Reflective Thoughts by Chandra Adams

Today is Holy Saturday.  Today represents the “silent” day, the day between death and life. Not life as it was, but life as it was intended … more abundantly. In spite of all of today’s busy preparations and activities, may we include a moment's pause to reflect on His “intentional silence.” It is in the deafening silence that Faith is forged. It is in stillness that decisions are made. Where trust in the unseen challenges the known, … challenges us to lean into hope when all assurance is lost. … to recall the promises and press hard against all loss. … it is in this void that the battle is won.

I lay still on my bed, my consciousness still hanging in that place between wakefulness and dreaming.  I was both an observer and participant in the surreal moment of this dream state. The feeling, ethereal. My thoughts and memory, clear.  In my dream, I looked back over the year and asked the Lord, “What is this?” A year of so much and so little. So much has happened and yet nothing has happened. He responded, “ It is as it was in the days of Noah, ” and I woke.  While not disturbed, neither was I at peace. I knew the matter warranted reflection. I grabbed a pen and pad and began to consider the words and parallels.  I began by copying Matthew 24:37-38, “But as the days of Noah were, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be. For as in the days before the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day…”   My pen continued across the paper. “We have seen and experienced a nationwide shut down. A global interruption of life as we knew it. While

A FISHING TALE OF ANOTHER KIND  And the Lord said, “Go up, for tomorrow I will deliver them into your hand.”  It had been some time since I had heard a direct word from God in my spirit. After all the prison doors had been shut for months, no sermons or teachings were required, and I found myself overly comfortable with my quiet time nuggets.  But this morning was different. Something was stirring. A curiosity of His thoughts towards His girls behind bars. So I asked. A rare occasion for me. Now don’t get twisted, it is simply my asking that is rare, not our fellowship. Years of singleness has made room for a level of intimacy not unlike an old married couple who finishes each other’s sentences.   My question, “What do you call them?” No doubt that may sound odd, but not to my tribe who recognize it as a constant before each outreach event. I want to know who is in the room. I want to know what themes are present. What pain will be confronted? I want to see them individually and collec

The other day I met a gentleman at the gym, for anonymity sake we'll call him "Robert". I had noticed him the day before when he shuffled across the floor of the pool area and entered the hot tub. His physic was lean but showed signs of age. His shoulders were drooped forward, his swim shorts belted high, and his gait slow.  It wasn't my norm, but on this particular Wednesday I had chosen to take advantage of the hot tub after my water aerobics class. In walked Robert. Slowly he descended, holding tightly to the rail. We sat in silence for just a moment or two before he began to ask me questions. At first they were general, non intrusive questions about the water aerobics class he had observed earlier in the week. He liked the music. But then he began to reveal details about himself, unsolicited. I learned he was 79 years old, just about to turn 80, lived alone, and had been coming to this gym for over 14 years. I would have guessed much older, considering the 80

It was 1992 when I walked into my first women’s prison, a requirement of my ministerial studies. I had no idea what to expect and certainly didn’t think I had much to offer these women, many my “senior” who clearly had experienced more “life” than I. Later that evening as the worship service came to a close the women were invited to seek a volunteer out for prayer.  One by one, each woman came asking for prayer not for herself, but for her children. I was undone. Until that very moment, I hadn’t seen the women in white for who they were, mothers, daughters, and sisters. But now I could see them. Their beauty and their wounds. “Blessed are they that see the beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.” by Pissarro. Prison ministry is not sexy! Well that’s what we say about something that is not easy to sell or promote. It’s not a product everyone wants, or thinks they need, and it doesn’t pull on the heart strings like child trafficking, making funding, and ulti

A few years ago I was witness to what could easily be compared to Jesus speaking to his disciples... wisdom was being imparted, disputes being settled, and wrong thinking being confronted, all in the name of ministry leadership.  Where was I?  In the education room, a makeshift chapel, along with 50 women who are serving in ministry under the Chaplain of a mega church behind prison bars. This motley group of 50 are serving on the setup & sound team, intercessory prayer team, and/or the choir. Each week they meet for practice and as time permits, avail themselves to the spiritual influence of Chaplain (name withheld for privacy and security reasons). Why was I there? I have been volunteering at this Unit, on and off, for over 20 years, but a few years ago the Lord invited me to return for a deeper work. When I met Chaplain it was much like what I imagine it was for Elizabeth when she greeted Mary, and the baby leapt. Chaplain kindly referred to me as Esther, after ou