Lost in Dreams (38 page)

Although those fellows had always applauded when somebody sang, the Holy Spirit moved them and kept them from desecrating the awe-filled reverence that filled the room after the last notes faded away. I’d experienced perfect silence several times in my life, but I’d never known stillness like that.

Dad presented the Gospel plan in words a child could have understood—but he didn’t talk down to the inmates. He didn’t waste words with unnecessary embellishment, either. Not the way TV preachers sometimes do. God must have had him by the tongue, too.

He might have been assembling a jigsaw puzzle from the bottom up the way he laid the foundation of salvation and then built upon it word by word, concept by concept. Nonbelievers would soon see the completed picture of Christ crucified, raised from the dead, and offering forgiveness and new life to everyone who accepts it.

“Many of you are already Christians,” he said. “I couldn’t feel any more at home here than I do with the men at my own church. Faith, hope, and love—God’s love—tend to do that to Christians. Believers, if something is on your heart tonight, please share it with your new chaplain or me. Then I want you men who need to make the eternally significant decision to become Christians to step forward.”

I didn’t notice the dozen or so men form the line to talk with Dad or Chaplain Thomas. They just appeared there. No pushing. No shoving. No signs of impatience. Only the sounds of sniffling broke the stillness, and that somehow made the atmosphere seem even more reverent.

I stayed in my seat and tried to keep from blubbering. I needed to pray. Some of the men in that room had undoubtedly pictured themselves as tough guys before coming to Red Cedar, and many of them had probably worked hard to maintain that image as insiders.

Even though God wanted to win the soul of every insider present, He wouldn’t force Himself on anyone. Yet not even the toughest man in the room could have rejected the Holy Spirit’s tugging that evening without a painful struggle.

Chaplain Jenkins had told them the Good News. So had Graham—in his own special way. Dad, too. While some of the men had undoubtedly listened with open ears and receptive hearts, others had hardened themselves to the message. Each man would have to make a decision—to accept Christ and live or to suffer both earthly and eternal separation from God. I was thankful for the rededications, but my most earnest prayers were for the men who had yet to reveal their decisions.

When the line of people making rededications got down to one or two, a sudden onrush of men headed to the front of the room and lined up behind them. Unable to ignore them and keep my mind on my prayer, I noticed that only a few men remained seated, and several of them had the strained, agonized look I’d always pictured Jacob having when he wrestled with the angel of God.

I felt sorry for the guards, though. Several of them looked like they had taken God’s call seriously, too, but they couldn’t respond while on duty. I made note of their names to give to Warden, uh, Chaplain Jenkins.

I’d never heard of a revival taking place inside a prison, but I spent one glorious evening of my teen life watching one insider after another break free from the captivity of sin in a meeting room at Red Cedar Correctional Center.

T
he service was officially over, but spirits were still high. Anyone witnessing the interaction among the insiders, Chaplain Jenkins, Graham O’Reilly, and the members of our ministry team would have thought they were watching a Christmas family get-together. The only thing missing was food and drink.

Hmm. I started thinking about what had been going on at my home church tonight—actually three hours earlier. The Sunday night before Christmas was special because the choir presented its yearly musical. Several years earlier, our director started making the singers memorize it. Although they grumbled at first, they had to admit that the presentation sounded considerably more polished when they didn’t have their faces stuck in their books.

Because I’d been suffering from fatigue when rehearsals for the musical began, I would have missed too many to sing in the choir tonight anyhow. I’d participated each of the four previous years, though. Although it wasn’t going to be the same, I’d had my heart set on being there in the front pew.

But the way God worked things out, I didn’t feel like I’d missed anything that night. I’d been among special Christian friends who were like family to me now. They’d blessed me with their prayers and their testimonies.

And who needed a well-blended church choir when we could enjoy the richness of men’s voices—enhanced by the sweet sound of Hi’s countertenor and the power of Rock’s super-low bass—singing from their hearts as if they’d been the

shepherds worshipping the baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

Unlike my departure from Santa María, when I didn’t discover what my Spanish Bible reading had accomplished until the bus was well on the way back to San Diego, we’d
seen
results at Red Cedar. Plenty of them. Rededications. First-time commitments. And announcements with far-reaching implications.

Rock told me he felt called to the ministry. Maybe not as the pastor of a church, but doing some type of ministry where tales of his prison experiences would include his personal Saul/Paul conversion testimony. Maybe he’d enter the chaplaincy—if his prison record didn’t prevent it.

Graham shared with the men individually how much he’d missed them. They’d been his best and only friends for a number of years, and he planned to slip across the road frequently to visit them. Even if no other outsiders chose to do a regular prison ministry, he would come back and assist the new chaplain.

In an effort to be truthful and honest with his fellow Christian insiders, Alfredo had made an announcement in passable English. “I speak English good. More good than I let on.” I giggled at the wide-eyed look of shock on the face of the friend who’d brought him to the service.

Especially when Alfredo said in mock seriousness, “Be more careful what you say when I nearby.” The guys poked each other good-naturedly as if to say,
“Now I can ask Alfredo what you really think of me—what you say about me behind my back. “

He also touched me in a personal way that evening. “Miss Kimmy, I can’t thank you. What you do. For Jo and me. You do not approve. I am sorry—”

“Alfredo, I was wrong. About you. About you and Jo. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No, you right. At first I—how you say?—I made use of her. So good sit next to pretty girl. Pretend she mine. But she is friend now. Just like you. You brought me Jesus.”

Good thing I’d had the forethought to bring several packets of tissues with me that evening. I was already halfway through the second one.

“Jo helped, though, didn’t she? She gave you the
Santa Biblia.”

“Sí. Both of you helped.”

“Will the two of you stay in touch after we go home?”

“I do not know. I think I … am not worthy Jo.” He sighed. Although he’d referred to her as a friend, his feelings obviously ran deeper than that. I couldn’t believe he was going to give up on her that easily.

“Wait a second, fella,” I said. “You aren’t worthy of God’s love, either. But He gave it to you anyhow.”
Lord, please keep me from elaborating on that observation and making a simple point more complex than it needs to be
.

His face brightened. The most brilliant of Graham’s sunrises hadn’t been more radiant. “Have present. For you.” He handed me something he’d been carrying under his arm. It looked like a Bible at first, but it wasn’t. “A thank-you.”

I smiled, took the hard-bound book from him, and looked at the cover. It was a well worn copy of Miguel Cervantes’ classic
Don Quixote
. In Spanish at that. The language Cervantes wrote it in.

I opened it up, found the first chapter, and began reading aloud.
“En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor.”

What I wouldn’t have given for a picture of Alfredo’s mouth dropping open.

“Jo is right. You read
español
good.
Perfectamente.”

I didn’t want to burst his bubble by admitting I only understood a handful of the words I’d read, and I couldn’t even fit those together in a way that made sense. The villagers of Santa María had tutored me in pronunciation, not grammar and syntax.

“I learned to do that in Mexico,” I said.

“Jo told me. The villagers … they teach you good.”

I smiled at him. “You sure you don’t want to keep this?”

He nodded. “Jo says you want to learn Spanish. For you to read …” He seemed lost in the search for the right words.

“For me to read when I learn Spanish well enough to understand what I’m reading?”

He smirked. “Sí. You do that.”

“This is a precious gift, Alfredo. I wish I had something to give you.”

“You give me God’s love. Can I … hug you, Miss Kimmy? Like brother-sister?” Instead of verbalizing a response, I hugged him.

“Pardon me, please,” he said as he looked around at the rapidly emptying room. “Must tell good-bye Jo.”

Considering how much Alfredo’s farewell had torn me up, I couldn’t imagine the effect it would have on Jo. Resisting the temptation to watch wasn’t easy.

Staring wouldn’t have been just morbid curiosity, though. If Aleesha and I were going to rebuild Jo’s spirits afterward, I needed to see how badly she was taking it. I compromised by watching something a few feet away from them and relying on my peripheral vision.

I didn’t move closer, though. Eavesdropping would be too great an invasion of their privacy. But Jo surprised me by talking with Alfredo for only a couple of minutes. They exchanged little scraps of paper—I assume with their

addresses. Then she gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

After Warden …
Chaplain
Jenkins walked us to the parking lot, Jo pulled Aleesha and me to the side. “Anybody for a walk back to the hostel?”

“I’m worn out,” I said, probably in a whinier voice than I realized. “Didn’t we do enough walking today?”

“I think she wants to talk to us, girl,” Aleesha whispered in my ear. “We’re her best friends. Remember?”

“But sure, Jo.” I said in a more positive voice. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s do it.”

We didn’t start talking until Rob, Graham, and Dad passed us in the van. They’d spent a few extra minutes talking with Chaplain Jenkins.

“How’d it go, Jo?” I expected her to break out bawling any second now.

But she didn’t. “Okay,” she said.

I shone my flashlight on her face in disbelief. No tears.

“
Really
okay.” She shone hers on mine. “Don’t look so surprised.” She laughed.

“Surprised, girl?” Aleesha said. “Try amazed. Stupefied. Dumbfounded. Thunderstruck. Not to mention we just plain don’t believe it.”

Girls’ giggle time. In three-dimensional surround sound.

“Isn’t anybody glad?” Jo said, trying to catch her breath after laughing so much.

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“I was praying for you the whole time,” Aleesha said. I started to say,
“Then why are you so surprised that it went well?”
but changed my mind.

“Isn’t anyone going to ask
why
things went so well?”

“Besides the fact I was praying for you, girl?”

As wonderful as it felt having the old Jo back, I was going to

miss having Aleesha around, too—if she carried through with her plans to transfer to Howard University the next semester. Now that we’d finally melded into a Christ-centered, three-in-one, one-for-all-and-all-for-one fellowship, I knew of two people who were going to try their best to talk her out of going.

“Go, Jo,” I said. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Alfredo and I both admitted we’d been using one another from the start.”

“You …?”

“Used him?”

“I was so angry at Mama for what she’d done that I wanted to pay her back by doing the most dangerous thing I could think of.”

“You mean besides getting me lost up on the mountain?” Aleesha’s tone morphed in mid-sentence from a mild rebuke to a gentle tease.

“More dangerous than making you angry, Sister Aleesha. Trying to get romantic with an insider—or at least pretending I was. I wanted to call Mama as soon as I got home. Tell her I’d gotten engaged to a Latino I’d met doing prison ministry. Wouldn’t that have put her in a tizzy?”

“That would’ve gotten
my
attention,” Aleesha said. “You’re sure you’re not still young enough for your mama to spank?” Not a hint of a tease in her voice that time.

“Well, God didn’t like my attitude, either, and He didn’t like my leading Alfredo on, even though I was almost positive he was taking advantage of me, too. I knew what I was doing when I took that letter. I’d read the rules, and I hoped to get in trouble over it. Anything to hurt Mama a little more.”

Aleesha and I didn’t interrupt. If she felt the same way I did, we were both confused and concerned. Jo knew God disapproved of her attitude. She’d admitted it. But it sounded like Jo hated her mother. Maybe more now than before.

We didn’t have a chance to ask, though. “Kim, Aleesha … when we get back to the hostel I’m going to borrow Rob’s satellite phone.”

“Calling your dad?”

“No. My mama.”

I
couldn’t believe Jo. Not the fact that she was going to call her mama. And not that she was going to do it this late at night. Since it must have been three or four o’clock in the morning at home, maybe she thought it would be fun to punish her mama a bit more by interrupting her sleep.

But Jo asked us to be with her when she called, and that floored me. “I’m going to put the call on speakerphone,” she said. Maybe she wanted witnesses.

“Rob has Mama’s number in his contacts. I was tempted to delete it, but I realized I might need it when I worked up the courage to tell her I never wanted to speak to her again.” She paused. “I’ve never bothered to memorize it,” she said before I could ask.