Campuses
2024 has been an incredible year of expansion for our God Behind Bars prison campuses. We launched three new prison campuses, and God has been moving powerfully inside of these correctional facilities. Here’s a glimpse of what He’s done this year:
These numbers represent more than just stats—they represent lives changed, hearts transformed, and individuals brought into a relationship with Jesus. We're humbled by what God is doing and excited for all that’s ahead.
Looking to 2025, we are slated to launch 12 new campuses, and we are filled with anticipation for how God will continue to move. Please join us in praying for this expansion, for the men and women who will hear the gospel behind bars, and for the lives that will be changed as we bring the hope of Christ to even more prisons across the country.
How long have you been serving?
Ken and I went through the first training that was offered as soon as we found out our church, Fresh Life, was opening a campus at Deer Lodge Prison. We have been serving off and on for 5 years.
Describe a typical day?
Deer Lodge prison is a 3 hour drive from us, so we leave our home mid morning so we can arrive at the prison by 3:15. We go through the security desk and are then escorted to the building where we facilitate the church service. We make sure chairs are set up, get prayer cards and pencils ready. The sermon is shown on a screen so we find the SD card with the current message. We set up the projector so we’re ready to go by 3:45. We then stand at the entrance and welcome the men as they come in. We shake their hands, look them in the eye and attempt to convey the love of Jesus to them. We also hand them a prayer card and pencil. We watch the message with them. Pastor Levi gives an invitation for salvation at the end. We look for hands raised that respond and make sure they are given a Bible. As the guys are dismissed, we collect their prayer cards, again shake their hands, give them words of
encouragement and share God's love with them. When they have all gone, we set things back in place and are escorted back to security. Then drive 3 hours back home.
Do you have a favorite memory of your time serving in prison?
A highlight for both of us this year was when Pastor Levi and the team came down to do an in person message, which was 5 years in the making. The anticipation of the guys looking forward to this was so exciting to be a part of. We were able to facilitate 2 services that day. After each service the men lined up to meet Pastor Levi and be ministered to by him. Some of the men just sobbed as he spoke life over them! It was so powerful and beautiful to watch.
What’s the most surprising thing you learned about yourself since you started?
I can speak for Ken and I both that we didn’t realize how much we would come to love these men. Men that most see as unloveable. It’s obvious to us that it’s God's love and heart for these men that flows through us. It’s such a powerful love. So supernatural!
Have you made any unexpected friendships while volunteering?
Yes. There is an inmate named Alex who helps us set up every service. We learned he grew up in a small town in California where Ken and I both lived and worked for years. What were the odds of that? We’ve had so much fun sharing stories of the town and the work we did there. He’s become our buddy. Alex is one of the men we were hoping Levi would have some time with. I have a vivid memory of Levi speaking into Alex’s life and Alex listening and sobbing as he received powerful encouragement and truth. It was so precious to see!
Is there a particular moment when you felt like you were making a difference?
Yes. As we have gone to serve the guys have gotten more comfortable with us. They have been more open to share their thoughts. There is one inmate in particular that has communicated with us that offering church for them each week is literally changing the whole culture of the prison! That was very exciting to hear. We believe that to be true!
A significant milestone in our ministry journey happened just a year ago when God Behind Bars introduced The Urban Ministry Institute (TUMI) to correctional facilities across the U.S.
TUMI offers a Church-Based Seminary Curriculum that helps participants dive into scripture and apply it to their lives. Through a streamlined version of the TUMI Capstone program called Cornerstone, inmates can complete the course in 12-18 months and earn a Certificate in Christian Ministry. Since we started this initiative, God Behind Bars has successfully launched 8 TUMI prison Satellites with 180 incarcerated students enrolled.
In June 2024, we had the opportunity to celebrate our first TUMI graduation at Everglades C.I. It was a joyful and emotional event for everyone involved. One story that truly resonates is that of a 94-year-old mother who attended to see her son, over 60 years old, graduate. She shared that she has a graduation picture of each of her children on her wall, with a special space reserved for her son’s photo. After waiting 60 years for this moment, she was finally able to place his picture among the rest, a monumental moment for their family. 18 men graduated and received certificates of ministry!
Beyond academics, TUMI builds a strong sense of community among participants. Thanks to the Department of Corrections, all participants have been moved to a shared dormitory, fostering a supportive environment for study and fellowship. The walls of this dorm now proudly display the logos of God Behind Bars and TUMI, and we’re incredibly thankful for the
Department of Corrections support in making this program a reality!
One inspiring success story is Joey, who has spent nearly 12 years in prison. His transformation from a practicing Muslim to a dedicated follower of Christ highlights the incredible impact of the TUMI program. Joey’s joy and love for the Lord shine through in every conversation. As he puts it, “The TUMI program is such a blessing. I didn’t have an education or even a GED, and being able to take a college-level course while getting closer to the Lord is amazing. It’s just another huge blessing.” His experience shows how the program not only deepens biblical understanding but also sparks a passion for ministry.
In an environment often marked by hopelessness, TUMI shines as a beacon of light, offering incarcerated individuals a chance for redemption and purpose. Many of these men are receiving an education for the first time, learning how to use their stories to share the gospel. In a place that can feel like one of society's darkest corners, the need for Jesus is incredible. Through TUMI, these men are finding hope and transforming not just their own lives but also the lives of those around them.
On the yard at San Quentin, the ordinary became extraordinary as God’s presence filled the air, and His Word was proclaimed in ways both powerful and undeniable. God Behind Bars had the unique privilege of stepping into this charged atmosphere, where the gospel wasn’t just spoken—it was felt deep in the hearts of all who attended.
Throughout the day, as guest pastors and worship leaders shared messages of true Freedom, something unexpected—yet undeniably divine—began to unfold. The prison’s yard alarm rang out, signaling every man to kneel and fall silent. In that moment, chaos gave way to stillness, and the entire yard came to a halt. Even those who weren’t there to hear the gospel had no choice but to listen. No choice but to pause, to quiet their minds, and to be present in that holy moment. It was as though God Himself had orchestrated this pause, compelling every ear to hear the name of Jesus, no matter where they stood in their faith.
In those sacred pauses, everything else faded away. The noise of the world, the clamor of the prison walls, all had to yield to the power of God’s Word. The name of Jesus rang out clear and powerful, a sound so compelling it could not be ignored. There, in that divine interruption, the message of hope and freedom was given a platform—and nothing could stand in its way. As the day continued, worship began to rise across the yard—voices lifted in reverence, some new, some familiar, but all united in praise. Men who had been hardened by years of incarceration and suffering were now being lifted up in the spirit, experiencing the hope that only Jesus can offer.
But the most powerful moment came as the sun began to set. What felt like heaven touching earth took place right before our eyes. Baptisms broke out across the yard, one by one, as men boldly declared Jesus as their Savior. The yard, once a place of isolation and despair, was transformed into a holy sanctuary. Men who had been lost in darkness were now stepping into the light, publicly professing their faith in front of their peers—their brothers in Christ.
It was a breathtaking sight: men being submerged in water, rising to new life, their faces radiant with the kind of freedom that can only be found in Christ. The Holy Spirit was palpable, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere as lives were forever changed. It was nothing short of a miracle.
As the day came to a close, there was a profound sense of awe. What happened on that yard was REVIVAL. Men who were once in chains were now free in spirit, their hearts fully surrendered to Jesus. This moment will forever be etched in the hearts of those who witnessed it—holy, powerful, and set apart.
We are deeply grateful to everyone who made this event possible—from those who prayed in the quiet to those who served on the frontlines. This is just the beginning. The seeds planted that day will continue to grow, and we eagerly look forward to witnessing more lives transformed by the power of the gospel.
How long have you been volunteering with God Behind Bars, and how often do youvvisit Hardee Correctional Institution?
We have volunteered with God Behind Bars at Hardee Correctional Institution for 15 years. We are on-site 5 to 6 days a week, and sometimes even 7 days.
What inspired you to get involved withvGod Behind Bars?
The God Behind Bars team came to Lifepoint Church seeking a church partner to bring services to Hardee CI. They gave an overview of GBB and their passion for bringing Christ to those behind bars. Having served in law enforcement during my military career, I understood what the worst days for a person can be like. My wife and I began by contributing to Lifepoint's startup, which ultimately led us to volunteer. The rest is now history.
Do you have a favorite memory from your time volunteering?
My favorite memory is from the first "All Is Bright" Christmas celebration at Hardee. It was heartwarming to help the men shop for their children and watch them attempt to wrap their gifts. The highlight was seeing a father’s joy when his name was called, and he came forward with a bag of toys—the expressions on both his and his child’s faces were priceless.
What’s the most surprising thing you’ve learned about yourself since you started?
With my prior law enforcement experience, I have often collaborated with individuals during their most difficult times. It has been fulfilling to assist those who have lost their way in finding a path to Christ and rebuilding relationships with their families. Witnessing their gradual transformation from their old lives to one filled with God’s grace has been profoundly rewarding.
What have you learned about God, and how has your relationship with Him grown since volunteering in prison?
I've learned that God is truly everywhere. At Hardee, I witness men transforming their lives and growing in Christ. The physical barriers of bars and wire cannot contain God’s grace; anyone genuinely seeking change and asking for mercy can receive it. My relationship with God has deepened as I prepare for each session, pushing me to continue studying and seeking His guidance daily.
Why do you believe prison ministry is important?
I have witnessed profound changes in inmates, who often inspire changes within their families. They reach out to their loved ones, pray together, and many have led their family members to Christ. Through the pre-release class, we see men transform from who they were when they entered
prison into productive citizens.
Can you share a memorable interaction that has stuck with you?
There have been so many interactions; it’s hard to pick just one. There was a gentleman in our Thursday small group sessions. One of the things we asked the men to do was write to their families, especially their children. This gentleman was discouraged because he wasn’t getting responses from his kids and wanted to give up. I kept encouraging him to keep writing and not to give up the fight. At one of the Saturday services, he approached my wife and me, filled with joy—his kids had finally written to him, and they were starting to get to know each other. He expressed gratitude for our encouragement, noting that a change in their hearts was coming.
What’s something unexpected you’ve learned from the inmates?
I’ve discovered that prisons are home to many talented individuals who made poor decisions. There are artists, vocalists, writers, musicians, actors, and educators among them.
What do you think is the biggest misconception about inmates?
A common misconception is that inmates are unworthy of rehabilitation and will inevitably return to their old lives.
PandoApp
What started in 2020 with just 1,200 tablets in a prison in Arkansas has exploded into something incredible —PandoApp is now reaching over 600,000 tablets in prisons across the country. This app is giving inmates access to worship, sermons, devotionals, and so much more—helping them connect with God in a way they never could before.
And the results speak for themselves:
Every day, more and more inmates are discovering the hope of the gospel and finding real transformation through PandoApp. We're just getting started, and the best is yet to come!
But there’s something deeper to this. I want to say this, especially if everyone is listening: there are so many people in prison who are broken, who are hurting. There are so many inmates right now who are still suffering, still carrying pain. The issue is that many of them don’t even know what true freedom is. For most of them, freedom is just about making parole—that’s how they see it. But true freedom is spiritual. It’s about understanding that God exists, and seeing the world from that perspective.
The people who created PandoApp, the ones behind this app and the vision, they’ve done something incredible. They’ve unlocked a door that’s been shut for centuries in TDCJ (Texas Department of Criminal Justice). For so long, there was red tape, and they kept organizations like this out. But God found a way in. God made a way for Pando to get through that door, to offer hope and healing. It’s like He said, 'Come on in. You’re welcome.' What they may not realize is that by creating Pando, they’ve saved so many souls. They’ve brought light into places of darkness. They’ve helped people in the deepest parts of hell—metaphorically speaking—find a way out. Pando is more than just an app; it’s a lifeline.” -Allred Unit
This year, God Behind Bars had the honor and privilege of bringing Shannon Harris Freeman back to Florence McClure, the same prison where she served her time, to hand out care packages to the women there. These were the same care packages that once saved Shannon’s life during her darkest day. Talk about a full-circle moment! Seeing her back there, now filled with faith, giving back to women who are in the very place she once was—it’s hard not to be moved. Shannon’s journey and her heart for these women remind us that even when we don't see it, God is working, writing our story.
October 18, 2012, and that place changed my life. When you first get there, they put you in “the fish tank” for about three weeks in a cell with another woman, doing medical exams to see if you’re “fit” for general population. Once I got out, they threw me into what we called “the jungle,” a pod with over 120 women in 12-woman cells, and it’s exactly what it sounds like. That’s where I first heard about “God Behind Bars,” a church service in the prison.
I didn’t go to prison to find God. I feel like I went to prison because I was mad at God, honestly. I’d watch as women flooded out for God Behind Bars, laughing to myself, thinking, “do whatever you gotta do to get through.” I knew I was guilty and was going to do my time, my way. Not everyone got in, and the look on those women’s faces when they didn’t shocked me. You’re sad because you can’t go to church? It didn’t make sense to me.
Two weeks later, we got another door call, and one of the girls convinced me to go. I mostly just wanted to see what it was all about. I was raised Orthodox Mormon—seventh generation, born in Provo, Utah, and raised in Las Vegas since I was six months old. I’d been to church my whole life, so I was curious.
Walking into that gym was nerve-wracking. I’d only ever been to a Mormon church, so seeing this stage and chairs was new. I sat down, and a worship team got up on stage. I knew some of these girls’ crimes, and here they were, singing for God—songs I thought you’d never sing in church. But there they were, everyone standing up, raising their hands.
Then this lady walks on stage. She’s got short blonde hair and this happy, beautiful smile. She starts welcoming us and says, “If it’s your first time, raise your hand.” I’m sitting there, like, yeah,
no. But one of the girls next to me nudged me, and I raised my hand. She welcomed me, along with a few others, and then asked if it was anyone’s last time. A few women raised their hands, and she said, “I’ll give you my number, and you can call me. I’ll pick you up at the gate, take you to the store, get you clothes.” In my head, I’m judging her hard—thinking things I wouldn’t say out loud, lots of explicit things. I hated her, honestly. I hated her for coming in here just to make herself feel good, because I wouldn’t have done it. I was a “good person,” and I never would have set foot in a prison to help people like us. I would’ve donated money, maybe, but never to these people. And now, I was one of these people.
But when she said she’d be sitting right there with us if she’d been caught for some of the things she’d done, I believed her. Because the truth is, a lot of people don’t get caught for things that could get them locked up. So, I sat there, wondering what kind of person would spend their Saturday in a prison in Las Vegas. I’d grown up in this town, and I’d never even known this place existed. Yet here I was, in prison, in a church service.
The worship started, and this rock band came on the screen. My dad’s an audio engineer, so I know good music—and this was good, which frustrated me. I wanted to find something to hate about it. But as I looked around, I saw women—women whose crimes I knew—standing up, crying, talking about the Lord, singing about Jesus to this rock music. I was horrified. I’d only known quiet, reverent Mormon services, so I was relieved when it ended.
Then out walks the pastor, Jud Wilhite, in a leather jacket and jeans. I’d only seen Mormon bishops in suits, so I couldn’t help but like him. His sermon was on tithing. I grew up giving 10%, but hearing it here felt different. Jud’s take on giving—helping others so we don’t end up in
places like this—touched me. I thought if we all had Jud’s heart, the world would be better.
I didn’t think much more about God Behind Bars until Christmas. They brought around carts of bags with notebooks, chapstick, lotion, candy, and deodorant. For women with nothing, these bags meant everything. It made them feel seen. Later, I ended up in solitary confinement, accused of bringing in contraband, though they never found anything. I was supposed to go home on house arrest a week before Christmas, but now I had no way to contact my family. They strip you of everything in solitary; I had one set of clothes, one cup. There was no heat in the unit that winter, and I sat there freezing, with no one knowing where I was. By Christmas, I was mentally done. I ate with my fingers, had night terrors, and couldn’t stay warm.
I’d saved up enough fishing line from my sheets to wrap around my bunk and hang myself. I had timed the guards’ shift change, so I knew I’d be gone before they found me. I didn’t want my kids to have to come and get their mom dead from prison, but there’s only so much you can do. As I sat with my head against that door, waiting— bam, bam, bam. Someone was banging on my door, yelling, “Harris, God Behind Bars brought your bag! It’ll be waiting for you in the chaplain’s office.” That blonde lady’s face flashed through my mind, and I thought, why? Why would someone like her come here and do something for someone like me?
I made a vow in that moment: I wasn’t going to take my life in solitary confinement. I was going to get out and get my bag, and someday, I was going to understand why someone would come to a place like this to help someone like me. I spent eight months in solitary. I watched a lot of women try to end their lives. There wasn’t much hope, but I got out, and I got my bag.
I didn’t “get saved” in prison, but I tried to understand God. I talked to friends through the
walls, trying to understand what they thought. And in prison, women weren’t just their crimes anymore. They had stories. I didn’t see a killer or a criminal—I saw people, the ones who shared their stories with me. And maybe, just maybe, I found the smallest bit of faith in that unlikely place.
After prison, I found my way back to Central Church. We started attending a small Bible study, just six of us. When it was my turn to share, I told them about the little lady I’d mocked who came into prison and talked about God. As I shared, the woman next to me put her hand on my leg. “That was me,” she said. In a city of millions, the first Bible study I ever went to, and there she was—the woman who had come into prison for us. Her grandson, Jake Bodine, had started God Behind Bars, and to this day, she’s one of my best friends. I can’t explain all the “God winks” like this I’ve had, but I knew right then that I had to give back.
I’d heard Jud talk about the lepers and how only one came back to thank Jesus. I promised that I would be the one who came back. So, when I got an inheritance after my mom passed, the first thing I did was tithe to God Behind Bars. I knew the money would serve the women and men locked away, those who feel no one cares. God Behind Bars saved my life when I didn’t even know it needed saving.
My life isn’t what it was financially, but I have so much more. I know it’s all from God, and I’m so grateful. I don’t regret prison, not even solitary, because I learned what really matters in my darkest moments. God Behind Bars was there for me, and I’m proud to support them, a recipient of someone’s “yes” to God.
On a hot Louisiana day, inside Angola’s rodeo arena, God did something incredible. God Behind Bars brought together men from different prisons for a one-of-a-kind event—and it’s one that none of us will ever forget.
The day began with worship. The arena, usually filled with the sounds of horses and rodeo events, was now alive with voices raised in worship. It wasn’t just music—it was real, it was personal, and the men felt it. Many of them, who’ve been locked away for years, leaned in and listened like their lives depended on it. And in a way, they did.
The speakers—some even formerly incarcerated themselves—shared their stories of how God had completely changed their lives. They preached the simple, yet life-changing message: You are not too messed up for God. It didn’t matter what they had done or how long they’d been in prison. God wasn’t done with them. He still had a plan, a purpose. That message hit hard, and you could see it in the faces of the men. It was like the truth was finally sinking in.
When the invitation to be baptized came, something shifted in the air. It was as if the whole room held its breath. Men began trickling down from the bleachers—some of them hesitant, taking their time, others coming down right away. Some went to find their buddies, encouraging them to step forward too. It wasn’t just about the baptism—it was about community. They weren’t walking down alone. They were walking with each other, supporting one another in this big, life-changing decision.
Before long, the horse troughs were filled, one man after another stepping into the water. With each baptism, you could see the weight of years of regret and shame being washed away. Men who had once felt lost were now being made new. They were leaving their old lives behind and stepping into a new identity in Christ.
By the end of the day, over 1000 men had shown up, and 55 were baptized. And while the sun set and the heat finally began to cool, something far more powerful had taken place. God had moved. The men of Angola prison, once trapped by their pasts, had stepped into the freedom Christ offers.
It was an unforgettable day, and we are so thankful to everyone who made it possible. We look forward to coming back and seeing the lasting impact of what God started at Angola that day.
How long have you been volunteering with God Behind Bars? What prison/church are you serving at/with?
I have been volunteering with God Behind Bars since March of 2024. I serve at Eastern Regional Diagnostic Correctional Center (ERDCC) with Twin Rivers Church. What inspired you to get involved with God Behind Bars specifically?
The crazy part is, I have followed God Behind Bars for YEARS and have always been inspired by what they were doing behind prison walls. This ministry meets such a deep need, something I saw firsthand during my three years working in corrections. I was always a fan, following their Instagram and admiring their mission, but I never imagined that one day I would have the chance to serve directly with them. Now, being a part of this ministry feels like a full-circle moment, one I deeply cherish and will never take for granted. I am truly grateful for this opportunity to serve.
Do you have a favorite memory from your time volunteering?
One of the most profound moments I’ve experienced while serving at ERDCC came from a conversation with an inmate after a service one evening. As we spoke, he began to open up, sharing pieces of his testimony and describing his journey of discovering faith. He admitted he was still new to “this whole God thing,” but he was exploring it with a heart ready for change. Then he said something that left an indelible mark on me: “I have never been more confined in my life being here in prison, yet I have never felt so Free.”
His words hit me deeply, bringing tears to my eyes. They captured the freedom of spirit that transcends any walls or bars, a liberation that only comes from experiencing God’s presence. In that moment, I saw a powerful contrast: while physically confined, he had found an inner freedom that some people may never know, even outside of prison. His testimony reminded me of the transforming power of faith and
how it can bring profound joy and peace, no matter our physical circumstances. This experience was a powerful reminder of why prison ministry matters, offering a chance to witness and participate in moments of true spiritual liberation.
What’s the most surprising thing you’ve learned about yourself since you started?
One thing that has truly surprised me since I started volunteering is the profound impact the inmates have had on my life. Sometimes, it feels like I receive more from them than I give. They’ve shown me the power of worshiping the Lord regardless of circumstances, teaching me that even in life’s lowest places, God remains worthy of our praise. It’s a reminder that worship shouldn’t depend on whether things are going well, that would be idolizing our circumstances instead of honoring the one true God. Witnessing the inmates live this out so authentically has been incredibly powerful for me.
What have you learned about God/How has your relationship with Him grown since volunteering in prison?
My relationship with God has significantly grown since serving in this ministry. One of the most powerful realizations God has revealed to me is the incredible “wealth” that exists behind bars. Now you might think that is crazy - how can people who own nothing or lack material possessions be wealthy? But this wealth isn’t measured by possessions; it’s a richness in the Holy Spirit and in a deep connection with the Lord. In the facility, I’m constantly reminded that true wealth doesn’t come from money or material things, but from a relationship with God. Each time I’m there, I’m struck by how surrounded I am by this spiritual richness, feeling as though I’m among some of the wealthiest men. There are people behind bars who are genuinely saved, filled with faith, and hungry for the Lord. Their lives have shown me that the most valuable riches are those that no one can take away.
What’s one piece of advice you’d give to someone considering volunteering in a prison?
If you’re considering volunteering in a prison, one of the best pieces of advice is to go in with a mindset of patience and non-judgment. People in prison often carry a complex mix of trauma, regret, and hope, and building trust can take time. You may encounter people who are resistant, skeptical, or guarded initially, but staying consistent and genuine in your approach can create a foundation for meaningful connection. Remember that your role isn’t to “fix” anyone but to be present,voffer support, and see the person beyond their circumstances.
After experiencing it first hand, why do you believe prison ministry is important?
Having experienced prison ministry firsthand, I believe it’s essential because it provides a space for people who are often overlooked to feel seen and valued. Many individuals in prison feel forgotten or written off by society, and having someone show up for them with compassion and hope can be transformative. Prison ministry offers a sense of connection, showing that change and redemption are possible. It’s not just about helping them; it’s also about seeing our shared humanity and recognizing the dignity in everyone, regardless of their past.
What do you think is the biggest misconception about inmates?
One of the biggest misconceptions about inmates is that they’re defined solely by their worst actions. Many people assume that everyone in prison is inherently “bad” or incapable of change, which overlooks the complex factors that often contribute to criminal behavior, like trauma, addiction, or systemic challenges. In reality, inmates are people who’ve made mistakes, often in difficult circumstances, and many genuinely want to change. This misconception can prevent society from seeing their potential for growth and rehabilitation, and it reinforces the stigma that keeps them isolated even after they’ve served their time.
Seventeen years ago, God Behind Bars started at Florence McClure Women’s Prison in Las Vegas. So, being back there was really special—it felt like coming full circle.
The gym was packed with 160 women, some eager, some unsure, and the tension was thick. Would they open their hearts? Or would it be a tough crowd? As the worship team kicked things off, something shifted in the air. Slowly but surely, the women started to raise their hands, singing about the goodness of God running after them, even in their brokenness.
Then Jennie Allen took the stage. She didn’t give the typical sermon. Instead, she asked, "How do you think God feels about you?" The answers came quickly: "Failure." "Unworthy." "Angry." Jennie asked the women to close their eyes and imagine Jesus sitting across from them, inviting them to share their anger and pain. She spoke to the deep wounds many of them carried— things done to them long ago—and reminded them that God deeply cares about them. He’s been chasing them all along.
And then Jennie did something radical—she asked the women to turn to their neighbor and confess their sins. It’s not something you see every day, especially in prison. But the women did it. The vulnerability in the room was palpable. Afterward, Jennie invited anyone ready to give their life to Christ to stand, and almost the entire room stood up. It was a powerful, life-changing moment.
Next, over 110 women lined up to be baptized in an inflatable pool—yes, an Amazon special. It was small, but holy. Some shared why they wanted to be baptized, and every time a woman stepped out of the water, the gym erupted in celebration. One woman in a wheelchair thought she wouldn’t be able to be baptized, but we found a way—using water bottles to pour over her, symbolizing the cleansing power of Jesus. She wept for several minutes, overwhelmed by grace.
The night ended with an unforgettable moment. We got to baptize a 16-year-old girl, isolated in an adult prison. It was a deeply emotional moment, and as we baptized her, the whole room wept with her. Raw, messy, holy, and beautiful.
Looking ahead, we’re excited to relaunch the God Behind Bars campus at Florence McClure at the end of 2025. Please keep the women in your prayers as we continue to bring the hope of Christ into that facility!
