One day at a time

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain.” Hebrews 6:19 NIV

Shortly after our daughter died, I got a letter from my nephew. He heard about her death and wanted to tell me something. “Do one day at a time.” He had been in prison for a long time. He told me that he looked at his sentence in one day increments. If he looked at the entirety of it all at once, it was too much. It is an ironic thing to have an inmate offer encouragement, but it was helpful. I still think of it that way.

Talking to him over the years is fascinating. The culture inside the walls is unique. It is different from anything we would see in what we call a free world. The hardest part to me is the relative lack of hope. We can talk about the fact that it is prison. He earned his way in and he admits that. If remorse can me measured, his is infinite. He knows he victimized a human being. He knows what he lost. He knows what he cost the people who love him. He knows that cost will never be recoverable.

When you go visit the prison you get a glimpse of how intimidating it must feel to be inside the walls. You are searched. You are escorted to a room and then hear the gears on the door clicking as it shuts. The door looks like it weighs 500 pounds and when it slams shut you understand that you are not leaving unless they allow you to. You walk in to a large room filled with inmates visiting with their families. You see young children playing games. You hear laughing. It almost seems normal until that bell rings and every inmate gets up in unison. They leave when told and this time they are searched before you get to leave.

Over time I saw something happen to him. He met someone. Her brother was an inmate and met my nephew at a visit. They hit it off and started communicating. Over time, I saw a difference. He went from existing one day at a time to having hope for a future. She lives in a different state, they have rarely seen each other. But they do have something.

It is ironic that having hope made doing time harder. Days go slower when you want to be somewhere else. If you have dreams about what that hope could turn into, you find yourself missing what you never actually had in your possession. Again, I know it is prison, but human beings do mean something. Victims deserve justice. But inmates are humans too. Gods grace can reach anyone.

I have been thinking about him a lot lately. Sometimes I think about my own hope. I have a lot of hope. Regarding our daughter, I am going to see her again. I can hear it in my mind, I can picture it in my soul. I can feel it on the palm of my hands. That last hug is as real to me as it was 14 years ago. I do not know when the next hug will come, but it will be sweet.

In the meantime, God has filled my life with reminders of glory – Mary, Aly, Korbin, Logan and Harlee. I remember the first time I prayed about Aly and Logan. I asked God about then having a baby. I heard “Babies” in my mind. I still hear it every time I pray about them. There is going to be more than one someday. Is it my mind talking or His Spirit? It kind of doesn’t matter. I hope.

My wife and I talk about how fast time goes. Days click by and I find myself heading off to work on Monday. I blink and I am heading out again. However, I am reminded that Scott and Brittany – they have names – are real. They are both struggling right now and the days feel like mud. Futures are uncertain even if destinations are already established. I am asking for some help. Alone, I can pray a little. Together, we can pray a lot. I am not asking for anything other than their peace, one day at a time.

What is on your heart to pray for?

If you want help, let me know. I am on Facebook and I have email, rickclaiborn@gmail.com I know an army of prayer warriors.

Challenge: Living patiently one day at a time when I know what is waiting. Heaven is wired into us even though we have not yet had it in our possession. I think we crave it without even being able to describe it. But we can hope.

Rick Claiborn