As we drove to church, I saw a small creature up ahead, weaving across the four-lane highway, headed for the safety of the trees. We were going in the opposite direction, but as we got closer, I could see it was a raccoon—a skinny raccoon. Odd for October, since they usually bulk up for winter. Plus, raccoons are normally active at night, not in the daylight.
We slowed down, only to see the raccoon spin back into oncoming traffic and stop in the median. It seemed stunned and unaware of the cars barreling toward it. It stood there, its head lowered and its ringed tail drooping. Raccoons usually have quick reactions and are skittish around humans, but something had disoriented this one. Was it injured . . . or sick?
The emaciated raccoon on the highway looked nothing like the bold, ingenious “trash panda” I found in my garage one night. Raccoons have highly sensitive fingers, can solve puzzles, open latches, and remember how to navigate a maze they haven’t seen in years. It was no surprise that this one popped the lid off the plastic drum where I kept food for the squirrels—the floor was littered with peanut shells. The little rascal had made its point, yet it still toppled the trash can beside the workbench, flinging the contents across the floor and onto my car.
When it spotted me, it flattened its ears, bristled its tail and crouched on the workbench. I froze. We stared at each other, neither of us willing to make the first move. Finally, I edged forward and reached for a broom. It let out a low, throaty growl and bared its teeth. Out of the 200 distinct sounds it could have made, the gruff snarl was a warning. Suddenly, it launched itself—like a nighttime ninja—from the workbench to my car, slid down the hood, and vanished through the open garage door to safety.
Unlike the garage intruder, the “masked bandit” standing in traffic was in trouble. Whatever the cause, it was now in a precarious position with a “roadkill” future. It was unable to help itself, and no one was stopping to rescue it.
Just like that raccoon, many inmates feel they’re standing in the middle of oncoming traffic, unable to move. When a court conviction, coupled with trauma, addiction, poverty, or mental health struggles, knocks them into a different trajectory, they don’t know where to turn. The world keeps moving, but they stand stunned, shoulders slumped, surprised they ended up in jail or prison. They say, “I shouldn’t be here,” and they’re right. Human beings are not created for cages, concrete, and constant surveillance. But when a person breaks the law, jail or prison is often the appropriate punishment.
Incarceration can trigger severe psychological challenges, including anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). But with the Lord’s help, the men and women behind bars have a remarkable capacity to adjust, endure, and survive in harsh environments.
It’s in those places—prison cells and everyday life alike—that Jesus meets people. When they are confused, exposed, numb and unsure, the Gospel reminds them of the truth written by the Apostle Paul, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9). In every season of uncertainty, in every storm that batters our soul, God’s Word offers encouragement, comfort, and a pathway to wise decisions.
When God’s Word anchors a person, it begins reshaping how they see themselves and their future. Believers inside or outside of a correctional facility must be committed to doing what is right as they embrace a new life.
In his book “We will Be Changed,” Bible teacher Alistair Begg wrote, “There are not two versions of Christianity—the “basic” option, in which our souls are saved but our characters remain unchanged, and the “deluxe” option for those who are super-committed, which involves the hard work of becoming more like Jesus.”
Following Jesus is not part-time work. A prisoner’s faith in Christ will become the criteria for every decision they make and will involve risks. When they repent and acknowledge where they’ve fallen short, they learn to forgive themselves and others, make different godly choices, and begin again. “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death” (2 Corinthians 7:10).
And if we’re honest, sometimes we feel like we’re stuck in traffic. Life backs us into those bumper‑to‑bumper moments. We don’t know whether to merge or take the next exit. We feel exhausted, gridlocked, and convinced we have nothing left to give. But if we trust God, He doesn’t leave us there. When our strength is gone and our options are few, a simple prayer can open a lane we didn’t see and give us just enough courage to edge forward.
Just as the raccoon in the median needed someone to slow down, notice his distress, and guide him out of danger, so do prisoners. Like us, they need the truth of Scripture when life throws up a “Road Closed” sign. Jesus redirects their steps, turning what looked like a detour into a road lined with His promises, leading them toward their heavenly home.
