Why Go There?: Because Jesus Would!

By Mary Lou Brainerd

It isn't pretty. The environment is hostile. The people aren't nice. So why go there? Because Jesus would.

Just driving by a prison can be intimidating, especially if you see the people in their prison garb working beside the road or in the fields with armed guards on horseback attending to them. But what if you went inside those bars and heard the heavy iron gates lock behind you? What if, armed only with a Bible, notebook, and pencil, you walked among them?

In this book, you will take a journey through those halls, visit the people that only God could love, and learn to feel that love passing from the Almighty God through your flawed body to that person.

Get ready for the journey. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you might even get a little angry; but, hopefully, you will have a better understanding of what a mighty God we serve and how the Holy Spirit can use a willing servant to accomplish his needs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886165111

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Why Go There?

Because Jesus Would!

Mary Lou Brainerd

ISBN 979-8-88616-510-4 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88616-511-1 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Mary Lou Brainerd

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgment

Foreword

Introduction

The Early Years

Ouachita Correction Center

Special Services in Oklahoma

Special Services in Arkansas

Branching Out

Joe Johnson

The Prison Grounds at JEHCC/OCC

The Split

Right Turn Ministries

Polk County Jail

Women at Tucker

Phil and I

Men at Tucker

Job Change and Move to Little Rock

Pulaski County Jail

Pulaski County Juvenile Detention Center

You Can Never Cross the Same River Twice

About the Author

Acknowledgment

Thank you…

To my husband, Phil, for his patience and support

To all who worked with me through the years

To those who contributed financially

To those who faithfully prayed for me

For listening to my stories

For encouraging me to write this account

For those who proofread the original work

Especially thanks to the Holy Spirit who made it all possible.

Foreword

I want to acknowledge the role of the Holy Spirit in all the significant events revealed in this book. I have to admit that sometimes, I look back with awe at the events as if I were an observer rather than a participant. I often prayed that my spirit be out of the way so that the Holy Spirit had full rein of the situation. In doing that, I just provided the vessel for God to work through.

Therefore, I can write about these events without taking credit or bragging except to boast of the power of the Godhead, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

One of my favorite hymns has a phrase that goes like this: I love to tell the story, twill be my theme in glory, to tell the old, old story of Jesus and His love. I pray that as long as I am able, it will be my theme here on earth as well.

Introduction

Through all the years, I have been encouraged by friends and family to write an account of some of the events that took place during the many years I spent in jail and prison ministry. At first, it seemed too personal. I felt like the people I dealt with considered our time together as privileged. Now enough years have passed, and most of them have moved on to new lives. I won't use their real or at least their complete names. I pray that their stories encourage others to walk closer with the Lord or help them have more compassion. In that case, it will be worth it.

As far back as I have memory, I knew who Jesus Christ was. The only time I had any doubt was when at the age of eight, my more sophisticated friends told me there was no Santa Claus. I was totally crushed, and when I got home from school, I bombarded my mother with questions (a habit I retained all through school, I'm afraid).

Is it true that there is no Santa?

Yes, she answered truthfully, but it's his spirit that we honor.

Well then, what about Jesus? Is he just a made-up story too? I questioned.

No, Jesus is true, she said.

I reasoned that if she told me the truth about Santa, she must have told me the truth about Jesus; and so I continued to believe.

My parents were Methodists. At the age of ten, a group of us took a class learning what the church believed, what other churches and religions believed, and why our church took the stand they did on many issues. At Easter time, we were all to be baptized. In our instruction, I learned that the Methodist church accepted baptism by sprinkling or by immersion. As Easter approached, I informed Rev. Azel Smith, a man whom I loved dearly, that I wanted to be immersed. He explained that at our church, we sprinkled and so that would be the way I, too, would be baptized. I accepted it, but I was never satisfied with that decision.

A few years later, now living in Arkansas, our family went to a river to swim one Sunday afternoon. A church group was there baptizing by immersion. I was so excited. I went to my parents and said they are baptizing over there, and I want to be baptized too. My parents did not understand my desire. You've already been baptized, my father said, and we don't know these people. We have no idea what they believe in.

So, that was the end of that. It wasn't until April of 1974, at twenty-eight years old, divorced with three little boys to raise, that I attended a revival at the Church of Christ. There I learned, in a more perfect way, the sacrifice Christ had made for me. They offered baptism by immersion. When I came up out of that cold April water, I began to realize the price Jesus paid for my sins. Even though there was nothing I could do to earn my salvation, I knew I owed everything I had or ever would have to this loving God. He is a God who would send his precious Son to go through the physical agony of the cross and the mental agony of bearing my sins even though he himself lived a perfect, sinless life for over thirty years here on earth.

Now equipped with the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38), I began to pray that God would use me in a special way so that I could repay to some small degree the tremendous debt I owed. I also knew that I needed a helpmate to raise those little boys. I made a list of attributes I believed I would need in such a man. He would need to be of the same faith; he would need to be a man that could encourage me in my walk and that I could encourage in his walk so that we could grow together. I think there were about twenty things on this list. The only frivolous item was that I would like him to have brown eyes. I don't know why I wanted that, but I did. I then prayed that God would send me that man. When Phil Brainerd came into my life, he fulfilled every item on the list, including the brown eyes. Without Phil, I don't believe I would have had the courage to step out in the direction God laid out for me.

During the years I was waiting for my special mission, I tried to say yes to any form of Christian service that came along. I helped cook at church camp, taught Sunday school, led singing, directed the youth group, cleaned—whatever came along that needed done, I tried to do my very best. For a few years, I was the forwarding agent for a Philippine mission. That position got me involved with the National Missionary Convention of Christian Churches and Churches of Christ, which proved invaluable later on.

One of the endeavors I entered into was a monthly letter of encouragement. I had observed that in all of our mail-outs, there wasn't anything that nurtured women. So many of the women I knew were trying to fill numerous roles in life. They were cooks, housekeepers, nurses, comforters of children and husbands, and often contributors to their family finances. They were physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted. I looked at the Proverbs 31 woman and realized that this is nothing new. Therefore, I decided to write a little letter of encouragement and called it The Noble Character Builder. I was surprised to discover the wide range of readers who could find something in it for just them. What was designed originally for women was (through the Holy Spirit) ministering to women, men, and, to my surprise, a number of ministers. At one time, the circulation grew to over twelve hundred. When bulk mailings became complicated and the expensive postage was more than I could handle, I eventually switched to emailing the letter. It is no longer a monthly letter but an occasional bit of encouragement. Everything has its season and eventually runs its course.

After more than eighteen years of waiting and watching, I decided that God intended for me to take the first step. I had come to believe that my main gift was singing. So I put together a concert of good Christian music, made up flyers, wrote a letter of introduction, and mailed it out to a number of churches within driving distance asking for an opportunity to come and share the concert with their congregation. In return, I got one response. A church in Oklahoma wrote back and said they would like me to come, but they were going through financial difficulties and would not be able to pay me for my time; therefore, they could not invite me. I contacted them back, assuring them that money was not my motive and that I would be glad to come for free if they would have me. I went. They had a great turnout. Everyone had a good time, and they took up a love offering that was beyond my expectations. It definitely covered the cost of all the mail-outs as well as my travel expenses to their congregation.

While it was a good experience, I realized that it probably wasn't the mission God had in mind for me, at least not at that time. Not when only one out of twenty responded, and they responded with reservations. Therefore, I continued to watch and pray.

In November of 1992, I woke up in the middle of the night after having a vivid dream. I knew I had