Last night at the jail, Sarah, a battle hardened Christian sister that's preached in the jails and urban Missions here, shared her story of the Prodigal son (daughter). 

We are tag-team evangelists: she brings the maternal nurture and I bring the paternal. 

We hit hard last night on the anguish of sin and the joy of Christ's  hope and power to restore. 

After the service a few of the brothers talked with me, and one young man talked with Sarah. He poured out the story of his life after his mother abandoned him when he was 8. 

Eight years old, and he was now to be a strong "little man," and battle life alone. He took pride and defined himself by his inner strength, but Jesus drew the little boy out of him last night, and he began to cry. Immediately he was embarrassed by his tears and hated that he was showing weakness. Oh but Jesus had Sarah there, this warm maternal figure that poured out love and empathy, and he just broke down. He began to weep, then he would get angry for showing weakness, but then another flood of emotion poured in and out his eyes, and again he would fight to restrain the weakness. So back and forth he fought this battle to hold on to his inner strength, but the presence of God was reaching his inner child and his shoulders began to heave and he sobbed beyond his ability to control.                      The dam had broken, and twenty years of sorrow began to flood. 

I couldn't help but think of the old Hymn, "He touched me."