Holidays and other special days are harder than usual for an incarcerated person. They are a reminder of family and love, which hurts when you are separated from them. It makes misery more acute. Birthdays without birthday cards make one wonder, “Am I loved?”

As I focused on love I began to wonder, ‘What does God say love is?’ I like clear-cut definitions, but didn’t expect to find one in the Bible. I was amazed when Jesus brought me to this verse: “For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments.” To God, love is an action! I asked Him, ‘What can I do to show others love?’

Jesus answered, “You mean, ‘What can we do together?'”

I paused. I was still getting used to this partnership. I wanted His leadership, but usually ran ahead without Him. “Yes, absolutely,” I agreed. “What is your plan?”

“Do you remember Eliza and the cards she sent you while you were in jail?” He asked me. I sure did. “Do to others as you would have them do to you,” He reminded me. 

Excitedly we began the new venture – giving fellow inmates birthday cards! Admittedly I started this one off not quite right (as usual), but Jesus would gently correct me as we went. I began by asking the students in class if I could send them a birthday card. If they said yes (everyone did) I wrote down the necessary details. Soon I had a large list, which I copied into my prison tablet’s calendar to keep track.

Next I bought birthday cards on canteen. In each card Jesus instructed me to include a favorite verse and a kind note. It was a good start, but this venture would teach me valuable lessons.

I faced a few issues right away. First, canteen was unreliable, and birthday cards could be out of stock without warning, leaving me without a card to give. Canteen sold different types of birthday cards such as humorous, romantic, adult general and children. I chose general adult cards. Once they were out of stock and canteen chose to send me birthday cards for children instead. The women who received these thought this was funny. Another time canteen sent me romantic cards. Horrified, I took a black marker and blacked out their messages and created my own. The women thought that was even funnier.

Cards came with a mailing envelope. I thought, ‘I can pass the cards to women during class and keep the envelope!’ I could use the card envelopes for my children’s letters and get more for my money! “It’s My money,” Jesus reminded me. “I am the King, and you are My daughter. Why do you need to cut corners? Do you think Me so poor?”

“I’m sorry, Jesus. I did it without thinking,” I answered. 

Of course I also liked the attention passing out these cards had gotten me. Jesus knew that too. He didn’t say anything about it right then.

After this talk with Jesus, I mailed the cards. Women liked that better! Most of my cards were belated at first and I was embarrassed. It brought to mind one time years earlier when I happily told Vivi I’d sent her a birthday present. She responded, “Yes Mommy, but your presents are never on time!” It was true, and that was typical of me. I’d felt shame then, too. My calendar app sends notifications, so I created a 2 week advance notice for all birthdays and  I began buying cards in bulk to outsmart the canteen’s shenanigans. 

Mailing the cards had an impact on me emotionally. I didn’t know when they were delivered and most women never acknowledged them. I wondered how I might find the enthusiasm to continue without being recognized for my efforts, but Jesus kept me going, “Holly, this is My work you are doing. I never waste anything.” He reminded me of this verse: “be firm (steadfast), immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, being continually aware that your labor in the Lord is not futile [it is never wasted or to no purpose].” I didn’t fully understand it, but I trusted Him. 

After a few months things were running smoothly, cards mailed early not late. Then Jesus opened up my eyes to other opportunities.

One day I looked up from my desk to see Julie, a student, crying at hers. I didn’t know her well. She seemed reserved. Jesus spoke into my thoughts. “I want to mail her a ‘Sympathy’ card,” He told me.

“I hardly know her!” I responded. “What would I write in it? I don’t even know why she’s sad.”

“Buy the card and I will tell you what to say,” Jesus answered. I did, and mailed the card feeling a little uncertain. Soon Jesus was pointing out to me other opportunities to cry with or celebrate the women around me.

Many women didn’t want to be in school. If they got in trouble and were suspended they might never return. One day I noticed Lilly wasn’t in class. “She went to seg,” Jae whispered when I asked. Lilly was a brilliant student with a poor self-image. I feared she might not return.

“Write to her,” Jesus told me. 

“But I don’t have any more money for cards,” I answered.

“You have plenty of paper and envelopes. I want you to write her an encouraging letter,” He replied. So I did.

Most women never acknowledged the cards but some responded in kind. Their return cards and letters were priceless to me, especially since I was now experiencing a deep disconnect with my children. Jesus was giving me these spiritual children to fill my heart. One such person was Heidi. When she was removed from school I wrote her several letters, sharing how much Jesus loved her. She didn’t respond and eventually was released from prison. A year later she returned on a violation. Shortly after I received this letter:

“Dear Holly, Thank you for telling me about Jesus last year. At first when I got your letters I thought you were strange. Since then Jesus has become real to me! I love Him and I am grateful to you for telling me about Him. Please send more letters!”

That fall Jesus gave me the most adventurous idea yet – He wanted to send everyone on my lists a Christmas card! This was an ambitious plan that would need to be well-organized. I followed my usual pattern of starting off on a different path than Jesus wanted. 

The maximum number of cards one could buy on canteen per order was 20. I had more than 100 inmates on my list. Additionally, I was paid every 2 weeks, and 20 cards would take nearly all of it. It would take more than 10 weeks to buy them all.

Then there was the task of putting a message in each one. Jesus told me each card should include a Bible verse and a personal message for each woman that told her three things I admired about her. That along with addressing all these envelopes was a big job! I still wrote my 5 children a letter every week and would need to fit this new idea into my schedule.

After considering everything, I turned to our newest tutor, Jasmine. “I think I’m going to send everyone a Christmas card!” I told her excitedly.

“Who’s ‘everyone’?” she asked.

Waving my arm towards the class full of students I responded, “Them! All the students. You know what? All former students too and anyone else I can think of!”

Jasmine looked at me like I was crazy. “Why would you want to do that? That’s a lot of cards, a lot of money!”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?” I asked. Frowning, I studied her face. She shook her head and went back to work.

Sylvia, our other tutor who sat to my right, had overheard. She waved me over. Things were about to get complicated and go sideways.

“Did I hear you want to send Christmas cards to the students?” she asked. I nodded and again outlined my basic idea. Sylvia surveyed the classroom thoughtfully. “I would like to do that with you,” she said after a minute. Surprised, I thought about the prison “no passing” rule, which I still had not mastered.

“How do you see that working?” I asked Sylvia.

“That many cards will be expensive,” Sylvia answered. “I would be willing to buy some of them. I’d like to sign them all as well.”

I knew her suggestion meant passing the cards to each other so both of us could sign them. I was tempted, however, by the offer of deferred costs. She was right, it was going to be an expensive campaign. I had enough money, but it was tempting to cut corners and save. I failed to ask Jesus what He thought of this.

“Ok let’s do that,” I relented. “Buy 20 cards and sign them and I will too. We’ll trade so they are all signed by us both.” Sylvia agreed. I was going to regret this compromise soon, and more than once.

Two weeks later, Sylvia had 20 Christmas cards. She worked on signing them, then gave them to me. My own cards had also arrived. I spent the evenings signing and writing messages in each. Once mine were done I handed them to Sylvia so she could add her signature. I was stopped short the next day at work. Sylvia was not happy.

“I didn’t know you were going to put Bible verses in the cards!” she complained, referring to the filled-out cards I’d given her to sign. “I no longer want to do this with you,” Sylvia decided. “I also want my cards back,” she demanded.

This was a problem, as I had already signed her cards as well and begun filling them out. We now had 40 cards, and all 40 had my signature and a message. Twenty also included Sylvia’s signature. What could I give her back that she could use?

We decided I’d order another 20 and give them to Sylvia as new. This left me in a bit of a conundrum. Not wanting to throw cards away, I asked Sylvia would it be alright to blackout her signature with a thick black marker. It would not be attractive, but it would avoid waste. She agreed and I set to work covering up her name on the first 20 cards. This would turn out to be another poor decision and I wasn’t done making wrong choices yet. I was about to make another bad decision that would prevent these cards from being delivered and might send me to seg!

Weeks passed as I continued to buy cards and fill them out. As October turned into November I had another idea – what if I added details on where to get a free Bible in each card? I looked at the large stack of cards neatly stuffed in envelopes, addressed and ready to go. What a lot of work this new idea would be! How would I fit this message onto some of the cards? On many I’d written over every available space.

Again, I had an idea. Sylvia owned something few inmates had – an electric typewriter. I could type up the information and add the slip of paper to each card! Delighted with this new time and space-saving plan, I asked Sylvia for permission to borrow her typewriter. She said yes.

Entering another inmate’s cell was strictly forbidden, so I had 2 immediate problems. Sylvia was frail and the electric typewriter was big and heavy. She would not be able to bring it to me, and I could not use it in her room.

“Sir,” I asked the guard at the desk, “I have a question.” The guard looked up. “I am sending out many Christmas cards and would like to include a typewritten message in each on how to get a free Bible. Would it be ok for me to use Sylvia’s typewriter?” The guard thought about it for a moment, and I added, “I could use it right here in the dayroom perhaps. The thing is someone would need to get it out of Sylvia’s room. She’s too weak to get it herself.”

The guard shrugged and said, “You can get it out of her room, that’s fine. Just bring it to your room and use it there.”

Delighted, I retrieved the bulky typewriter and carried it upstairs to my room, setting it on my desk. I got started immediately. I planned to quickly type my message over one hundred times. What I didn’t count on was the amount of skill it takes to type all this without errors, over a hundred times. I was quickly defeated by my sloppy typing skills. I had latched onto this idea, however, and sought a solution. I know! What if I type up one page with the message on it several times and pay for copies of it? Good plan, however, I found it difficult to type up the message without error several times on one sheet of paper, and more failed attempts were crumpled and thrown away.

Finally, the next day I had my single page, which was mostly perfect. Now I realized my new plan had another flaw. Requesting xerox copies from the prison is not straightforward. The process to request copies takes several weeks. One must first submit a payment voucher, at 25 cents a page. Once Accounting and Finance has received the voucher and deducted the money from your spending account the item to be copied is sent somewhere to someone whose job it is to make copies for inmates. (Wonder what that job description looks like.) Once copies are made, they are then mailed to the inmate who requested them.

That’s a lengthy process, one I didn’t have time for. I should have turned back then, but I didn’t. It was already nearing the end of November. At this point I was willing to pay for copies, but there was no time! I considered solutions and decided I would ask a guard for help. Heading downstairs I found a guard I’d never seen before at the desk. Every post has guards assigned to it on regular schedules. Finding an unfamiliar guard at the desk meant someone was on vacation. We called these unfamiliar guards “off-brand” guards as we called them.

Some guards displayed more autonomy and authority than others. I’d learned this in the past when I’d asked for help or guidance. Some wrung their hands, uncertain of how to answer, while other guards took matters into their own hands and made decisions. I wondered what type of person this unfamiliar guard was.

‘It never hurts to ask,’ is what my father always taught me, so I headed to the desk to find out. “Miss?” I questioned. The guard turned to look at me. She was young, perhaps in her twenties, with long brown hair. “I have a question. I need help. I plan to mail Christmas cards, many of them, to the inmates here. I was given permission to borrow another inmate’s typewriter so I could include information on how to receive a free Bible.” I frowned and stared at the floor. “It was much harder than I thought to type this message up so many times without mistakes,” I admitted.

In my hands I held the last paper I’d typed up. I had my message on it in 6 squares, some with a few mistakes. I laid it on the desk in front of me. “To solve this, I thought I’d make one good one and get it copied. I have the money for that!” I asserted. “However, it takes so long to get copies. Could you help me?”

Without another word the woman briskly grabbed the paper and came around the desk. Throwing back her shoulders she said, “I’ll make the copies for you right now.” She marched 10 feet to a small office with a large copier. My mouth hung open in surprise. A few minutes later she returned with my copies. I didn’t get her name as I returned to my room, happy.

I began cutting the pages into 6 squares and slipping them into each envelope. I knew my cards would be finished with plenty of time to spare. I felt accomplished. Over the next several days I dropped fifty cards at a time into the mail slot, happy to be finishing this exciting project. The mail lady (as we called the woman who oversaw the mailroom) would not be as excited.

A week passed, then two. It was now mid-December. About 20 women received their cards. None of the cards, however, had my typed paper about free Bibles. It seems they had been removed. Then I received a notice in my own mailbox.

After seeing the volume of cards, the mail lady refused to deliver the rest, stating the typed paper I’d included was “contraband.” She referred to DOC Policy against distributing “Published materials” through the mail without the author’s permission.

I was shocked, but it was about to get worse. The next morning, I was met by the discipline lady while heading to work. Pulling me aside into the empty gym, she asked to speak with me. In her hand she had a report. “I want to talk to you about your Christmas cards,” she stated. “I have a report here from the mail lady with several serious concerns.” I thought of the notice I’d received, and considered my answer, but her next words took me off guard. “Are you coercing or stealing from Sylvia?” she accused.

I was so surprised I was speechless. I could not imagine what she was talking about. Noting my confusion she explained, “We noticed that at least 20 of your cards had Sylvia’s signature on them, blacked out. Did you steal these cards from her so you could use them?”

“Oh! I knew I shouldn’t have accepted her offer to help!!” I cried. Now the discipline lady appeared surprised. Carefully I explained the situation to her, my idea to send the cards, Sylvia overhearing and wanting to participate, and then changing her mind after the fact. I challenged, “Have you reviewed our canteen purchases? The cards Sylvia signed were the ones I bought, not her own. You can see that I bought her 20 new cards to replace the ones she did buy – after she changed her mind.”

“What about all these papers in each card?” the discipline lady pressed. “Where did you get them?”

“I typed them myself,” I answered, which was kind of true.

Again, she looked surprised. She asked, “You typed up every single one of them yourself?” Well, not exactly. I cringed.

“No,” I responded, and briefly shared with her how I’d asked a guard for help, and she’d offered to make copies for me.

“Who was that guard?” she demanded, again suspicious. I had no idea who the guard was. I’d never seen her before or since. I described her appearance and the reason I didn’t know her.

“Well, she never should have done that,” the discipline lady said. “I could have you thrown in seg right now! You are lucky you are not already in seg. The only reason you are not is that I know you a little bit and wanted to talk with you first,” she added.

Taking a deep breath, I told her, “Ok, I understand. Listen, I want to do everything in a way the prison approves of. I do. I have been working hard at following the rules. I apologize for doing things the wrong way with these cards.”

“Ok, well I will not discipline you for this, but we are not going to deliver the rest of the cards,” she told me.

Hearing that I was heartbroken! The 20 women who had already gotten their cards from me had been happily talking about them to the other students. Since the mail had stopped, other women had begun to wonder if they were really going to get one. “You can’t do that!” I blurted out. “Don’t do that,” I restated, “please!”

“Why shouldn’t we?” she asked, truly interested.

“These are more than just signed Christmas cards,” I explained. “Jesus told me to buy and send these cards. I wrote to each woman, sharing Bible verses and at least 3 positive things I’d noticed about them. I want them to feel loved!”

“You can’t say that,” she interrupted, “You can’t talk about loving another inmate. That’s inappropriate.”

Stopped short I was dumbfounded. “What?” I stammered.

“You can’t talk about loving another inmate. We don’t allow that here,” she insisted.

“I’m talking about loving them as Jesus instructed. The cards include Bible verses,” I explained.

“I understand but you still can’t say it,” she pushed. “Use a different word.”

“Ok,” I relented, “some of the students already received their card and they’ve told the others. If you don’t send the rest through, some women’s feelings will truly be hurt! You cannot let them feel bad like that at Christmas! Please give them their cards,” I pleaded.

Her expression had changed. She appeared thoughtful and didn’t give me an answer. I returned to work with a heavy heart, praying, “Jesus, I’m sorry for breaking rules again. Please forgive me.” Days passed and I prayed that Jesus would allow the cards to be delivered. Women began to ask me where their cards were, wounded they hadn’t received one. Christmas grew closer. “Jesus,” I prayed every night, “please release the cards. And let them all be on time!” Finally, on December 23 , I learned the last batch of cards were released and reached students’ mailboxes. Praise God! Students were delighted with the gift. I rejoiced in these answers to prayer! It was a huge sense of relief.

As things quieted down a student approached my desk. Tiesha was a very quiet student and appeared painfully shy. Like several other students, I’d had to spend more time considering how to lift her up and praise her in the card. I’d prayed about what to write. Tiesha had never come to me before. Now she sat and said, “I want to thank you for my Christmas card. I have not received any mail until now. That was the first.” She looked away and said, “My entire life I’ve felt invisible. I thought I was invisible.” She turned back and said, “Your card was the first time in my life someone has complicated me, told me good things about myself. Thank you for seeing me! I wanted you to know how much it meant to me,” she added, smiling, and returned to her desk. I was shocked.

Over the next several years Jesus used this ministry to heal me in other ways. At lunch one afternoon I sat at a table with 15 other women. As we ate everyone talked. Then I heard the dreaded question, “Are you going to eat that apple?”

I looked up to find the biggest woman I’d ever seen in my life sitting across from me. She didn’t look friendly either. I swallowed. “Nope,” I said.

Predictably she followed up with, “Can I have it?”

I really wanted to say yes and avoid a beating. I opened my mouth and Jesus told her, “Nope,” using my lips. I shut them in surprise.

The woman looked more surprised. She reeled back in her chair as if slapped. Her eyes closed in a faint. Her friend put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. As she recovered an angry look formed on her face. She leaned forward again, looking hostile, and opened her mouth to say something. Before she could utter a word, Jesus worked the end of the table, drawing attention to my situation. A woman spoke up, “Hey! Leave her alone.” She pointed at me. “Holly is the only person who has ever mailed me a birthday card, all the years I been here. She sends them to my friends, too.” Everyone turned to see who was talking, me included. “She is nice, and she believes in Jesus. She’s doing what He tells her. Let it go,” she finished. 

The table was silent. I marveled, as this woman had never acknowledged my cards. ‘At least I know she got them,’ I thought to myself. Now we all turned to look again at the large angry woman. She sat back in her chair, her anger drained. “Ok. No hard feelings,” she said. Jesus smiled beside me.