One of the greatest joys of my life is jail ministry. Week after week, I get the privilege of diving deep into Scripture with women who are hungry for truth—women who are eager to learn, to grow, and light up with hope when they hear that Jesus hasn’t given up on them.

When we complete a study, we celebrate with a graduation. We bring in outside food and hand out certificates—something many of the women have never received before. For some, it’s the first tangible reminder that they can finish something, and that their life is not defined by what they've done, but by what God can do.

I’ve taught a lot of Bible studies. But there’s one book I come back to again and again: Jonah. You might remember Jonah as “the guy who got swallowed by a big fish.” If you grew up in church when I did, you may even saw him on a felt board.
But there’s so much more to his story than just a big fish.

Jonah was a prophet—a preacher, really—called by God to go to Nineveh, a city full of people known for their violence and wickedness. Jonah did what many of us do when faced with something uncomfortable: he ran. Literally. He hopped on a boat going in the opposite direction of where God called him to go. A huge storm hit. While the pagan sailors panicked and prayed to their gods, Jonah was sleeping below deck. Eventually, he admitted that the storm was his fault—and instead of repenting and asking to be dropped off so he could obey God, he chose to be thrown overboard.
He chose drowning over obedience.

But God wasn’t done with Jonah yet.

God sent a great fish to swallow him whole. That could’ve been the end of the story. But it wasn’t. God sent a giant fish to swallow Jonah—and saved his life. Can you imagine being inside a giant fish for three days? Total darkness, the smell, the suffocating seaweed, the isolation. Jonah describes it in chapter 2:
I said, ‘I have been banished from your sight; yet I will look again toward your holy temple.’ The engulfing waters threatened me, the deep surrounded me; seaweed was wrapped around my head. To the roots of the mountains I sank down; the earth beneath barred me in forever. But you, Lord my God, brought my life up from the pit. Jonah 2:4-6

He was at rock bottom—literally and spiritually. But even there, God’s grace found him. Sin may wreck our lives, but grace always has the final word. If Jonah hadn’t gone too far, then neither have you. God’s grace is always greater than our sin.

But here’s the thing—we can’t hold on to both. We can’t grip sin and still receive grace. Eventually, we must choose.

Many of the women I’ve met in jail come face-to-face with that decision, like Nicole.
When Nicole entered county jail--again—she was at her lowest. Addiction, crime, and years of separation from her children had taken their toll. She was quiet in Bible study, but I could see the wheels turning. She listened. She absorbed truth. Slowly, she started to believe that her past didn’t define her. That there was hope. That Jesus could be trusted. Her transformation didn’t happen overnight, but it was real. Jesus reached into her pit and pulled her out, piece by piece. And it became a testimony to others who felt just as stuck.

If Jonah could be rescued from the depths of the sea, Nicole could be rescued from the depths of despair.

And so can you.

There’s a story about a child who got his hand stuck in a jar. He had reached in to grab a coin, but once he closed his fist, he couldn’t get it out. He pulled, twisted, cried—nothing worked. Finally, someone asked, “Are you still holding the coin?”
He nodded. “You’ll have to let go to get free.”

Sounds simple. But isn’t that all of us? We say we want freedom, but we’re still clinging to the very thing keeping us trapped.
A toxic relationship.
A hidden addiction.
A grudge.
Shame.
Control.
Fear of the unknown

In jail, I often hear:
“I don’t know who I am without it.”
“I’m afraid to let go.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known.”

But the truth is: freedom always requires surrender.

Jesus doesn’t pry our fingers open. He invites. He waits. He says:
“Cast all your anxiety on Me because I care for you.” 1 Peter 5:7

Jonah was trapped. Nicole was trapped. Maybe you feel trapped, too.
But God hears your cry. He still answers. He still sends grace in unexpected forms—even a great fish. Maybe you’ve been running from God or holding onto something you think you can’t live without. But what if the thing you're holding onto is the very thing keeping you stuck?

Let go.

Not because it’s easy—but because it’s the only way out.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite verses:
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses,
let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.
And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,
fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.
For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12:1–2
​
Let go of the “coin.”
Cling to the cross.
Run your race—with eyes fixed on Jesus.

     When I tell people I go to jail every week to teach a Bible study, their reactions are usually the same: “Why?” and “Why do you keep going back?” To answer, I must go back to where my faith journey was shaped—at Christ Church in Memphis, Tennessee. Growing up under the leadership of Dr. Maxie Dunnam and Dr. Bill Bouknight. I was surrounded by a strong church community where works of mercies —tangible expressions of God's justice and compassion— were just part of life. Even as a youth, I had chances to serve the underserved in our city. But truthfully, I was still in my comfort zone—always with church family, usually in groups, doing good things in safe spaces.
     It wasn’t until I was married with children that I felt a clear call from the Holy Spirit—a nudge saying, “It’s time to step beyond what’s comfortable. It’s time to share Jesus in new places.” Living in the South, with a church on nearly every corner, it’s easy to assume everyone knows Jesus. But the reality is, many don’t go to church, and even those who do don’t always have a personal relationship with Him. One day, I walked into Neighborhood Christian Center, a local nonprofit, and asked a simple question: “What types of programs or ministries do you offer?” The director mentioned several, but one caught my attention: jail and prison ministry. At first, I was only curious—not interested in participating, just intrigued. Then he asked, “Would you like to visit a jail class?” Before I could come up with an excuse not to, the Holy Spirit answered for me: “Sure.”
     Walking into jail for the first time was nothing like I expected. After passing through five heavy, locked doors, I entered a cinderblock room—locked in with no way to run or hide. I sat at a table and waited for the women to come in. One by one, they filed in wearing striped jumpsuits. They didn’t look much different from anyone else I knew—though they had more tattoos than I was used to seeing. We sat down, opened the Bible, and dove into Scripture. I didn’t say a word that first time. Normally, I like to add my two cents, but I was intimidated and wondering why the Holy Spirit had sent me here. They looked at me, wondering if they would like this new “church lady.” I wondered what their stories were and what they did to wind up in jail. But something unexpected happened as I left that day: I felt peace and joy. Not emotions you usually associate with jail. I knew then I was exactly where God wanted me—beyond my comfort zone, in a place where many were hearing about Jesus for the very first time. 
     Since that first visit, I’ve gone back again and again—first attending, then helping teach, and eventually becoming the lead teacher. Over 13 years later, this is still my favorite place to be. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not always easy. Sometimes the jail goes on lockdown, and classes get canceled. There are times when a code is called, and you can end up stuck inside for a while. The personalities can be challenging too. Many of these women know each other from the outside, and living in such close quarters often leads to disagreements and sometimes even fights. I got to choose my college roommates and those I lived with afterward, and even then, it wasn’t always easy. But none of that deters me. I look forward to walking alongside these women through the highs and lows, the chaos and the mundane, the release dates and the sentencing. We all need people in our lives with whom we can be vulnerable, those with whom we can share in confession, intercession, and spiritual friendship, as part of Christ’s Body. For me, jail has become the unexpected place where I’ve found those kinds of relationships.
     Many of them are searching—even if they can't quite put into words what they're looking for. 
If they feel hopeless, I want them to know:
“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
—Lamentations 3:21-23
If they feel unworthy, I want them to know:
“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”
—Ephesians 2:10
If they feel alone, I want them to know:
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
—Joshua 1:9
      That’s why I keep going back—because the gospel is for everyone. There’s nothing anyone can do that’s beyond God’s grace. Sometimes, stepping through literal locked doors becomes the way God opens spiritual ones—inviting souls into the eternal story of redemption. Is God calling you out of your comfort zone to share His gospel in new places? Say “Yes” and be amazed at what He will do—not only in the lives you serve but in your own life as well.