We prayed and cried together at the altar last week as "Julie" shared her story of a mother's broken heart.  Julie's children were young when she went to prison. But now, 25 years later, things have changed.

  Her children are grown and have children of their own. When you are incarcerated and your children do things that make you feel a need to be there to help them, it hurts deeply because you are not able to. You feel hopeless and helpless except for prayer. I am glad that Julie felt safe enough to come to the chapel to ask for prayer.

 Julie spent 16 years on death row but that is where she found Christ. For the most part, she spent those days on death row alone with Christ where she got to know Him by studying His word and praying.  She told me life was much harder for her after receiving clemency (leniency) because she had to deal with other people, lots of other people. She is in a prison of 1000 women who had not had the opportunity as Julie did, of being alone with God those many years, so they did not understand this new- found life of hers.

 The "mountain top" experience Julie had with the Lord all those years on death row gave her the strength to deal with these valley experiences. I am glad to call her my friend and I would like to invite you to help me pray for Julie during this hard time in her life. 

 I was sharing with my friend Sheila how much Julie loves nature and especially butterflies. Sheila had recently written a poem about butterflies and was willing to share it. Julie loved it, so I thought I would share Free to Fly with you.

Free to Fly

Father, did the golden butterfly

Ever stop to ask you why

You gave him graceful,

feathered wings,

But not a song like the robin sings?

Or why he feeds on nectar sweet

Instead of kernels of tender wheat?

And if he had to traverse the air

Why opposing winds were there?

For they often tossed him

to and fro,

And made his forward

 progress slow,

Even kept him from his destiny!

If so, perhaps he did not see

The danger that awaited him there

I am often the same as he:

I grumble and protest constantly,

About the way you care for me

Because instant provision

I may not see.

Lord, make me more like my

gossamer friend,

Who never questions your

care of him:

But flutters freely through the air,

From flower to flower

without a care.

Knowing you’ll catch him

 should he fall:

You are his maker after all.

Show me how to live my life,

Without the worry or the strife,

Of wanting what is not your best,

But content to surrender

to your rest.

By letting Jesus live through me

The miracle you created me to be.