I want to get out of prison.  As a Christian, this desire hasn’t decreased at all – but my reasons for wanting to get out have changed, some of them, at least.  Before, I just wanted to return to my old, pre-prison life.  Over time, I began to pray for God to let me demonstrate my repentance, promising I would serve Him better if I were free, help those in need.  Those of us in prison who identify as Christian have probably all prayed and promised some variation of that.  Repeatedly.  It’s been about twelve years since I last did.

And God answered me!  Just not by granting my request.  Rather, God first answered with a question He wanted me to contemplate, and I could sense the question like a rock in my gut. “If you won’t serve me wholeheartedly now, in a place and situation with fewer temptations and distractions, what makes you think you’ll serve me when free, when inundated with many of the same choices and temptations that condemned you to begin with?”

My initial reaction was to argue that I had changed.  But had I, really?  Maybe I wasn’t selling drugs or using them, but I had no trouble with fighting if the situation arose.  I could also turn a blind eye to the needs of those around me.  And I had this attitude that because I was in prison, I could do whatever it took to survive, to do my time.  I realized I didn’t really stand for anything; rather, I was like a chameleon, adapting to my surroundings.

But in my heart, I wanted to be authentic, to be the same person God wanted me to be regardless of where I was living, regardless of being imprisoned or free.  I prayed, “God, how can I possibly serve you right here, on death row?”  All I heard was silence, as if my heart wasn’t quite ready for God’s response.  Nevertheless, my question seemed to hover before my eyes everywhere I went.

Then, one day, God suddenly broke into my thoughts.  I was in my cell working on an art project when I saw this vision of myself putting together a bag of commissary items and handing it to an elderly, less-fortunate prisoner.  He had a very abrasive personality (almost nobody liked him, including me), so I didn’t want to give him anything.  Further, he lived on another pod.

Attempting to set aside the man’s grumpiness and my personal dislike, I asked, “Lord, how would I even get it to him?  You know the guards won’t just let me walk over there and pass it to him – it’s against the rules!”  In answer, God brought another scene to mind:  me walking toward my pod’s door, carrying the goodie bag. That was it.

I got the message, “Just do what I tell you to do.”

So, I headed toward my pod’s door, bag in hand.  As I approached, the pneumatic door hissed open.  Looking up at the control booth, I saw no guard.  And coming around the corner was the very person I was to give the bag to, hobbling along with his cane.  “Hey!” I exclaimed.  

The old man recoiled and screamed, “Hey!”  Then he eyed me warily.  I quickly stepped into the hall and thrust the bag into his free hand, saying, “Uh… God wanted you to have this…”  I felt weird saying it, though he seemed unfazed.  In fact, he brightened.

“Okay!  Thanks!  I gotta see the nurse,” and he shuffled off, rattling the bag as I stepped back into my pod.  I was a little stunned about how it’d all played out.

A guard appeared in the control station’s window ten feet in front of me and saw the open door.  She gestured angrily, as if I’d opened the pod door.  I shrugged at her and walked away, hearing the door hiss and bang shut behind me.

Now I understood.  I didn’t need to know how God would accomplish his goals.  To be of service is simple. I need only to maintain a humble, willing and obedient heart – and do what God tells me to do, when He tells me to do it, how He tells me to do it.  Period.  

Whether I’m in prison or out of it, if my heart’s in the right place, I am useful to God’s purposes.

Of course, I still want to get out of prison.  Only now, getting out isn’t a precondition God must meet in my life before I’ll serve Him.  

Amen. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  George Wilkerson lives on Death Row in NC. I think that this piece, more than any other shared here, is the greatest reflection of the person I have come to know. George is an accomplished poet, writer and artist. He is the author of Interface and Bone Orchard, as well as co-author of Crimson Letters and Beneath Our Numbers. More of his work can be found at katbrodie.com/georgewilkerson/.

Mr. Wilkerson can be contacted at:
George T. Wilkerson #0900281
Central Prison
P.O. Box 247
Phoenix, MD 21131

He can also be contacted via textbehind.com