Sometimes the Enemy is Me

   This morning I read the Scripture in Mark 8 about the feeding of the 4,000. Then I proceeded to go through my usual plan and journal about the reading, adding some thoughts about food in prison. When I saved the journal, opened the blog site and returned to copy and paste my thoughts here, it was gone. Maybe I was not supposed to talk about that this morning. It was not real good anyway,

   So I am reflecting on my time over the past weekend, how I was blessed by being in prison and talking with men that God put in my path. I have blogged previously about the two men that were so affected by the story of the lady in the nursing home. One thing that I did not say about one of the men, and his story, happened after he had finished sharing his disappointment in himself. He looked me in the eye and told me that it was the first time he had ever shared what he felt about that situation, and that was because it was the first time he had felt that a person was listening that really cared about him. The fact that the listener had shown love and respect to him was the thing that allowed him to unburden himself of his guilt. Listen, listen, love, love.

  I'll share another random story. At one point in a discussion, the man sitting next to me started talking to me about what he did with his free time (of which they have a lot). He talked about a type of game that they played that involved each inmate putting in some article, usually a packet of soup, in order to play, and the winner got all the pot. His next  thought was a question related to the game and whether or not that would be considered gambling and should he participate?

   I answered with a quick response that said something about a pack of soup not being a major thing, and that it was only a game after all, with no big stakes and with each person putting in something that would not hurt him to lose. Then I reflected on my answer and was taken aback with my flippant attitude toward what could be a major issue in the life of that man. What if because of my answer he felt it OK to gamble regardless of the amount of contribution, and what of the possible consequences down the road?

   During a lull in the conversation, I turned to him and told him I needed to give him a better answer than the one I had put out there. We then talked about the effects of his life on anyone around that may be looking to him for guidance. Did he love them enough to put their welfare ahead of his own? Could an attitude about gambling, no matter how inconsequential the stakes, be a detriment  to another? Even though he thought something was Ok for him to do, could he put it aside for the sake of another brother?

   So, there in the space of a couple of hours I had given respect and love in one case and a flippant answer in another. That I recognized what I had done was a good thing, but how much better to have come up with a better response after the original question.

   Maybe I should just stick to listening...