I’ve Hugged Murderers: Volunteering in the Female Jail Ministry

Orange is a color most suitable for sunsets, but in the Oklahoma County Jail, it’s the only fashion choice available for inmates.

Each Friday, I scan my badge and type in my code in two different locations to make my way to the elevator. I press a button on the outside and wait for the doors to open. It can take a couple of minutes, or sometimes 15 to 20 depending on the day. Once the doors open, a woman on the speaker says, “Where?”

“Six, please.” The elevator door closes and within a few moments, I’m on the sixth floor. Purposeful graffiti covers the wall with the word “Chaplain” in bright blue, indicating that I’m on the correct floor. I turn left and enter the female chaplain’s office, which is a small room with four tiny gray cubicles set up. In front of them is the always bubbly secretary and the loyal guard. I sign in and we wait for the girls.

It’s what happens next that would typically put some people on edge: six to eight women file through door, dressed in that recognizable orange, and plop down in the chairs, waiting to talk to a chaplain. These are drug abusers and traffickers. These are violent offenders.

These are murderers.

But they are also mothers. They are daughters. They are young women with friends and family members who are worried about them.

And each Friday, I sit knee-to-knee with these women and start with the same question: “How’s your day going so far?”

Depending on her answer, I can usually gauge what kind of day it’ll be. If she’s feeling happy and responds with, “It’s been really great so far!” then I know she’s in good spirits. Maybe she’s going to be released soon. Maybe her court date went well.

If she shrugs and says, “Eh, it’s all right,” then I know there’s something on her heart—something she’s struggling with.

If she takes a deep breath and starts sobbing, then I hand her a tissue and get comfortable. I’m going to be here a while.

Upon one occasion in particular, an inmate sat before me, her stare blank, as she proclaimed, “I leave on Tuesday.” I knew she didn’t mean to go home.

She was heading to prison.

Gently, I placed my hand on hers and squeezed. “I’m so sorry. Did you just find out?”

A curt nod. “Yes. It’s thirty-three years. I’ll be there for thirty-three years.”

My heart dropped. But the truth of the matter was that she murdered someone in cold blood, among other things. This is called justice.

But as I held her hand in mine and watched her stare off into the distance, I knew I could be sitting in her chair too. I could be wearing orange. I could be looking at thirty-three years. All it takes is one bad decision.

So I let go of her hand and grabbed my Bible. “I want to be honest with you,” I said. “This won’t be easy. This is going to be tough. Nothing about prison screams vacation time.”

At that, she smiled. “No, it sure don’t.”

“But did you know God can use you in prison to make a difference in people’s lives?”

Finally, her eyes caught mine. She was paying attention now.

“The Bible says in Romans 8:28, ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’ Do you think God can take something bad and make it good?”

For the first time since sitting with her, I saw a tear emerge in her eye. “Yes, I really do.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that. Because he did it for Paul. He did it for Joseph. And Peter and Samson. They were all prisoners, but God used them for His glory.” Knowing that she had trusted Christ as her Savior here in the jail ministry, I offered a final point: “If your testimony alone could lead one prisoner to Christ each year—meaning that she would see you in heaven because you told her about Christ and she accepted Him—would it be worth it to you? Would it be worth it to you to spend thirty-three years in prison if you knew God could use you like that?”

Now the tears streamed down, and she wasn’t alone. I was crying too, because I knew the truth: God really can take a murderer like David and Moses and use them for His purpose. He could use this woman to make a difference in someone’s life.

And she knew it too.

She nodded and said, “Yes, it would be worth it. It really would.” And she was so sincere when she said that.

After we spent time reading some verses to help her get through Tuesday and beyond, we prayed together. She wiped her tears with a tissue, and I did the same.

“It’s contagious, you know,” I said, blotting at my cheeks. “Crying. I don’t know that I ever get through an afternoon here without crying.”

She laughed and replied, “At least they’re happy tears.”

This woman in orange, this woman sentenced to thirty-three years for murder, stood up and hugged me. I held her tight and whispered, “Prison will be tough, but God is tougher.”

An expert editor, seasoned writer, and author-centric marketer, Shayla Raquel works one-on-one with authors and business owners every day. A lifelong lover of books, she has edited over 400 books and has launched several Amazon bestsellers for her clients. Her award-winning blog teaches new and established authors how to write, publish, and market their books. She is the author of the Pre-Publishing Checklist, The Rotting (in Shivers in the Night), and The Suicide Tree. In her not-so-free time, she acts as organizer for the Yukon Writers’ Society, volunteers at the Oklahoma County Jail, and obsesses over squirrels. She lives in Oklahoma with her dogs, Chanel, Wednesday, and Baker. Learn more at ShaylaRaquel.com.