Skies above Prisons

It certainly wasn't the first time I sat in that prison dining hall. But it was the first time I noticed the windows.

As I gazed beyond them, all I could see were a few inches of rolled barbed wire and sky. No trees, no roads, no people. The windows weren't placed at normal height. They were at least eight or ten feet off the floor.

I realized that if I had been blind folded and brought to that dining hall, I would have no idea where I was. For all I knew, I could be looking at a California cloud or a Russian sunset. The thought made me want to bolt.

I wanted to run out those locked doors and see maple trees and know that I wasn't in Florida. I wanted to see someone wearing short sleeves and know that I wasn't in Alaska. I wanted to see Maryland license plates on cars and know that I wasn't in Europe. I desperately needed to know for sure.... where am I?

How many times has my heart felt the same way? How often have I felt trapped in a prison with only a sliver of sky above me? There have been seasons when I had no idea where I was or how I got there. And my strongest desire to flee didn't change the fact that the doors were locked.

The young mom in orange saw it first. That prism of color streaking through our tiny patch of sky. Hope can flood a soul even in a prison. It was a rainbow I won't soon forget. A reminder that God is still God.... even if all I can see is sky.