humble myself in the sight of the law

There are times when God encourages me, lifting me out of my feelings of fear, doubt, and self-condemnation. There are other times when He smacks me upside the head with a two-by-four, reminding me that pride does, indeed, goeth before a fall. I had one of those experiences yesterday. And it's a little embarrassing. But they say confession is good for the soul, so here I goeth.

I was visiting a young friend--Samo--who is incarcerated at Fresno's Juvenile Hall. Everyone who is visiting is either a parent, grandparent, sibling, or (think about this) an offspring of an inmate. The only exceptions to this rule are pastors and correctional officers. In this case I was given permission to visit by a court order, after a pretty thorough going-over by the judge and insistence on the part of Samo's mother that I am their family minister. I lack the required ordination papers that most visiting pastors would automatically carry.

Everyone entering the hall must undergo a search of their person, and you are not allowed to carry anything in. I knew this from before but had inadvertently left my sunglasses on and the key to my bike lock in my pocket. I was told I had to put those items in a locker.

Keep in mind that there is a long line of parents using up their Sunday afternoon--and visiting time--just waiting to get in. When they told me to put my stuff in a locker everyone in the line had to wait for me. All eyes were on me as I procured the lock from the security window and threw my stuff into a locker. I returned to the front of the line, and after the body search, off I went to see Samo.

Samo and I had a great time. We played several rounds of Speed and I thoroughly whipped his butt. Then he taught me a new game--Three Flowers--and I beat him at that, too. I usually suck at cards so I was being appropriately obnoxious and we were both laughing our heads off. At some point another parent seated at the same table said to Samo. "Wow. Your mom is whoopin' you." Samo responded by saying, "She's not my mom. She's my pastor."

Now I have to tell you that I felt myself puff up with pride, like one of those unsightly blowfish, or a smelly toad. I swear to you thoughts like this were going through my head: "I'm pretty special," and "Well now aren't I the holy one." Okay maybe not quite that blatant--I'm sure I prettied it up even inside my own head. But still. The content was there. Because I am not a 'pastor' anymore than anyone else who loves Jesus is. I am--by grace--privileged to love people whom Jesus calls to Himself. Anyone who knows me and the story of my life will tell you this is nothing short of a miracle, and one of those "God things" that no one can explain. So hearing Samo call me in all certainty his pastor made me feel quite proud. Of myself. "I'm a pastor" were the words that kept buzzing around in my head.

When our time was up I walked confidently back through the maze of locked doors and security buzzers to the front area. When I went to retrieve my stuff from the locker, the key I was given did not fit. After repeated tries one of the guards came over to question my activity and I explained my dilemma. She promptly informed me that I was trying to unlock Locker #4 with the key to Locker #7.

Then it dawned on me. I had screwed up. You weren't supposed to pick just any locker and use that one. There are (go ahead and laugh--you know you want to) corresponding keys and padlocks. Imagine that. When the guard dangled the key in front of my face, sure enough, I could plainly see a big fat #7 on my keyring.

The following moments were ones of pure humiliation for me. I won't give you all the details--my confession will only go so far--but suffice to say my punishment included shaking heads and clicking tongues, raised eyebrows and incredulous looks, bolt cutters, and an incident report.

At one point I heard one of the women say to another, "Mmmhmm. That's right. She's a pastor. I ain't lying, girl."

Ouch.

At which point I felt the need to clarify, and explain that I am simply a friend of the family that loves Samo, and prays for him. They didn't seem to care about my confession, but it was important for me to say it. For myself.

So yeah. I can just see God shaking His head at me, saying, "Look at her. I love her so much. What a doofus."

And that's okay. Because the thing is, I am a doofus. And God knows that and still loves me so very much. And uses me. And instructs me. And has unfathomable amounts of patience with me. Which reminds me to have patience with others. And with myself.