Sounds Fishy—But It Just Might Impact Your Life

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
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Let go of the “coin.”
Cling to the cross.
Run your race—with eyes fixed on Jesus.