good now. But I’m telling you, she’s the one.
You can either trust Me with her, or you can
go your own way.”
Sometimes, things would get so confusing,
I would cry out to God—“What do You want
me to do?” And He would reply, “I don’t want
you to do anything. Just trust Me. Just stand
there and watch what I can do. Watch Me
work.”
God was so gracious to give me reminders
of His promise at times when I was ready to
give up. Once we were at this little church
in Ybor City, Florida, at a training event for
prison ministry. Jessica was deep into prison
ministry, and I was there to support her.
Halfway through the event, the pastor of the
church called me into his office. I felt like I’d
been called to the principal’s office! I sat down
and watched as he struggled to find the right
words. Finally he said, “I don’t know you, and
I don’t know the girl you came here with, but I
do know this: God says that she is the woman
He has for you. He also says this woman has
more walls, more barking dogs, more land
mines, more barbed-wire fences surrounding
her heart than most people. None of those
things are your fault. If you want to get to
her heart, you are going to have to climb
over those walls and fences. You are going to
have to pet those dogs and jump over those
land mines.”
I was blown away. Jessica and I hadn’t even
sat together during that meeting, so I knew
this pastor couldn’t have known we were
there together; nor would he have known
about God’s promise to me about her. I
began to share my heart, and we both began
to cry.
J: I see Scotty coming out of the pastor’s office
all teary eyed, and I think, “What’s this guy
doing over there, crying to the pastor?” Here’s
the deal. I had been really hurt. I was raised
with good morals. My father taught me that
your first sexual relationship should be with
your husband. But something happened. I
was 16 years old when my 34-year-old boss
took advantage of me sexually. I said no, but
he didn’t care. Let me tell you something—a
thousand showers can’t wash someone off
you that you didn’t want on you. It’s the most
disgusting feeling in world.
I felt ruined, like a vase that had been
thrown to the ground and shattered. Believing
what I’d been taught, however, I moved in
with my boss. I told everyone I was in love
and was going to marry him. It was either be
a slut or marry this creep, I reasoned. I started
drinking and getting high and began to rack
up charges.
Finally, my cousin confronted me. He said,
“Jessica, you can’t lie to me. Tell me what
happened.” I told him about the sexual abuse
and why I was living with this man. Daddy
had taught me that my first should be my
husband. “That’s not what your dad meant,”
he protested. With a new understanding,
I eventually moved out. But I moved out
broken and confused. I began to date a guy
I’d had a crush on since seventh grade. This
time I gave my consent. I was sure I was in
love. One day he showed up with a little
jewelry box. I was so excited. He opened the
box and then said, “I’m going to ask Tammy
to marry me. Do you think she’ll like this?”
I remember driving by the church on
their wedding day with tears rolling down
my cheeks. I couldn’t blame him. She was
beautiful; I was just trash. After all, I had been
with two people now. I was devastated. I met
another guy, then another guy, and then
another. It always ended up the same. Some
cheated on me with women, some cheated
on me with cocaine. Some beat me with their
fists, others with their words.
Right in the middle of all this, my best
friend Carla introduced me to another man—
Jesus. Carla and I were two peas in a pod.
Some even called us “salt and pepper.” We’d
had many wild nights together, but one night
when I went to pick her up, she told me she
wasn’t going out. When I asked her why, she
told me she had rededicated her life to Jesus
Christ. I told her she could stay home in her
pajamas and I’d feel sorry for her, but I was
going out to have some fun. She said she’d
be praying for me.
In the coming days and months, I kept my
eye on Carla. Something was different about
her. Storms would come and go in her life,
but she stayed steady and calm. Nothing
bothered her. I wanted what she had. I started
mimicking Carla’s life. If she went to church, I
went to church. If she sat on the pew, I sat on
the pew. If she sang or prayed or memorized
scripture, I sang and prayed and memorized
scripture. But I couldn’t help noticing that
Carla’s life was being transformed, while
mine stayed the same. Her prayers were
being answered, while mine hit the ceiling
and bounced back down. Carla had a real
connection with God. I did not.
For two years, I struggled in my faith while
Carla grew strong. What had I done wrong?
I mean, I’d walked the aisle of a church to
receive Christ. I’d gotten all emotional and
cried. I’d repeated prayers and memorized
scripture. Yet something was missing.
continued on page 22
continued on page 23
prison isn’t walls and
wires. Prison is sin.
And we all have sin.
Photography by Timothy Smith/Honor Photography kojministries.org Issue 4 2017 21
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