Last night a group of around fifteen people, including a worship band, came from a nearby church to lead our Saturday night service. The whole service was dedicated to praise and it was the first time since chapel at San Saba that I have been able to truly worship my Lord. It was not so much that the music was more polished, but that an atmosphere of worship was created. The prison choir here creates many musical distractions, but even those would be easily overlooked if the guys made the praise about God instead of self. This group that came last night only comes on the fifth Saturday of a month so the next time will be in May. I hope our choir will learn to praise by that time, but until them I will look forward to the band's return.

When the band was setting up, the rest of the group scattered to talk with us. As I started talking to one woman, she called a friend over to remark at how much I didn't look like I belonged in prison. "If he put on a polo you would think he walked out of Highland Park," she said. (Highland Park is a part of Dallas where many wealthy elites live.) I replied that it may be that I don't belong in prison, but it's not because of my appearance.

We talked some more and I told them much of my background - growing up in church with a family that eventually became missionaries, but not really knowing Christ for myself until my return from Africa; how I have dealt with my crime and he difficulties of probation. I'm certainly not out looking for pity, though the "justice" in my situation is truly pitiful. Both women asked me to write them so they could continue in correspondence, so I will probably have an opportunity to share more of what God has done in my life. That is always a privilege.