During my second year of training at the CFOT, I was assigned to a co-op at Phillips State Prison just north of Atlanta. I had this appointment for just one quarter. There were four of us assigned to this co-op. I was the only of the four of us who had never been in jail or prison.

Frank Kirkpatrick encouraged me by telling me to keep my back against the wall. I was a bit nervous to say the least.

To make a long story a little bit shorter I found myself in a locked down building with a bunch of rough looking people. I made my way around the room, just making conversation and trying not to look scared. I was approached by a guy whose name I learned was Jason... Jason McClendon.

Jason was a Muslim. "Interesting," I thought. This was the stage in my life when I was a bit self-righteous about my theology. We talked in depth about the differences between Christianity and Islam. Even though we disagreed a great deal, it was always with respect for the other's faith.

Throughout the quarter, my fear went away and was replaced with confidence in why God had brought me there. I met and counseled with several prisoners every week, but there was always time to chat with Jason.

Towards the end of the quarter, we fell on the subject of "what if." I asked what he would do if he got out tomorrow. He said he would probably get married and move out of the country. I asked why. He said that he needed a new start because anyone who knew his past could not love him or give him a chance. I told him that everyone had a past of sorts, but that isn't what our future has to be.

He said that I had become his friend, but that I would not want to be his friend once I knew what he had done. I said, "Try me." He rolled up his sleeves and pulled up his shirt to show me his arms and chest. They were covered with gang tattoos.

"I have killed eight people," he said, "and after another eight years here, I will be serving three life sentences in California." "In my faith," he added, "I am despicable."

"That's the difference," I said, "Jesus doesn't care. He thinks you are special and loved you enough to die for you... regardless of what he knew you would do.... and that doesn't change the fact that I care about you and pray for you everyday."

A few weeks later, we (the cadets) did an evening service at the prison. Jason came to the service. I prayed with him. He still claimed he was a Muslim, but I think he was a closet Christian.

I still see his name in my Bible. I often wonder if someone has taken the time to invest in Jason like I did. I guess I will know if I see him in glory.

I survived.