work site His intentions where simple: Go visit, chit-chat, and interact with the labor workers. It was to be a simple and relaxing day. His plan was to let them know he was a supporter of them. However, what this day hold for him was far from planned. —

As he arrived he heard a disturbing noise coming from around the corner. Curious to what was happening he went to investigate. To his surprise, he found a supervisor beating one of the labor workers. A rush of anger boiled within him. He could not just stand there and let this happen. He had to do something! No time to call the authorities, he decided to take the matter into his own hands.

Looking around to make sure no one was looking, he ran and attacked the supervisor. As they wrestled on the ground, the victim managed to get up and slip away.

Not knowing how hard he was holding him, the wrestling match turned fatal. Releasing his grip on the supervisor's body, he noticed that the supervisor's body had gone limp. In the heat of the moment he had taken the life of another. Scared and not knowing what to do, his thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour. He was well educated in the legal system. He knew that the law would frown on him and never understand. The whole situation would be twisted and used against him, instead of for him. There would be way too much explaining to do and not enough people willing to listen.

Looking down at the lifeless body that rested on the dirt floor, he decided to once again take matters in his own hands. This was a secluded part of the work site, and he was pretty sure there were no witnesses, he dragged the body to a sandy area and buried it. Satisfied with the job he returned home to clean up and rest.

The next day, testing his theory that no one saw him, he went out around town. However, once again he found himself in the mist of a heated fight. He decided to approach this one a bit different. He stepped up and asked the aggressor why he was hurting his fellow man. The answer that was given took our hero by surprise, "Who made you ruler and judge over me? Are you thinking of killing me too, as you killed the supervisor yesterday?"

With his heart at his throat and his stomach felling very ill, he felt each and every one of those words like a sharp dagger being jammed into his side. It was then that he realized that his secret was no more. Fearing the authorities, he fled to the dessert and became a fugitive.

Before I tell you how this story ends, let me bring you into my cell...As I sat here today, praying for this prison and yard, I let my mind inventory the pages and pages that could be filled with stories from the men that live here with me. All from different walks of life, cultures, races, and education. All with a story of their own.

I can't say I know or have heard all the stories here. In fact, I am sure I have only heard less then 5 percent. Personally, I know that every story that is here is heavy and weighs on our shoulders. Many of our stories have been misunderstood, twisted, and even perverted. Many have pushed their story deep within their hearts, locked it in a closet, and thrown away the key. Retelling the story would be like reliving it. Why would they want to do such thing? So that one can get misunderstood again? To be looked down on, like the trash of society? Why even go there?!

Can I share a secret with you? Deep down every man that walks this yard is a crying heart waiting to be heard. Yup, you read that correctly. You see, the load is heavy. It's hard to carry it some days. And like all humanity it feels good to vent sometimes. To have a loving and caring ear to talk to. To someone that will not judge, but uplift.

Every story has an ending. Some are not very pretty. Some go on to get darker and darker, never finding the Light. However, those are stories that were written by "self". On the other hand, the stories that end with a joyful twist in their lives, always end in the Light. They are not written in "self", but co-written with (1) a helping hand and (2) the Master Author.

I know hundreds of men with dark or misunderstood stories that would welcome a helping hand, a listening ear, and a gentle leading to the Master Author. The Author who can update and rewrite their story.

Please, I urge you to join us in prison ministry. I am not asking you to take on a whole prison or yard, no. One person is all it takes; one seed; one heart; one Love; one Gospel; one Truth... simply one of you.

So how does our friend's story end? Well, after 40 years as a fugitive, living a new life, under a limited identity, he was used mightily by God to change history and rescue a whole Nation. You can read about it in the Bible, the book of Exodus contains his wonderful story. Moses will be one story that will forever change people's hearts.

...thankful to have you as a listening ear. Straight from Adrian's Cell.,,

Yours, Adrian T.

"I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me faithful, appointing me to his service. Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus."

1 Timothy 1:12-14 (NIV)

"Toys are not the sole proof of love. The time that a mother or, even more so, a father gives to his children, or one of them, just the two—the walks he takes with them, the explanation he gives on nature, on his own life, his confidences—these are priceless gifts whose memory forever remains ingrained as the most beautiful of all childhood."

Author Paul Tournier, in his book The Meaning of Gifts

The more I get to know the men that have been in prison for most of their lives, I learn that most—if not all—have the same wound: the father-wound. What is the father-wound? Stephen Strang, publisher of NEW MAN magazine put it this way. "Boys don't automatically know their fathers love them. When there is silence instead of supportiveness, ambivalence instead of affirmation, doubt instead of confidence, it leaves a huge hole...dubbed the 'father-wound'." In an example Strang tells a story of his friend that never heard his dad tell him he loved him untill the age of 30. At the hospital, in for a minor surgery, his dad had come to visit. As his father started to leave he called out, "Dad, I love you", to which his father replied, "I love you, too." Strangs' friend broke down in tears. "Dad, do you realize that is the first time I have ever heard you say 'I love you'?". To which his dad replied, "I thought you knew."

Time and time again I hear similar stories from my fellow prisoners. However, the stories that are told to me have never hit home until this last week. I was preparing a list of friends and family that I needed to purchase Easter cards for. As I reviewed the list I noticed that I had not included my father. This took me by surprise. I too had a father-wound and never had thought about it. Gordon Dalbey, author of several books, said that the father-wound is a wound of absence. Therefore, it is harder to recognize than other wounds—and ultimately, more destructive.

After praying about this, I decided to interview a few men that I knew would tell me what was in their hearts. I asked them what they thought about their father. Like if I had just taken a sharp stick and poked them in the heart, they replied in a mixture of anger, sadness, and loneliness. After a series of questions I asked them if they thought that if their father had spent more time with them growing up, that they would have turned out different. Two of the three said yes, the other one never met his father so he had no way to know. But he thought that maybe if he did have a father in his life, he might have turned out different.

Thinking about my Easter list, I asked the men how many still knew their father's address. The two who did have fathers both said yes. Then I asked when was the last time they had written him. Neither one could think of the last time they had written. This reminded me of a story of a Nun who volunteered in a prison. One Mother's Day, an inmate asked the Nun if she would kindly buy him a card so that he could send it to his mother. She agreed and did so. Soon after, the word spread and the Nun had hundreds of requests. Acting fast she contacted a greeting card manufacture, who happily sent crates of Mother's Day cards to the prison. Every single card was passed out. Being sharp and on-top-of-things, she prepared herself in advance and ordered crates of Father's Day cards to beat the rush. Years later she still held every single one of those Father's Day cards in her storage room. Not one prisoner had requested a card for his father.

Where am I going with this up-date? Well, I guess what I am trying to express is that I believe that most men can be kept from prisons if their fathers would take the time to love them. I once asked an inmate in what way he thought his father could have shown him love, he replied instantly by spelling out on the dirt with his finger T-I-M-E. Spending time with your children is probably the best anti-crime prevention there is. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that our Lord can't prevent crime. What I am simply trying to say is that it all starts at home. It is sad to see that most men here are walking with father-wounds and not knowing that there is a Father in heaven that is ready to give them the love that they long for. The Word of God is what can heal the father-wounds that have been exposed to the bitter salt of this prison world. Please, join Mark and I in bringing the Word to as many inmates as we can reach. Sure, we might not be as big as the larger ministries, however if only one father-wound is healed due to your loving support and time, it will be one less hurting child.

And please, if you have children at home, tell and show them how much you love them, and how much they mean to you.

"The biggest disease today is not leprosy or cancer. It's the feeling of being uncared for, unwanted—of being deserted and alone." — Mother Teresa

'Till next time, learning from my personal father-wound, Straight From Adrian's Cell...

In His service, in your service,

Adrian T.

"The LORD has appointed me to bring good news to the poor...to comfort the brokenhearted..." Isaiah 61:1

The little girl had gone on the errand her mother sent her on. She was late coming back, and her mother asked for an explanation. The child explained that a playmate of hers down the street had fallen and broken her doll and that she had helped her. The mother wondered what she could do to help mend the broken doll The little girl made a marvelous reply, "I just sat down and helped her cry."

"Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep." (The Apostle Paul)

In the Bible the man named Barnabas more than lived up to his name. Literally the name Barnabas, in the Greek, means "son of comfort" or "son of encouragement". The first time this man is mentioned in the Bible is when he generously offers money to help start the benevolence fund in the early church ministry (Acts 4). Later on, in the same book, we find him playing a key role in the life of Paul. At that point in time, Paul was known to the church leaders as the evil persecutor Saul. Paul was not taken too seriously with his announcement of his new found faith. Who could blame them; they had the right to second-guess this man known as pure evil. However, Barnabas discerned the integrity of Paul's conversion and became Paul's zealous backer to the leaders in Jerusalem. It was at this very critical moment in Paul's life -- and ministry -- that no one offered him more encouragement and comfort than Barnabas did.

I am almost sure that Paul never forgot the impact Barnabas left on his life. I, too, have a memory (actually, I have many) of a personal Barnabas who so greatly impacted my life. At a critical moment in my life, I had one who stuck up for me and saw in me more than I saw in myself. From the first time I met him to the last time I visited with him, his words were always full of comfort and encouragement

When others stopped believing in me and turned their backs on me, there, in the front row of my life, was my Barnabas. Someone once said, "A real friend is a guy who walks in when everybody else walks out."

Okay, so why am I writing about "my Barnabas" in this update? Well, my Barnabas went to be with the Lord on January 30, 2003. Much of the credit that I owe for my faith, is owed to this man. So please allow me to share a small portion of the impact this man had in my life...

...During the times in my life that I seemed to run into road blocks, there was always a gentle man that took the time to point me to a better Way. I have to admit, at first I never listened. In fact, I would drive right past him, road blocks and all. By doing so I always found myself in a very bumpy road of life. For example, the road blocks of a failing business and marriage were critical points in my life. And guess who was there gently pointing to the Way?

Even at the biggest road block of my life (being arrested and thrown in jail), he was there not only pointing the Way, but also defending my future. A future I knew nothing about. There is a story of a famous oil field in west Texas, known as the Yates pool. This story reminds me of what happened in my life.

During the depression this field was a sheep ranch, owned by a man named Yates. Mr. Yates was not able to make enough money on his ranching operation to pay the principal and interest on the mortgage, so he was in danger of losing his ranch. With little money for clothes or food, his family, like many others, had to live on a government subsidy. Day after day, as he grazed his sheep over those rolling west Texas hills, he was no doubt greatly troubled about how he would be able to pay his bills.

Then a seismographic crew from an oil company come into the area and told Mr. Yates that there might be oil on his land. They asked permission to drill a wildcat well, and he signed a lease.

At 1,115 feet they struck a huge oil reserve, giving 80,000 barrels a day. In fact, thirty years after the discovery, a government test of the wells showed that it still could flow 125,000 barrels of oil a day. And Mr. Yates owned it all. The day he purchased the land he received the oil and mineral rights. Yet, he was living on relief. A multimillionaire living in poverty: What was the problem? He did not know the oil was there. He owned it, but did not possess it.

Like the seismographic crew sent by the big oil company, my Barnabas was sent by the Holy Spirit into my life to show me that there was something deep within me. Something that not even I knew was in me. He saw potential, where all I saw was a man with a steady record of failures, destined for a bankrupt life. After months and months of mentally rejecting his wise counsel, I finally permitted him to drill his words of wisdom into my heart. About 10,000 feet past my pride, he stuck oil -- the anointing oil that God had reserved for me. Tapping into this oil, my Barnabas started to teach me how to depend on God. Though I sit in prison and have not one penny to my name, I can loudly proclaim to be a very rich man. Rich through Christ Jesus, who supplies for all my needs according to His riches (Philip. 4:19).

Similar to Mr. Yates, who owned the land where the oil was, but did not possess it, I too, had a fountain of rich God-given oil ready to be tapped, yet I never possessed it. Not until my Barnabas came and started to gently drill into my heart.

Even up to the very last month, before he went to the Lord, he continued to comfort and encourage me. John Wesley once said, "I am immortal until my work is done." Though Wesley said the words, my Barnabas lived them. At the age of ten, my Barnabas was diagnosed with a genetic bone disease. Fighting all odds, he managed to live a full life. Immortal he was, in my eyes, until the Lord saw that his work was done. During the last month of his earthly life, he encouraged me by reminding me to not let his soon passing away shake my faith. He was so concerned that he asked his lovely wife to write me a letter to encourage me to keep-on-keeping-on. Faithful to the end, that was his way of doing things. Which I so richly received.

One last thought before I close. Many have told the story about a man who walked the seashore, picking up helpless starfish and flinging them into the ocean. When someone noticed what he was doing he was told that the beach goes on for miles, and that what difference would it make by what he was doing. As the man picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, he quietly responded, "It matters to this one."

My Barnabas, Marshall Wayne Mickley, made a difference to this single life. Not to mention the many others that claim the same.

I will greatly miss you, my Barnabas.

In memory of Marshall Wayne Mickley (my Barnabas), straight from Adrian's cell...

Serving the Lord Faithfully,

Adrian T.

This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together in all kinds of trouble. -Proverbs 17:17

Notes:

Story by Charles Allen, in his book Perfect Peace

Romans 12:15 NASB

Taken from Nelson's Complete Book of Stories, Illustration, & Quotes, p321.

Parables, Etc., Vol.3, No. 11, January 1984

Thanks to God for my Redeemer,
thanks for all thou dost provide!
Thanks for time now but a memory,
thanks for Jesus by my side!

Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime,
thanks for dark and dreary fall!
Thanks for tears by now forgotten,
thanks for peace within my soul!

-an old Swedish hymn

It's very early right now, about 4:00 am. By guess, there can't be more than 2 or 3 other inmates awake too. I can hear the soft hum of one or two TV sets. A faint voice and music from a radio. I haven't had much sleep this past month. No deed for alarm. I'm not sick or depressed. I've just been thinking a lot. Thinking about the past year and what has come from it.

The month of January is named after the Roman god Janus, who was pictured as a man with two faces, one looking backward and the other forward. The beginning of a New Year provides a valuable time to ponder the past while anticipating the future. At night, and early morning, I've been doing a lot of pondering and anticipating. Praising and giving thanks to God for everything that has taken place in my life -- the good and the bad!

From the wonderful people he has planted in my life, to even the few who have been uprooted and left my side. The lessons learned and the lessons that I'm still trying to find the meaning to. The joy and sadness, the trials and triumphs. My failures and victories, my tears of both heartbreak and laughter.

Three steps forward, two steps back... Each day I woke up to choose if I would either learn from yesterday and improve my life and walk with Christ, or give up and become another statistic in the California prison system. Truthfully, there were many days I wanted to choose the latter. Giving up was the easiest thing to do (my mind told me). But knowing that there were many people praying for me on a daily basis, maybe even that very hour, allowed me to shake off the "giving up" feeling, and pour on the anointing oil of your love and prayers.

Rev. William Secker once wrote, "Times of trouble have often been times of triumph to a believer. Suffering seasons have generally been sifting seasons in which the Christian has lost his chaff, and the hypocrite his courage." Last year, and the past 2 more, have been a very long season in my life. However, it's been the best seasons of my life. I still don't fully understand God's plan for me. Nor the full reason of my incarceration. I've come to many cross roads on my current faith journey. Many, if not all, cross roads gave me the opportunity to ask the Lord "why?"

In his book, Day by Day, Vance Havner said, "God marks across some of your days, 'Will explain later!'"

Oh, how true that was, and is, in my life. On the cross roads that triggered my thoughts to question God, I almost always chose to "suck-it-up" and walk on. Hoping in time that He would "explain later". Many He did, and others I'm still waiting on an explanation. But in time I'm sure I will know. It's always a spirit-filled moment.

"My life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

"Oft times He weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.

"Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

"The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned."

-The Weaving, by Grant Colfax Tullar

My friends, I need to personally thank you for helping me get through the year of 2002. With Christ holding my right hand, and you, in prayer and support, holding my left, I was able to grow spiritually stronger and wiser. I also need to personally, with all my heart, soul, and mind thank my mentor Marshall for all the wisdom, support, correction, and love he has given me. He has paved a firm godly example in my heart. Thank you Lord for Marshall. --Marshall Mickley went home to the Lord shortly after this was written.

Looking ahead, there is nothing but glory. According to the Bible there is a day when heaven's trumpets will sound, when Jesus will come to earth again and exercise final judgment, and when believers will live with the Lord forever (I Thessalonians 4:13-17). Oh what a beautiful future I have waiting for me -- you do too.

"Lord of the compost heap
you take garbage
and turn it into
soil, good soil
for seeds to root
and grow
with wildest increase
flowers to bloom
with brilliant beauty.

Take all the garbage
of my life
Lord of the compost heap
turn it into
soil good soil
and then plant seeds
to bring forth
fruit and beauty
in profusion."

-Joseph Bayle, Psalms of My Life, Christianity Today, January 15, 1988

Looking back, and ahead, Straight From Adrian's Cell, early in the morning...

At His Service, at your service,

Adrian T.

I Peter 5:14

*One last thing: please don't forget my friend Mike. Read about him in my last update. God bless you.

"The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold." Psalm 18:2 (NASB)

For many centuries the world has been trying to answer questions like "if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around, does it make any sound?" or "Does the light in the refrigerator ever go off when the door is closed?" or What is the meaning of life?" or "Why doesn't a man ever stop and ask for directions when he knows he's lost?"... Well, the question that I'm starting to ask is, " Has anyone ever seen a rough, tough -- scars-to-prove-it -- career criminal, grown man cry?"

Through a watery veil of tears, a trembling chin and a half choking voice, Mike entrusted a tender, deep and painful feeling to me. "All my life I've tried to love and to find love. However, every time I think I have found it -- either through a friend, family, pet, even a thing -- it gets ripped away from me, hurting me and causing more pain; irritating the already open sore; giving me another reason to harden my ways and become a mean, mean, person." I stood there looking at him, holding back tears of my own, praying within me for words of wisdom. Nothing. Not a thought. It felt like hours...

Five days before this night, Mike lay on his bunk, and I in mine, as he painfully described his childhood. His childhood was filled with nothing but sorrow. From being literally beaten black-and-blue, from head to toe, by his father. Living on his own, on the streets, at the age of eleven. Jumping from boys group homes to boys ranches to juvenile hall -- none wanting him. Learning that the only way to survive life was to harden ones heart and do what needed to be done to stay alive.

It was about midnight that night he told me these things. By the end, I lay in a fetal position crying my heart out, feeling the pain shoot straight through my stomach, then around to my back. The images painted by his words toppled me over to a helpless state. I found myself wanting to physically transfer the peace that the Lord placed and rooted in my heart, straight to him -- like a blood transfusion. However, I knew it wasn't that easy with Mike. Like Pharaoh, who Moses faced, I found myself in a similar situation. Years and years of hurt had caused Mike's heart to grow layers upon layers of hardness.

Mike is a unique person. He stands out, no matter what kind of crowd he's among. He walks tough. He looks tough. He talks tough. He even smiles tough. He's the person you avoid passing, and run across the street instead. Imagine how I felt when he was moved into my cell to free-up a cell he was in. He knew I was the "Preacher Boy" of the unit. Always smiling and talking to anyone who would listen about the Word of God. Though I wasn't scared, I did wonder how he would react to my in-cell late-night cellie-to-cellie talks (since they always included God and love). God is good!

Like a large Las Vegas neon sign, Mike's first words to me -- as my new official cellie -- were, "Why is it that I have so many Bible questions that no one has been able to answer?" Ding, ding, ding ding! Bells went off in my heart. I wanted to jump up and start doing the silly chicken dance. But I kept my cool. I gently smiled and told him I would like to be challenged by his many questions.

Since then, every single night, we read, discuss, and work through the Bible. God issues; spiritual issues; life issues. I may not have all the answers, however he seems to be enjoying my effort. I can see it in his eyes.

I wish I could report that Mike has accepted the Lord as his personal Lord and Savior. This is one soul that needs much more care and tender attention. Since he and I are both scheduled to go to our corresponding prisons, our growing relationship will have to stop (until we both get out and reunite). I pray that this update would touch the heart of some of you and encourage you to join Truth Frees Us and become a mentor and friend to Mike.

Mike has openly agreed to receive any support that will come from you, to encourage him to further discover God. Mike has been working on expressing his thoughts and feelings with me. Attached to this update are Mike's thoughts, feelings, and questions. Please take the time to carefully read them, as you prayerfully consider becoming a firm pillar in Mike's life.

So the question was, "Has anyone ever seen a rough, tough -- scars-to-prove-it -- career criminal, grown man cry?" I now strongly believe this is totally impossible. For in every man is a longing to be soft and tender. In the eyes of the Lord, there is none too tough or bad to cry -- and be helped. Every so-called "tough man" has a child within, waiting to be embraced. Only tender loving men cry -- and Mike is one of them.

Reaching for help for my new found friend, Straight from Adrian's Cell...

In His Service,

Adrian T.

This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up..." Ecclesiastes 4:9-10a (NIV)

Dear Somebody

How are you today? As for me, I'm OK but could be better. How, I'm not quite sure, but as they say anywhere but here is better, and they are sure.

Anyways, nothing has changed lately for me. Same pain and heartache; don't know when I'll get over it. I just wish it would come soon.

Went back to an old way of showing my feelings, but it's hard for some people to understand true feelings when they're really hiding their own from themselves. I've learned that even if you can trust and be truthful to others never forget who you really are and always remember the truth, no matter how much pain it causes, because once you start lying to yourself your no one anymore. And if you ever do try to trust another with your true feelings, make sure she's the real one and not someone who's just gonna walk away for someone or something she may think is better because once your give her your trust she'll never be able to find better but like everyone says, it takes time. No one said it would be painful because no one really fully trusts anyone else, at least not in this world I am in. So why should I be the one to take the chance? Why do I have to be the one to understand?

Well it's late and I've got to go. My roomie's trying to sleep so take care and may god's angels watch over you.

Yours always,

Mike

A Feeling

I feel so deep and dark inside, which for some reason even scares me, but it's so hard to understand.

I have a hate inside which needs to be released, but where? When? How?

I watched it destroy my life, my love, my true feelings, and yet I don't know how to stop it or ask for help because if I don't understand these feelings, how can anyone else?

Many days I wake up and wonder why. Why am I here? And then I just give up on an answer and move on -- later finding myself alone and asking the same question again.

Why am I alone in this world? Why can't I find a real love? Why can't I share the truth without the loss or fear of losing myself as well as love?

I ask, why god, what have I done to deserve this punishment? Please just tell me so I understand. Tell me the reason if you are the true one. I want to know. I need to know so it can all stop and I can move on to what's better than where I'm at now. Because I can't stand this pain or feelings anymore.

--Mike

Alone

When you wake up each day and realize that you're all alone in this world it makes life feel like a waste.

You have no one you can ask for love, help, a kiss, a hug, a good lie, nothing.

So what do you do? You live day to day, and never look toward the future because the future is you -- and you alone.

So many people have turned their backs on you that you are better off alone. That way you feel nothing; like the true meaning of love, friendship, or a relationship, let alone any feelings that may end up causing you pain -- no matter how much you may feel you want them or need them.

Stay closed to feelings. In doing so you feel no more pain, but also feel nothing and stay alone in this world. Is it worth it?

To some it is. We are better off feeling nothing so we don't hurt, or hurt others. It's better for all as well as for myself.

--Mike

"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal..." These were the words that set one of the most famous speeches in motion. Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address never took sides by mentioning North or South. It urged equality and proclaimed new birth in Freedom, under God, for all.

Nearly seven score years have passed, and those words have gone unembraced by most within the walls of prisons and jails.

"Hey new guy, Mr. Bible Man, you and me need to talk". I looked up from the book I was reading to find a very large, tattoo covered man, standing at my cell door.

"About?" I managed to squeeze out still managing to sound manly enough. Not giving away the fear that wanted to jump out my throat and run for its life to Mexico.

"About you sticking to your own people. And not mixing with the other..."

"I know the politics and the 'race-sticks-to-your-own-race rules'" I boldly interrupted, gaining courage by the second. I continued, "However, I don't play those games. In my eyes there is only one race - God's race." For the next 30 minutes I defended my faith giving reason for the hope that I have (1 Peter 3:15).

This visit was very predictable since I started a Bible study group, three days before. I had been surprised I had not been confronted sooner. Half an hour before my visitor dropped by to lecture me, I had in my cell - on the floor, bunk, toilet seat, and desk stool - an Asian, White, Black and Mexican together reading and studying the wonderful Word of God. I was in violation of three unwritten rules: 1) No mixing with other races; 2) No other races in your cell, and; 3) No sharing life changing wisdom and knowledge with other races.

Attached to these rules are the consequences that one must pay for breaking them - A severe beating! No questions asked. I was well aware of these rules when I started the study group. Knowing I could get physically hurt, again. However, I also knew the Lord's hand was - and is - protecting me. He is in the driver's seat of my life, with me riding shotgun.

Well, today marks the 20th day of our growing Bible study group. And no one has been hurt or even scratched. As a matter of fact, I've gained a "respect" among some men, of all the races, for boldly stepping over the line. Sure, there is still the majority that disagrees with my actions, but through some powerful force - it's God, of course - holding them back, they have not done something about it. Praise God!

I'm not too sure how much longer I will be in San Diego before I go back to Lancaster. However, 'til that time comes, please lift this group up in prayer so that we can embrace God's word, and for protection over the fiery arrows of the enemy. Though we have managed to avoid the first, initial attacks, we well know Satan will be trying again, and again.

Also, personally, I need lots of prayer. Though I love serving the Lord from inside the walls. Some days are harder than others; some nights harder to sleep through; some hours longer than the rest. So please, I humbly ask for your support and prayers. Your notes and letters do me much good. A word or two helps to lift me up, and your smiles charge me fully.

In Peter's first letter, he told us, "Strengthen yourselves so that you will live here on earth doing what God wants, not the evil things people want" (chapter 4, verse 2, New Century Version) I welcome any help you can offer, to help encourage me to obey this command within the "lands" of the system. Though I'm only a single grain of sand among the massive sand dune of prison and jail system, I know that with your support, prayers, and God's plan and will for me; I can be used to reach those other grains next to me. Hopefully they can reach those next to them and set in motion the ripple effect.

Abraham Lincoln's three-minute Gettysburg speech will forever echo in the pages of America's history; ringing freedom, unity, and equality. However, another man, even further back in history, spoke three words that forever freed everyone from the bondage of sin. "It is finished". Jesus spoke to seal the price he paid for eternal freedom, unity, and equality. (John 19:30) Those three words are what today's prisons and jails need.

Sitting here praising God, straight from Adrian's temporary cell...

--Adrian T.

"My love to all of you in Christ Jesus. Amen." (I Corinthians 16:24 NIV)

Note from the editor: Adrian, facing a potentially dangerous turn of events with God's help, finds some wry humor in his circumstances. What follows will give some insight into his world. As fellow Christians, we share the pain and the victories. In spite of his trials, when I last spoke with Adrian, he was once again gathering fellow inmates for Bible study, risking his own safety to cross the racial boundaries there in the name of our Lord.

Today I invite you to play "The Guessing Game" with me. I will describe to you clues to help you with the answer. Ready?

...This place has the heavy smell of old, moldy, dirty gym socks. Socks that were on the feet of a 350 pound right-tackle of your local football team, playing his heart out in the most important game of his life. The in-house meals always keep you guessing. The first meal -- breakfast -- is promptly served at 4:00 am. If you sleep in, one can always look forward to the ever-so-exciting mystery meat sandwich at lunch. Dinner -- at 3:30 pm -- always fills the waiting consumer with the "birthday jitters" feeling, wondering what will be under the covered plate. The dinner surprise can keep one guessing for hours.

The "staff" is many times cold and rude. The dress code is very retro. The local in-house culture permits you to change clothing -- socks, underwear, T-shirt, pants -- but once a week (actually, no one has a choice. Once a week is the best it gets). Most residents wear goofy, odd-fitting, rubber sandals. The showers are in full view of the observing public (Please note: it's not really recommended to take up the sport of observing showering men)

The sun, moon, and stars never set their glow here. The air that is breathed is far from fresh. Throughout the day the "gods" of this place speak to the village peasants through speakers hidden in the walls. With a good imagination, one can try to put a face to the voices that yell commands all day through those speakers. Many times upon discovery, we find that the being behind the curtain, smoke and mirrors is nothing but a simple man playing the Wizard of Oz.

So where am I? If you guessed the petting zoo located at the San Diego Wild Animal Park, you were partly correct. The city is right; the smell and the wild animals are good metaphors for this place. However, trust me, this place is no park...

... I sit on the the cold, hard, big-enough-to-cover-half-a-rear, steel stool located inside the San Diego Central County Jail. So why am I here? Very good question. The best way to answer this is by giving you just enough information, that will make no sense to you without contacting the webmaster for further info.

Through a direct court order, I was forced to leave the LAC (Lancaster) prison to potentially be used as the last minute "magic rabbit" hat trick by the courts, in a very important trial. Fortunately, my faithful caring attorney was able to reveal the magician's secret and managed to protect this "rabbit" from further court mistreatment. Though I do not know how long I will be down here, I do know that your prayers are still needed in my life. Without a full history on "why" -- due to private personal security reasons -- I ask you to especially pray for safety. My life and safety "meter" is at an all time high, due to the careless ways of the courts. Every step I physically take in this place, I potentially risk losing my life.

The hand and mighty love and protection of our Lord has guided my steps since the first step I took in this place. I've seen His wonderful shield of protection work right in front of my naked eyes. Though I know the Lord is faithful and none will touch me without His permission, I request fervent prayer from you.

My stay here is only temporary, however, it would be nice to get a letter of hope from good friends like you. Please write me and share a warm smile with me.

Trash: Something worth little or nothing; Junk; rubbish.

Similar definitions can be found in any dictionary. However, if it were up to William Rathje, a Harvard-educated researcher, he would define trash most differently. By what I know of him, I believe he would say, upon asking him, that "Trash is Gold." You read that right. It said trash is gold.

Williams office sports a framed headline he found in a newspaper: "Gold is Garbage." So who is William Rathje? William Rathje is a researcher, convinced we can learn a lot from the trash dumps of this world. Though archeologists have always examined trash to study ancient societies, William simply skips the years of wait. His organization, The Garbage Project, travels from landfill to landfill excavating and documenting society's habits, styles, and economic levels. William truly finds meaning and treasure in our garbage.

Prisons are also know for being dumps. Housing mountains of trash -- the junk and rubbish of society. Time after time I have seen and heard TV reporters, politicians, and many others refer to prison inmates as society's trash. If only they would set their eyes like William, they would notice many gold nuggets throughout. Or better yet if they would set their eyes to see the sick as Jesus saw them, they would see potential and life within.

Covered deep inside the mountains of mistakes, and hills of stereotypes, are men with golden hearts. Men that are longing for the cleansing polish and disinfectant of the gospel. Yet many a times there are none (christian believers and churches) to roll up their sleeves, willing to dive their hands, arms, and elbows deep within the cesspool of sin gathered behind prison walls, and embrace a ragamuffin inmate.

My point: I challenge anyone reading this update to become a garbologist-partner for Christ and his gospel. It's simple; the qualification is L-O-V-E. No harvard education needed.

I beg you to pray about teaming up with Truth Frees Us Prison Ministry to help bring the gospel deep into the dumps of society. Your prayers, encouragements, and financial support are so greatly needed. I'll be the first to tell you that your support has been greatly appreciated, and has touched my life. Personally I have benefitted greatly from the L-O-V-E that has come from friends like you. Thank you.

And than you too, for letting me bring you my thoughts Straight From Adrian's Cell.

--In His, and your service, Adrian

"Don't forget about those in prison. Suffer with them as though you were there yourself. Share the sorrow of those being mistreated, as though you feel their pain in your own bodies."

(Hebrews 13:3 NLT)

"Down, down! Everyone on the yard, down!", came the voice screaming over the loud speakers. Sirens wailing, Officers running from every direction, straight toward us. Minutes before this event took place, ten Christian brothers and I had gathered on the grassy area of the yard, in a circle. We were about to start our small group Bible study.

As we began to open up in prayer, we could hear two men directly behind us, arguing over something. "Father," I started the prayer. "As we gather today on this yard..."

That's as far as I got when the sirens went off. We opened our eyes as we all threw our bodies down on the ground. Why is every officer running toward us?, I thought to myself. Oh, no, it's those two men right next to us, I told myself as a sick woozy feeling came over me.

Like clockwork I knew the next announcement was going to be a warning about shooting if the fight didn't stop. Sure enough, "Stop now! We will shoot!" Well, every inmate knows -- the unwritten rules one picks up on as an inmate -- that once you start to fight, you don't stop or go down until one is shot, sprayed, beat, or tackled to the ground by the officers. So this announcement meant nothing to the two men fighting. However, it meant a lot to us who were directly in the line of fire.

"Oh Lord, protect us" I whispered.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Three shots were fired. I shut my eyes and held my Bible so tight nothing could have taken my grip away. I held on and waited for the impact of whatever type of ammo was headed my way. (The ammo can range from 22mm bullets to wooden bullets; from net trappings to rope slingshots.)

It felt like hours, but I'm sure it was only seconds. I opened my eyes to see both men, belly side down, with hands and feet in cuffs. I quickly looked around the group to see if we had anyone hit by any ammo. None! Praise God. "Thank you Jesus" I sighed.

Soon after situations like these, a group of officers goes onto the area where possible ammo could have landed. Amazingly enough, no wooden bullets (which the firing officer said he shot) were ever found. Hmmm? Where did they go?

Want me to tell you what I think happened to those bullets? I believe those bullets were headed straight toward one of us that was in the study circle, and God, with His mighty love and power, took those bullets right in mid-air. Why not? If he can make this universe, He can take bullets from mid-air with no problem.

The reason I share this event with you, is to show you a small -- yes, small -- look at the many dangers that we face in prison. Even if one is not involved with "wrong" crowd, he is not immune to danger. The stress of prison living can build up within some, and their reaction can be to take it out on the first person that smiles at them wrong. An officer can come from a rocky situation at home, and decide to express his anger on an inmate.

Over and above those two examples, the growing Muslim Jihad group is starting to push the Christian group into a very awkward situation. Their growing hate is starting to cross lines. Their zealous faith and willingness to fight for it are well known.

Now, personally I have never been in a jungle or in China as a missionary. I'm well aware they face many dangers. And for that reason, we lift them up in prayer. Danger surrounds them every minute of the day. Likewise, I feel prison is as dangerous. And maybe even worse.

So please -- I'm begging please -- remember us in prayer. Being a faithful Christian in prison is not a cakewalk. Replace our concrete buildings with trees and huts. Substitute the officers' pepper spray and baton with spears and arrows, and we faithful Christian inmates, in America's prisons, are missionaries in the jungle. Please lift us up, as we take on the danger in American prisons.

Let me close by using the Apostle Paul's words, as translated in The Message, "and don't forget to pray for me. Pray that I'll know what to say and have the courage to say it at the right time, telling the mystery to one and all, the message that I, jailbird preacher that I am, am responsible for getting out." (Ephesians 6:19,20)

God so richly bless you all.

--In His Service, Adrian

"I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now," --Philippians 1:3-5 (NIV)

"I'm dying, Adrian, and I can't wait for this cancer to finish me off"