‘Even in a jail cell, Jesus meets me.’ – NYFF Director Shares First Letter From Jail

[Image courtesy of NYFF]

One moment stands out. Twenty hours after I entered the jail, a female deputy offers to let me out of my cell for a shower. I know that I haven’t yet been cleared for the general inmate population and that she would have to accompany and supervise me. I thank her, but decline. When I decline, I take a chance and instead ask her for three things: Toilet paper, writing paper and pen, and a Bible. With a quiet spirit and kind eyes, she replies, “I’ll see what I can do.” Soon after, she returns with a roll of toilet paper, a few pages of copy paper, a black Bic pen without a cap, and a brand-new paperback NIV Bible.

I am blessed.

In a place where nothing is mine, to hold the Word of God and have the means to write down my thoughts is a precious and timely gift. Out of all the possessions that I could have had in that place, my Bible is what I wanted most. I begin furiously scribbling, trying to capture every detail of what I have experienced thus far. I remembered Luke 9:23, a Scripture that I had often turned to as a teenager: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” This passage sounded so noble when I was young. Today, it feels much heavier, but also more real. This is not the stuff of youth group slogans. It is the crucible where Christ reveals Himself more clearly.

I do not write any of this to seek sympathy. The trials I am facing are light compared to those faced by many other believers. But they are real, and they are mine. And God is using them, even now, to show me what it truly means to suffer with Christ. I am not without hope. Romans 5:3-5 reminds me: “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame…”

That hope is my anchor. Though I sit behind bars, I know I am free in Christ. Though I am accused, I know the Righteous Judge sees all. Though my reputation is under attack, my identity in Him remains untouched. Though I am deprived of human connection, I am not alone.

So I write from Echo Block not with bitterness, but with gratitude. For even in a jail cell, Jesus meets me. Even in Echo Block-4, He is enough.

And for that, I rejoice.


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