How Long Has It Been?

Prison?

That’s a dreadful word, isn’t it? Nobody dreams of ending up behind four cold walls with no chance for a sunny nature walk or a cozy cup of coffee with friends. And yet… even a story set in prison can be surprisingly inspiring—especially when God’s light finds its way through a tiny barred window, flooding the darkness with hope and joy.

Come to think of it, we’ve all been there in a way. Maybe we did not wear orange jumpsuits, but we’ve each had our own kind of prison, trapped in selfishness, running on empty, and leaving God somewhere far behind on the back burner.

Thankfully, those days are behind us and like the hero of this week’s story, we’ve stepped out into the light, free, and walking with purpose.

I hope you enjoy the next Story of the Week and I wish you a weekend full of happiness, blessings, and joy (and ideally, no prison bars).

Kind regards,
JK

The Story Of The Week

How Long Has It Been?

By J.K.Stenger

Each morning, he struggled onto his tiptoes, craning his neck to glimpse the world beyond the small, barred window. That way, he could steal a few minutes of freedom, gazing across the rolling hills and distant villages beyond the prison walls. But soon his neck would ache, his muscles cramp and he’d collapse onto the cold stone floor of his cell.

But it was worth it. It was his brief, cherished morning ritual.

When staring out he’d soar with the seagulls over the nearby cornfields. Other times the wind carried him to the distant forest, where he’d imagine watching the deer graze, the squirrels with their playful antics, or just enjoying the soothing sounds of a nearby stream. On those rare occasions when the air was clear, he’d even smell the sharp, clean scent of the ocean miles away; a welcome lift to his mood.

But lately, something else had made him crawl off his flea ridden mattress with the coarse blanket, that was never quite sufficient to keep him warm.

There was this voice — a woman’s — so pure, so haunting, it couldn’t possibly be from this world. And yet… it stirred something familiar in him, like a dream half-remembered.

He would wake up to the sound of her lovely voice as the morning sun cast its light upon the damp walls of his cell. She always sang the same hymn and it had been going on for a week now.

How long has it been since you talked with the Lord
And told him your heart’s hidden secrets
How long since you prayed, how long since you stayed
On your knees till the light shone through?

He knew the hymn, although he was not a religious man. Far from it. In fact, some might say it was his rejection of God that had led him here.

But mother had been religious. She had dragged him to church when still under her care. Badgered him with prayers for his lost soul, and forced him to join her into the hard, uncomfortable pews for hours of boring misery. There he’d first heard the song.

Until … things went wrong and he ended up here.

Mother was now long gone and soon he’d follow her.

Would he?

If there was a heaven she’d be there, but that gate would be shut for him. That was obvious.

Who was that woman that sang, though? He just had to see her. But no matter how much he strained his neck he could never get a glimpse of her.

He asked the jailer.

The man shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no such woman. Outside the prison is nothing worth mentioning. Just mud, thistles, and rocks. No place for a woman, let alone one with a heavenly voice.”

The other prisoners laughed.

“Losing your mind, Buddy?”

“Hoping for a different sentence by pleading insanity?”

But he was not crazy and even as they mocked, a quiet certainty stirred in his chest, like a truth that whispered where no voice could reach. How long had it been since he talked to the Lord?

Had he ever?

Of course, he’d said grace at meals and mumbled bedtime prayers with his mother. But this hymn suggested something else.

And today he had to see the woman.

Just as she began singing the second verse, he pulled himself up by the bars, pushed his nose against the cold iron and looked. His muscles burned but still he couldn’t see her. She appeared to be just out of reach. The air felt charged. The way it sometimes does before a storm. His skin tingled, his heart pounded. At last, he let out a desperate raw cry: “Who are you?”

He tumbled back onto the stones. The sounds of the world outside faded and were replaced by a deep silence as an ethereal, warm light filled his cell while a profound and unspeakable peace washed over him. He looked up, and a breathtaking vision unfolded before him—a celestial being, radiant and serene.

But … he knew who it was.

It was his mother. Not old as he remembered her, but young, alive and fresh. There she stood before him, radiant in a golden light. Her magnificent smile brought tears to his eyes.

Mother?

A distinct whisper filled his mind, not with sound, but with something deeper:

“Son, you hear my voice as one crying in the wilderness.

But now… He wants to hear your voice.”

No more words came. It was a silent communication, yet its impact was as strong as if someone had shouted it out. And then the warmth faded away, together with the golden light and the gentle face of his mother. He was back on the cold floor of his cell, surrounded by the musty smell of the prison and the echo of the shouts of the other inmates.

Bewildered he stared around. He slapped his ears, shook his head. But no, he was wide awake. He had not imagined it. Tears rolled out and as he sank back to his knees he wept like a child.

“God, here is my voice. I am so sorry. All my life I refused Your presence; I spurned Your love. I have been a self-made man who caused untold misery in the lives of others. Have mercy on my soul. I am a sinful man.”

Mixed with his tears, a fountain of words rolled out. Tears that started as tears of surrender, confession and heartfelt humility soon became tears of joy. A strange and wonderful peace washed over him.

He hadn’t cried in years, not since he had felt the sting of his father’s hand and the echo of his footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving a hole in his life at the age of five. That day, something inside him snapped and his heart had closed. But now, the door had been gentled open again. The icy grip had loosened and was replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.

He revelled in a supernatural peace and even prison couldn’t touch it.

***

A week later was the day of the hanging.

As he climbed the scaffold, there were still tears. People jeered at him, thinking he was afraid. But that wasn’t the case. Overwhelmed by sorrow for his own miserable life and grateful for the unspeakable gift of undeserved mercy, he knew the door to heaven would soon open for him too.

He would see his mother again, not in a vision, but in glory. He would dance with angels, yes, but more than anything… he would be lost in the gaze of the One who had loved him all along.

As the hangman tied the noose around his neck, he was alerted by a soft flutter. A comforting twitter that came from above. His eyes widened as he looked up and there, right above him on the top beam of the gallows sat a small bird. A beautiful, tender thing that twittered a melody. So soft, so lovely, and so serene… It was the same melody. His heart soared and he began to hum along, while the people around taunted him and hurled ugly curses at him.

How long has it been since you woke with the dawn
and felt that the day’s worth the living
Can you call him your friend, how long has it been
since you knew that he cared for you

His heart was at peace as the executioner pulled the lever.

___

The hymn “How Long Has It Been Since You Talked To The Lord” was written by Mosie Lister