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 ...
Some call me Coach, she calls me Momma, and hers calls me Granna, but He calls me Songbird. I have a song to sing, a story to tell, and occasionally a warning to share.