In Jail But Not

When I was 15 years old, I went to an evangelistic meeting in my home town of Lanigan Saskatchewan. It was held in the largest venue for miles around, the town hall, which was a block away from the house in which I grew up. The hall was full of people every night for a week and the preacher was very persuasive. I felt convicted and went 'forward' one evening, during the 'altar call'. There was a councilor waiting there for each one who came to the front and we were then taken to a quiet place somewhere in the hall, where we could be counseled in the decision we had just made. I was led to the basement, toward the back, where there was a jail cell. It was the town jail where the drunks were thrown to sober up. I knew it was there but had never seen it before and it left an indelible impression on me, as I sat right in front of it, and I can see it in my mind's eye even today.

Flash forward.

Sunday night we were helping with serving of refreshments at our evangelistic Christmas outreach at our church. An elderly man approached my coffee station and wanted to chat. He was from Saskatchewan, visiting a daughter. I asked where he lived and told him I knew his town because I also came from Saskatchewan. He asked where, and when I said Lanigan, he lit up. Then he told me how he and his dad were trucking and their rig broke down in Lanigan. They had no money for a hotel, so went to the Town Office and asked if there was a bed somewhere they could sleep on. They were led to the jail cell, the very one I sat a few feet from, on that fateful night. He told me it was the only time he had ever been in jail. He was astounded to know that I had sat only a few feet from the very cot he slept on, those many years ago.