The Masterpiece Matrix: Chosen to Serve, #1

By K K McKee

The premier story in the Chosen to Serve series introduces Jimmy Westbrook, a servant of Jesus who is sent to minister to Steve Davis, a jail chaplain in Little Rock, Arkansas. Steve is a church member and has religion, yet Jimmy is sent by the Lord to show him the difference between religion and a personal relationship with Jesus.

As the Lord arranges it, Jimmy is arrested and meets Steve when he comes to hold a chaplain call for the jail's detainees. Over the following two weeks, the two men become good friends and Steve is shown Who the Lord really is and what the Scriptures really say. Jimmy's efforts to share these eternal truths center around sharing his own relationship with Jesus and how the Lord allows His servant to labor in His fields.

Jimmy reveals the nature of the call of the Lord on Steve's life, and exposes the spiritual warfare being used by evil to prevent Steve from hearing and responding to God's call. 

Steve will hear the call clearly, but will he be willing to surrender to the Lord as his personal Lord and Savior?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westbrook Publishing
• Release date: Jun 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224410125

Book preview

Chapter 1

Arrested

IT WAS THE WRONG SIDE of town to expect anything right, and it was the wrong time of night to be looking for it anyway. As was sometimes the case, Jimmy didn’t know where he was, but he knew basically why he was here - wherever here might actually be. He was walking along a wide, four-lane thoroughfare that was lined along each side with a variety of strip shopping centers, restaurants, convenience stores and gas stations. A few were open; the ones that weren’t, had heavy bars on the windows and doors. For that matter, the ones that were open did too.

Everything was wet from a recent rainfall, and although the temperature had cooled to the mid-sixties, the one-hundred-percent humidity was oppressive. The still air was apparently moving sufficiently enough to add the pungent odor of decay to the questionable ambiance of the littered street.

The overcast would have meant a heavy darkness, but the countless number of streetlights, security lights, business signs and headlights all cast star-like reflections in the damp areas and puddles. The resulting effect was that every light in sight was reproduced three or four times and coming at him from odd and irritating angles. As he walked, he kept half an eye on the broken pavement along the roadside, knowing that any puddle appearing to be only an inch deep might be a foot deep and a threat to an old man’s ankles.

By the fact that Jimmy was here, he knew he was supposed to be here. It was always a thrilling – yet disconcerting – thing to be . . . . His mind stumbled and groped over the right word. "Teleported? Zapped? Transferred? Whatever it is, it’s a wild thing he thought. I wish it came with a little more notice and some background info. Like maybe where and who."

The question of where was soon answered by a brightly lit sign that read, Little Rock Liquor, on the corner of a smaller road intersecting the four-lane from the south at a right angle and a red light. Near the heavy steel pole that elevated the liquor sign fifteen feet, a considerably shorter sign beneath it and sharing the light from the one above told him that he was standing where MLK Boulevard was intersected by Wiggins Lane. He thought, Thank you, Lord, now I know where I am.

Jimmy had very little knowledge of Little Rock, specifically, but this neighborhood certainly had the look of a dense ethnic area, which was obviously in decline. Hispanic and black, if previous experience proved true, though it was impossible to discern which group was moving in and which was on the way out. It was predictable, however, that Jimmy’s clean-cut looks and white skin would not be an enthusiastically welcomed visage in this place tonight. It was going to be an interesting assignment.

Well, it always was, wasn’t it?

There was a well-worn sadness evident around his eyes and a depth of knowing that some he encountered were put-off by. Jimmy had lived 61 years of life and seen much more than his share of the unkind things people did to each other and even to themselves. He certainly carried a few scars himself. Those few friends close enough to know him well, knew that he was full – even overflowing - with joy – but not much happiness. Jimmy had quit looking for happiness a long time ago, the exact moment easily traceable to his wife’s death, 11 years gone now. He was six feet tall, a hundred ninety pounds, gray mustache, and salt & pepper hair, cut short. An open and honest face gave him an easy to trust look.

As he walked, he made the effort to be aware of his surroundings. It was always good to try to be prepared for what might happen and for what might be expected of him in whatever might happen. The jeans he wore were soft and comfortable, like an old friend, and the causal shirt was nice enough without having any of those cute icons that make it cost twice what it’s worth. He was walking along the west side of the boulevard, in the direction that he assumed was leading into town. There had been yet another police shooting of a black man in recent days, in Minnesota of all places, and racial tensions across the country were high. Jimmy was sure that Little Rock was feeling the import of that situation, the same as everywhere else.

He thought, "Never a dull moment . . . . ."

As he neared a strip center on the opposite side of the asphalt expanse, he noticed a sharp looking older car that appeared to be a vibrant shade of purple, with huge, oversized fancy wheels and those really thin tires that were so popular, and then heard the deep, reverberating thump-thump-thump bass beat of music. The car was coming toward him, in the far lane, moving slowly and as it neared, it turned into the parking lot of the shopping area. As the car changed direction, the light found it from different angles and the color of the car changed to a neon green. As the car came to a stop in front of a seedy-looking Mexican restaurant that appeared to be closing for the night, the music ended abruptly.

Jimmy paused and stepped back a few steps into the shadows and watched as the car parked. The driver’s door opened, and a young black man stepped out, looking toward the restaurant, apparently looking for someone or something. He was neatly groomed, in black slacks and a red pullover shirt. Smoke rose from the open car door and the young man flicked a cigarette butt as he exited the car. Jimmy noticed the girl on the bench at the same time the driver did, maybe because the driver did. The young girl stood up and said something that the distance prevented him from hearing, but it was obvious that the driver was there to meet her.

At the instant the driver responded to the girl, blue lights flashed brightly, scattered around several points in the parking lot that had looked deserted a moment before. Jimmy quickly counted six cops, all converging on the driver, and all shouting commands loud enough that Jimmy knew it wasn’t going to be good for the driver – whomever he may be. Within sixty seconds the cops had the driver bent over the hood, cuffing his hands behind his back, and frisking him briskly and roughly.

The girl watched the arrest with a generally disinterested appearance, lighting a cigarette of her own with a shake of her head and it was obvious the driver meant nothing to her. It was equally obvious that she wasn’t surprised to see the cops and the blue lights.

Jimmy thought, She’s just the bait in a trap.

The scene was the only thing happening in sight, and it was admittedly an eye-catching event, so Jimmy continued to watch it unfold. Knowing the heightened tensions and that some cops don’t like being watched too closely anyway, he knew he was walking a thin line by just standing and observing the arrest. Hopefully, he would escape notice. As he watched the arrest, a familiar tickle was tuning up his nerves.

With practiced efficiency, two of the cops were already placing the driver in the back of a patrol car, while he hollered as loudly as possible – easily loud enough for Jimmy to hear from across the four-lane – I didn’t do nothing! I didn’t do nothing! Another cop, who appeared to be in the grip of an adrenalin rush from the encounter, happened to notice Jimmy watching from across the wide street. He reached for the radio mike pinned to the shoulder of his shirt and spoke something into it, while starting to walk across the street toward Jimmy.

"Ugh-oh" Jimmy thought. I’m busted.

The cop was a white guy, shorter than average but as thick-chested as a gorilla due to the Kevlar vest he wore. This late at night, the traffic along the four-lane was sparse, and the few vehicles that were near all yielded to the cop, who just assumed they would, as he continued across the road, now shouting at Jimmy.

Hey Sir! I need you to stay where you are!

Well, that sounds like a good idea. Jimmy thought, even though he bristled a little at the arrogance the cop was exuding. I better cut him some slack. I know he’s pumped up. He could be a really nice guy.

No problem, officer.

As the cop neared, he placed his hand on the butt of his pistol. I need to see your hands. Show me your hands NOW.

Until that moment, Jimmy had unconsciously had his hands in his jean pockets. He chuckled to himself. Don’t want to get shot for having my hands in my pockets, so that sounds like another good idea. He slowly pulled his hands out and half-held them up.

Yes sir. What’s the problem?

He tried to make his attitude and body language say "I’m no threat" as clearly as he could. This cop was really hyped up, and that could be dangerous.

What are you doing here?

I was just walking along when the show started. Kind of hard to miss.

Yeah? Lemme see some ID.

Jimmy removed his wallet from the left front pocket of his jeans, as the cop watched him closely, maintaining his right hand resting on the holstered pistol. With exaggerated deliberation, Jimmy opened the wallet and pulled his driver’s license out, then extended it to the cop.

Taking the ID and holding it so that the light from the sign fell on it, the cop keyed his shoulder mike and said, Control, unit 68. Wants & warrants on a Jimmy G. Westbrook, Prairie View, Texas.

Following a momentary pause, the radio responded, Unit 68, no wants or warrants on Jimmy G. Westbrook, Prairie View, Texas.

The cop grinned at Jimmy and said, Lucky for you you’re just a vagrant.

Jimmy smiled and reached for the license which the cop handed back. As Jimmy returned the license to the wallet, and the wallet to his pocket, he said, Actually, I’m not a vagrant.

What’s your business here this time of night?

Jimmy chuckled silently as he realized that under the circumstances, there was no good answer to that question.

I’m just walking.

Just out for a stroll, hunh? Where’s your car?

Oops, that might be a tough one, too. Umn . . . I don’t have one.

You walk all the way from Prairie View, Texas?

Well, no . . .

You need to start giving me some better answers.

I’m answering. I just don’t have the answers you want.

"You down here looking for drugs?

No, sir.

Hooker?

Certainly not.

Look buddy – you better tell me why you’re here and what your business is here, right now, or you’re coming with me.

Come with you where?

The cop had reached his limit, and Jimmy understood. It was simply a fact that he couldn’t answer the questions with enough information to diffuse the situation. It wasn’t the cop’s fault, really. He was paid to be suspicious.

Come on. Come with me. Right now.

Jimmy hesitated. It was clear that the arrest he just witnessed had something to do with the assignment, but the cop made him nervous. There were bad vibes all over the guy. He knew – on a spiritual level – that the cop was carrying demons of hate and anger. The feel of it was unmistakable. He thought, This guy is a problem to be dealt with, but he’s not part of the assignment. He’s just a means to an end.

Yes sir. Jimmy’s momentary delay before acknowledging the order, ratcheted the cop up another notch or two. Jimmy thought, Careful.

Jimmy started walking across the street, toward the parking lot where two other cops were standing talking, both watching their fellow officer bring Jimmy back over. The cop fell in behind Jimmy and placed his hand lightly in the small of Jimmy’s back. The traffic continued to wait until they both cleared the roadway.

One of the waiting cops said, Whatcha got, Manny?

Ah, nothin’ but a vagrant.

The new cop was a big man, maybe six feet, three inches, 240 lbs., and obviously devoted to a weight-room somewhere. Authority and confidence radiated from him like perfume from a debutant. He was a light-skinned African American who was comfortable in his position, and secure in his ability to do it well. He looked Jimmy over with a knowing and experienced eye. This old white man very obviously did not belong here. Clean. Well groomed. Calm. Lilly. "Looking for drugs maybe?" He thought.

Manny, he don’t look much like a vagrant to me.

The cop named Manny disagreed. He’s in the wrong place at the wrong time, with no car, and he can’t tell me what he’s doing here. So, I say he’s a vagrant.

Okay. He’s a vagrant. You taking him in? 

Yeah. I want him out’a here. Something’ about him aint right.

Manny, how long you been on second shift?

Four months.

Rookie, you need to learn that sometimes it’s more trouble than it’s worth to take a dude downtown and spend an hour doing all the paperwork, when he aint done nothing to hold him on.

This guy’s up to something. You know he don’t belong here.

So, you gonna charge him with being up to something? I’m coming downtown with you, ‘cause I wanna see that.

Manny voiced a popular curse and just stood there, breathing hard. The sergeant realized he was pumping adrenaline and gave up on the lesson.

Okay, rookie, knock yourself out. It’s your paperwork.

Manny cursed again and then looked at the big cop and asked, Seriously, don’t you feel it?

Feel what?

This guy’s vibes or something.

The big man, who happened to be known as Sergeant Lincoln Foster, gave Jimmy a closer look. The sergeant had been on the force for 17 years, every one of them spent on the night shift, and he had seen all there was to see. Stepping close enough to breech Jimmy’s personal space and peering intently into his open face, he said, Something in his eyes, aint it?

His eyes? Manny cursed again, more emphatically. Who cares about his friggin’ eyes? Something about him aint right. I can feel it plain as day.

So, what you think it is?

I don’t care what it is. That’s somebody else’s problem. I just want him off my street.

The Sergeant smiled at Jimmy and said, Well, Mr. Bad Vibes vagrant, it looks like you’re spending the night with us, don’t it?

Jimmy looked the man eye to eye and responded, Yes, sir. It looks like I am.

The cop called Manny nodded to Jimmy, then put one hand on his shoulder, moving him to turn around. He then placed his hand on Jimmy’s back and applied some pressure, guiding him a few steps toward a police cruiser.

Assume the position.

Jimmy placed his hands on the roof of the cruiser and spread his feet apart. The cop kept his left hand on Jimmy’s back while he checked for weapons. When he satisfied himself that Jimmy was not an armed or active threat, he said,

Alright. Turn around and empty your pockets.

Keeping his attention on Jimmy, he said, Sarge, gimme a bag, will ya?

Sergeant Foster produced a thick, clear plastic bag from the trunk of the car and as Jimmy handed over his wallet, a few coins, an older I-phone, and a blue ink pen, he dropped them in the bag that Manny held open.

Is that it?

Yes sir.

We get to the jail, and you got something else on you, it aint gonna be pretty.

No sir. That’s everything.

Alright. Turn around and put your hands behind you.

Jimmy obeyed and was handcuffed and eased into the cramped backseat. He turned half sideways and leaned his shoulder against the seat back. It was the only position that lessened the discomfort and relieved the pressure from his shoulders. He tried not to imagine what had happened in the past to create the odors that assaulted him.

He thought, I hope the jail isn’t far.

Chapter 2

Jimmy in Jail

BEING IN JAIL CERTAINLY wasn’t a new thing for Jimmy. He had been in many jails around the country for a number of different reasons. Well, the truth was that when he found himself in jail, it was always for God’s reasons, not for the diverse and varied charges a bystander would hear. Once, he had been transported in a prisoner van from one jail to another, from one state to another, over a period of 4 days. Finding himself cuffed and stuffed in the back of a police car brought that assignment back to mind.

That transport van had a cage inserted in the back with a hard, bare metal bench on each side. Four men sat on each bench, facing the middle. Each man had leg chains on their ankles, a chain around their waist, with their hands in handcuffs which were attached to the waist-chain. It was inevitable that the leg chains got tangled and when they did, no one could reach them to untangle them. Two guards took turns driving, and both gave the impression of holding a perverse delight in driving erratically, with sharp turns and rapid starts and stops, so as to create unnecessary havoc inside the cage, as the shackled men attempted to maintain a semblance of safety and order. What a mess it had been.

The prisoners were being delivered to various destinations, scattered over three states, for an eclectic variety of reasons. It was hot and close in the cage and apparently it was intended to be miserable. The van had to stop every two or three hours to allow the men a bathroom break, which required a laborious process of unloading and reloading every time. This was always done at yet another jail, and then only once the van was inside the jail building via what they called a sally port. Jimmy had wondered at least a thousand times why they had to be chained so heavily and restrictively, since they were never allowed out of the cage unless the van was parked inside a jail. The only answer he ever found was deliberate cruelty.

As a result of the transport procedure, Jimmy had been inside 15 or 20 jails on that assignment, while ministering to George, who sat beside him in the van, over a four-day period. When they finally got to George’s destination, and Jimmy had parted ways with George with a powerful prayer of healing, Jimmy had found himself in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He often chuckled, wondering what happened to the guys driving the van when one of their prisoners came up missing. They had unloaded at yet another jail, somewhere in Kentucky, combining a bathroom break with dropping George off at his journey’s end, and Jimmy had taken his turn in the one-man bathroom. One of the guards had removed the handcuffs and Jimmy had gone in but had never come back out – at least not by the door. His charge had been a frivolous one, so he didn’t expect there was too much of a fuss, but still . . . it must have been a thing for someone, somewhere!

Jails weren’t anything new, but even so, they weren’t anything sought for, either. Jails were always filled with powerful evil spirits of anger and hate, along with an endless list of associated spirits. And like it or not, there are some bad guys in jail. He had been beaten up a time or two and didn’t relish the possibility of another such experience. In Jimmy’s experience, even when a Believer was in there, he was usually pretty quiet about his faith. Jail is a tough place to be an open Christian. Any perceived weakness in an environment overflowing with testosterone and evil was inevitably a formula ripe for confrontation.

Jimmy knew there might be some tough times ahead, and he prayed quietly as they drove to the jail. Sometimes, circumstances required that his prayers be voiced only mentally, but he much preferred to actually speak his prayers verbally, even if softly. For one thing, it helped him concentrate on the prayer and for another – the universe had been spoken into existence. There was power in the spoken word.

As he continued whispering his prayer, the cop kept eyeing him in the mirror, obviously not happy with what he saw.

What are you mumbling about?

I was just praying.

Praying? HA! You worried about being somebody’s girlfriend?

I was asking the Lord to prepare me to minister to those He has arranged for me to meet.

Oh! You’re a religious nut! That’s why you act so weird.

Sir, I’m sure that from your point of view I am a religious nut as you call it. But I found a meaning for my life when I understood what’s real and what’s not. Most people never figure that out, but if you do, it changes everything.

Ah, you guys make me sick! I wish there was a way to outlaw religion.

Jimmy realized that sharing anything further with the guy would only be wasted effort and would almost certainly result in just angering him more. The unfortunate man had obviously been under the influence of demons for a long time. He thought, "don’t throw your pearls before   swine, or they will turn around and tear you  to pieces." He turned further sideways in the seat, trying to get his face out of the rear-view mirror,  and continued his prayer, but only mentally now. No reason to ask for trouble.

Within five or six minutes they arrived at the jail, and Jimmy felt the spiritual oppression emanating from the place before he saw the expansive cluster of buildings that comprised the Pulaski County Detention Center. As expected, the buildings seethed and boiled with the activity of hundreds or even thousands of evil spirits. He felt the evil presence as a sort of heaviness or thickness in the air. From this distance he couldn’t identify specific spirits, but the conglomeration of so many demons produced a spiritual affront that was unmistakable – very much like a spiritual slap in the face.

Jimmy had no fear of evil. While Hollywood had been remarkably successful in convincing American Christians to fear demons, especially in regard to occult themes, Jimmy had learned from first-hand experience how to engage in spiritual warfare and the fact was that everywhere he went, evil feared him. In fact, most of the time, it wasn’t even much of a fight. Knowing HOW to fight was in itself, most of the battle. Being used by the Lord to combat evil was everything to Jimmy. It was the only reason to live, as far as he was concerned. Nothing could compare to it. He wouldn’t call it fun, really, but it was hands-down the most fulfilling thing he had ever done in his life, and whatever might be in second place was so far back that it couldn’t even be named.

Intake into the jail was pretty much as it always was. The cop took his time, visiting and joking with staff while Jimmy sat on a concrete bench, chained to a steel loop on the top of the seat. They were in a large receiving room, with numerous typically heavy steel doors – all closed - scattered on all sides. A solid looking four-foot-high cabinet and countertop dominated the center of the room, turning four corners and establishing a center island populated with at least 10 or 12 staffers. Along the perimeter walls, interspersed between most of the doors were benches similar to the one Jimmy was on, and most of them were occupied. There was a constant motion of staff, moving prisoners in from one door and out another.

Jimmy watched the turmoil and cacophony of noise with patience. There were at least a dozen deputies and city cops, bringing prisoners into the jail, all in various stages of the intake process. Every few seconds one of the many doors would open and then slam shut again with a heavy booming that jarred the nerves. Dealing with the constant flood of human detritus was just a job when you boiled it all down. Drunks and addicts were a normal, hourly occurrence, along with a hundred other normal crimes. As long as a prisoner kept quiet, he or she was generally ignored as the paperwork moved through the procedure that changed a citizen to a prisoner. At this juncture, the handcuffed people weren’t important, the job was all about the paperwork.

Jimmy’s cop Manny finally finished his part of the process and with a parting word to a staffer, he came to Jimmy and stood close enough to be breeching normal respect for an individual’s personal comfort zone. He said, You can think about some better answers while you’re here.

Yes sir.

Manny smirked and strutted away as though he had just won a race to the North Pole or something. With little choice, Jimmy sat patiently as the entire room apparently ignored him for 30 or 40 more minutes. One or two of the other unfortunates who shared his predicament hollered or cursed at being ignored, with no discernable effect. The doors continued to slam and the commotion and disarray of a dozen people all constantly going in every direction, all of them talking and the doors slamming again was enough to jangle anyone’s nerves – and the doors kept slamming. Eventually a black woman that appeared to be 14 or 15 years old and certainly less than a hundred pounds came over and unlocked the handcuffs shackling him to the bench and told him to stand up.

Jimmy stood.

Turn around, hands behind. She re-cuffed him and said, Follow me. Jimmy followed.

Next stop was a location on the center island where the bag holding his possessions was emptied and inventoried. The staffer spoke into a recorder, naming each item. When the list was complete, he said, Do you acknowledge that this is an accurate and complete list of your possessions then held the recorder in front of Jimmy’s face.

He said, Yes. The list of my possessions is complete and accurate.

Next the woman led him to the far side of the room and into a narrow hallway. There were four concrete shower stalls, each with a wooden bench and a clothes hook on the wall. No doors. She said, Turn around. Jimmy turned. She uncuffed him and said, Strip.

Jimmy turned his back to her and undressed, placing his clothes in a large plastic bag. Then he stepped into the shower and followed her instructions to use the lice soap. When he had rinsed off, she said, Get some slippers. Jimmy chose from a pile of orange plastic slippers, finding two that seemed to be the same size. She said, Put ‘em on. Jimmy wondered about being naked and wearing slippers, but he followed her order.

To this point he had managed to maintain a small amount of privacy by turning away from facing her directly. She said, Follow me. Then turned and walked away. Reentering the main room filled with people, Jimmy covered his privates with the bag of his clothes and dutifully followed. She turned into the next hallway, which was a room of about 12 feet square, with shelves holding small wool blankets, tightly rolled mattress pads, and black-and-white stripped jumpsuits in a wide variety of sizes.

The guard said, One of each.

Jimmy found a size that would do and quickly put it on. At least now decently covered, he then gathered the other items as directed. With arms filled, he returned to the door where the guard waited. Follow me. 

She led him back to the same concrete bench. Put the stuff on that side. Jimmy did.

Sit down. Jimmy sat and she handcuffed him to the steel loop, then walked away. Following another ten-or-fifteen-minute wait, yet another of the progression of deputies, finally arrived in front of Jimmy. He said, Westbrook?

Yes.

He unlocked his cuffs and said, Stand up. Grab your stuff. Jimmy did. The deputy said, As of this moment you are subject to the rules of the Pulaski County Detention Center. Any violation of the rules will result in disciplinary actions against you. What that means now is any failure to follow my instructions will be dealt with firmly and immediately. Do you understand?

Yes.

Okay. Walk over to that first door. The deputy followed then stepped to the side and unlocked the door. Go. Jimmy and the deputy stepped through, and the door slammed behind them. They continued  through several hallways and an unknown number of slamming doors. The final door slammed, closing Jimmy in a room with 15 or 20 other inmates. Finding a place on the floor he spread the mat out and sat down on it, with his back against the concrete block wall, knees drawn up and his forearms resting on his knees.

He leaned his head back against the wall, kept his eyes open and began a basic, area-cleansing spiritual warfare prayer. He whispered loud enough to hear the words himself, yet softly enough to prevent undesired attention.

Holy Father, I thank you for being mindful of me and allowing me to work in Your service. I love you, Father. Let Your will be done in my life and grant me the joy of helping others come to know You and Your Son, my Lord and Savior. In the Name of Jesus, I now claim this room in the power of the Holy Spirit. I bind the evil here in Jesus’ Name and forbid evil from obstructing or interfering in the work of the Holy Spirit while I am here. I command interfering spirits to depart from here and not return while I am here in the Lord’s service. Come now Holy Spirit and fill me and this place with Your presence and protection. In the Name of the Lord Jesus. Amen.

As was always the case, the oppressive feeling in the room transformed to a feeling of peace and calm. A few inmates felt something change and looked around, wondering what had happened. The power in the Name of Jesus was beyond limit and it was always awesome to see evil have no choice but to obey it. That matter had been settled when the Lord had risen from the tomb, overcoming death itself, being established by the Father with ALL Authority and ALL Power.

For the millionth time Jimmy asked himself, Why was it so hard for people to see it? He knew the answer just as well as he knew the question - Spiritual blindness.

______________________________________

In the hallway outside Jimmy’s cell, twenty-four demons hovered, looking at each other. None knew what had happened, and all wanted an explanation. The nearest to the cell went to enter it and was stopped short, unable to get in the cell. It turned to the group to see if any could explain it. None could. Another tried with the same results. Then as one, they flew to find their boss, to report this conundrum and see if it knew what to do about it.

______________________________________

Racial tension exists nowhere as clear and distinct as it does in jails & prisons. What is just a part of life on the outside becomes a WAY of life on the inside. Jimmy took a minute to look around the room, pausing briefly on each man in sight. There were 7 black men and 6 white men visible from where he sat. With a touch of surprise, he realized that the guy he had seen getting arrested a couple of hours ago was in the cell with him. The guy was animatedly telling his story to three other inmates, repeating over and over again, I didn’t do nothin’.

Seeing an opportunity, Jimmy got up and walked over to the group. He kept a respectful space and made his expression one of companionable interest. Finally, there was a pause in the dialog, and he said,

I was there tonight when they arrested you. I saw it from across the street.

Sho ‘nuff?

Yeah, I saw the whole thing – at least until they arrested me too.

Then you saw I didn’t do nothin’.

That’s true. They arrested you as soon as you got out of your car and spoke to that girl. What did they charge you with?

Ah man. You know. You know how it is.

So, what’s the charge?

Internet stalking a minor. But I didn’t know that girl was only 15, an’ all I did was chat her up. But since I sent her texts from my phone, they sayin I internet stalked her. Man, it’s BS that’s all. Just BS.

Jimmy noticed one of the group sizing him up and nodded an acknowledgment to him. The inmate said, I been telling Lamond that it’s a class A felony, man – minimum 10 years.

I didn’t DO NOTHIN’! Man, I got a 6-year-old boy. I can’t do no 10 years for this BS. No way!

Jimmy spoke to the other inmate. What does that mean in real time?

In Arkansas, you get one for one, on anything other than Class A. But this here, d’aint nothing. Class A in dis back-wood hillbilly place means you serve every day you get. Period.

Jimmy knew that one for one meant you actually served half the sentence inside prison, and the other half on parole. In this case, if convicted, he understood the driver would serve ten years. Somehow the system had gotten turned on its ear and not much of it made any sense anymore. Even though it’s certainly true that predators had ruined and despoiled an untold number of underage girls, and society certainly needed to do something to stop it, a guy serving ten years in prison for texting a fifteen-year-old girl seemed out-of-the-park extreme.

Jimmy had enough experience with the judicial system to know how it really worked. A couple of years ago, the Lord had sent him to mentor a man who had been arrested and tried during the heat of the me too madness. That experience had been eye-opening in many ways. Under the law, this unfortunate man was guilty – by the letter of the law. No way around it. If they had his phone, and it had texts from him of even a hint of a sexual nature to an underage girl, he was guilty. No argument. It was something they called conclusive presumption. Under that stipulation, the law didn’t even allow an argument otherwise. That door was closed, locked, and barred.

The way the system worked, they would let the guy spend a few months thinking about those ten years, and those ten years would weigh like a concrete block around his neck. The first thing he thought every morning when he woke up, and the last thing he thought before falling asleep each night. Those ten years became implanted in his psyche as firmly as his name. Eventually they would schedule a trial date and the public defender would meet with him and explain the offer the prosecutor was making. That offer would be like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Something along the lines of, Plead guilty to sexual misconduct, a Class D felony, take a 4-year sentence, be out in 18 months.

Numbers don’t lie and the fact is that 95% of all criminal convictions in America are a result of pleading to a bargain, taking a deal. After thinking about those ten years for half a year, almost anyone would plead to something carrying just 18 months. It’s just a simple fact. The system works.

Jimmy turned to the unfortunate inmate and said, I’m a servant of Jesus. I would be honored to pray with you.

The driver looked at Jimmy, really seeing him for the first time, and he said, Servant of Jesus? What you mean? A Christian?

Yes. A Christian.

What they got you for?

Vagrancy.

Vagrancy? They just jacking you up, main.

Jimmy chuckled. That’s true. You’re right. But I am sure the Lord is using it for His purposes. Maybe I’m here because you need someone praying for YOU. What do you think?

The men in the little group exchanged glances, as if to say, "this guy aint all there, is he?"

Man, what church you go to?

I’m a servant in the Lord’s Church.

Yeah, I got that, but where at?

Wherever He sends me.

And you think He done sent you here to pray for me?

Well, I honestly don’t know yet. But I am here, and so are you, and it sounds to me like you need someone to pray for you. So, why not? I’m gonna pray for you anyway, but I would enjoy praying WITH you, too. If we pray in agreement, the prayer is more powerful.

What good praying ever do?

Oh man, you haven’t seen what God can do. I have seen so many miracles in the last 11 years that I can’t even count ‘em. I’ve SEEN God work. I’ve seen 1,000’s of prayers answered. He has healed sick people through me; cast demons out through me. I could tell you about my God for the next week and not even begin to talk about all the things I have seen Him do.

You sure don’t sound like church people I know.

Well, that’s probably because I’m not like most church people you know. I just share what I have seen and know to be true. I’m not a pastor or preacher. I’m just one beggar telling another beggar about the food I found.

Another glance was exchanged. So, whatda you say? Can I pray with you?

Sure man, why not.

Jimmy smiled brightly and his spirit soared. He knew what was coming. He asked, It’s Lamond, right?

Yeah.

It was 1:17 in the morning when Jimmy faced away from the group and spoke to the room in a firm and authoritative voice, Guys, we’re going to have a prayer call for Lamond. If you want to join us, come over and circle up.

Lamond looked like he had just eaten something that disagreed immensely with his stomach, but he didn’t call it off. Several of the guys got up from the floor and shuffled over to loosely join the circle. Jimmy located the guy with the TV remote and motioned for him to mute it for a minute, which, with a grimace, he grudgingly did.

"Let’s pray. Holy Father thank you for the opportunity to enter Your throne room and come into Your presence. Thank you for receiving us as Your children in Jesus and listening to our prayer. Thank you, Father, for the victory our Lord accomplished and for allowing us to live under and in His power and authority. What an Awesome and loving Father you are. Father at this time we come to You on behalf of Lamond, who has made a mistake and is facing a severe penalty for it. Father You know all things and You know Lamond’s heart and life. If it’s in Your will, grant him a gift from your hand that he might receive and understand that You truly are the God of the universe and You truly do care about him. I ask Father that Lamond be given understanding and that you open his mind to perceive the truth of this life. Grant Lamond Your calling, in Your will and timing, and give him the opportunity to see clearly and choose wisely. Father each man gathered with us in this prayer needs you as much as Lamond does. We ask You to fill this room with Your presence and with the Holy Spirt and defend and deliver each one of us from the schemes of the evil one. Father we ask as we have been given permission to do, but in this, as in all things, let Your will be done, not ours. Your rod and Your staff are a comfort to us. In the Name of our Risen Lord and King, Jesus. Amen."

As the group dispersed, there were more eyebrows raised and more glances exchanged, but they all went unnoticed by Jimmy. His face was bright, with a cherubic expression of peace, as he basked in the glow of being at work in the Father’s fields.

What a wonderful joy it was to serve the Creator and get to see Him working!

Chapter 3

Miracle for Lamond

THE BOSS DEMON WAS surprised to see twenty-four of his underlings all gathering around him uninvited. There had better be a really good reason for all of these to have abandoned their jobs. Several started talking at once and he had to order