I am still alive.  Lurking about. Listening.  Most will be surprised when this blog pops up on their reader.  Some will never see it. That’s OK.

 I know I’ve been absent.  It’s not that I don’t want to write, it’s more of “what to write.”  So many things to say and so many things to finish.  (I know I still have an Israel post or two to finish)  

I feel guilty, for not writing… You would be surprised at the thoughts that fly through my head.  ”Write, don’t write, post a picture, don’t post anything.”  It’s crazy… it’s me.

I’ve wondered where to start or how to catch up… How do you jump into the flow again?  I guess it happens when a story lost, is found again.  This is where I am… Found.

Many of you may remember a photo project of mine last year called “52 people.”  Photos of people, stories of their lives.  It was a great challenge and an eye and ear opener as I realized opportunities gained and ones missed… Like Francisco.

52 People – Francisco

If you recall the story of Francisco had no photo because he left for Mexico.  Taking matters into his own hands and running from the law.  Innocent or guilty, his trust that God would do something right with this mess was lost in a tidal wave of accusations, police, courts and a possible prison sentence.  I missed my opportunity with Francisco… He was gone and I most likely would not see him again this side of heaven.

However, two weeks ago, I received a phone call from a mutual friend…  ”Francisco is in Wenatchee…  In the Chelan County Jail.”  

I can say, my heart was a mix of emotions.  I was glad to know my friend was here, but in prison?!  

I arrived early to fill out the proper paperwork and yield my ID during my visit.  Visiting hours for the jail are 8, 9, and 10 PM.  I made the 9 PM slot and received my “keys” which let me in and also out.  Inmates are not told who is visiting, just that they have visitors.  As I made my way through locked doors and secure elevators, I entered a hallway with several doors.  Each door opened into a 5′x5′ cinder block room marred with graffiti, soiled handprints and scuff marks where once a fresh coat of paint had been.  A single chair, stained and torn by countless visitors, occupied one quarter of the booth.  Bullet proof glass and a black telephone receiver are the only lifelines of communication for those inside to those outside.  

The number on the key which would allow my entrance to the visitor booth was at the far end.  As I passed by each door looking for the number that matched my key,  I saw empty faces, anticipating, hoping for something encouraging… visitors.  Inmates are not told who is coming, only someone is coming.

As I reached the last room on the fourth floor, I found Francisco.  

A smile quickly covered his face, I smiled too.  It was difficult and almost seemed cruel, to be this close to a long lost friend and not be able to shake hands or embrace this brother of mine.

He looked good, actually healthy.  Longer hair and a beard make him look a bit older.  It was great to see him.  I thought I never would again.  We shared conversations about his current situation.  He will have to be accountable for his breaking the law.  Even if he would be found not guilty of the prior charge, he broke the law when he fled to Mexico.  Fifty-three months to seventy months in prison.  I can’t imagine nor can he, but this is the reality of the situation.  Now what?  Once his term is served it is straight back to Mexico because he is not a US citizen.  Then what?  How can any of this possibly be good?

As I sat in a ratty blue chair, tethered to the handset and looking through thick glass listening and dreaming with Francisco.  He desired a new Bible, no problem…  We talked about what God was doing in this difficult time and how ALL THINGS WORK FOR GOOD FOR THOSE WHO LOVE GOD.  We might have five years to think and listen to what God is saying and doing.  I told him this could be like going to college. You just have to stay in your dorm room the whole time.  Perhaps God has anchored you here so you will be disciplined in Him and His Word.  I told him “Wouldn’t it be great if you were our new missionary in Mexico, teaching and preaching your story of salvation to your people.”  He smiled at the thought of being a preacher.

In his spot, it’s difficult to see that God is working.  I don’t doubt it. However, I think Christians do best when they don’t have control.  I wanted to share that God might be saving him from something worse than prison.  Perhaps.  It could be God needs him to minister his story to someone in prison so that they may be a better husband and father.  Some of the things God does through us, through Francisco, we may never see, but we know what it looks like and we press on.

I told him to write down 100 blessings.  Make a copy and send it to me and keep one for himself.  No doubt there will be bad times, difficult times of doubt.  Then he can count his blessings, name them one by one.

I still have hope to get that picture of Francisco. Someday. What a blessing for me to be able to say and share all the things I thought I would not be able to.  I’m like a talking donkey.  One hour visits are not near enough time.

At the end of 53 or 70 months, Lord willing, I will be there in Mexico and embrace my brother.  There we will start a new beginning.  It’s what Jesus is all about, new beginnings…  Life.

peace.

johno~