Seeing beyond the ache of the moment

Editor’s note: On July 9, 1974, Chuck Colson was imprisoned at Fort Holabird in Baltimore. On the 50th anniversary, his daughter Emily Colson shares her unique perspective.

It wasn’t like the prison cells you see in the movies, with bars on the windows and oversized guards pacing the halls; that was yet to come. This was a room in an old Army barracks. A window overlooked the tiny, unkept yard below, and the door to the dimly lit hallway remained open. But there was nothing else normal about this place. Or this moment.

It was the only time I was completely alone with my dad while he was imprisoned. I sat in a hard oak chair. There was nothing else to look at but each other.

The previous year had been a whirlwind of people, trials, and reporters who surrounded the house. It had been loud and full of fast turns as if we were living on the inside of a stock car racetrack.

And then it all stopped. Watergate and the men of the Nixon administration were everyone’s news. Television stations broadcast the verdict by interrupting their regularly scheduled programming. My dad was sentenced to one to three years in prison.

As we sat awkwardly in that room, we tried to make conversation, but I felt hollow and a little achy inside, the way you do when you’re getting the flu. Someone walked past our open door, but I knew enough not to look. I kept my eyes glued to my dad.

And then the intensity of the moment began to press in on us both. “I’m just fine,” my dad blurted out. His words were forced and completely out of context. I mean, nothing was fine here. And I hadn’t even asked him how he was. It wasn’t that I didn’t care; it was that this reality was too heavy for either of us to hold. I was only 15 at the time, with not much wisdom to draw on for a response, so I just stared. My dad’s broad shoulders were rounded, and his hands slumped between his knees as he sat on the bed. I’d never seen my dad wear a white T-shirt in the middle of the day.

After a moment, he continued to plead his case. “I have everything I need here,” he insisted. “See,” he began gesturing around the room. “I have a chair. I have a bed.” I couldn’t tell if my dad was trying to comfort me or convince himself. And then his voice moved up another octave as he pointed, “I have a desk.” I glanced at the almost child-size desk beside me, its surface carved with years of graffiti. An image flashed in my mind of the sprawling highly polished desk in my dad’s study back home, now sitting empty.

The rest of the world was still spinning outside. Fathers were coming home from work. Families were gathering around dinner tables. But for us, life had stopped. We could not have been more alone than in that moment.

But we were not alone.

I only understand it looking back. There was someone else with us in that sparse room at Fort Holabird that day. Just as there was someone else in the fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. It was Jesus. He doesn’t show up like a hologram or a Star Trek character that’s beamed in. He doesn’t announce Himself with the fanfare of a groom walking into his wedding reception with his bride. He’s subtle and as present as the air we breathe. Jesus promises He will never leave us nor forsake us—even in prison.

But there’s something else I now know. Jesus was not bound, as we were, by the walls of that dreary room 50 years ago. He was not limited by what we could see or understand in the ache of that moment. He was, at the very same time, both fully present with us then and fully present in the future. He already knew what was to come.

It was as if when Jesus sat with us in that cramped room, He had a picture in His wallet of what would be today, 50 years later. He already saw the extraordinary ministries that would arise: Prison Fellowship and The Colson Center. He saw the millions of lives that would be infused with courage and transformed by the hope of the gospel. He already knew my dad would grow to be a mighty man of God and that prison was part of that plan. And He knew the bond of love between this father and daughter, so alone that day, would one day become unbreakable.

This is hope. To know, as a dear friend often reminds me, that God is creating a masterpiece in our lives far beyond our momentary circumstances.

Today, as I stand 50 years down the road looking back, I am certain of this: The Lord is trustworthy, Jesus is with us, and He still has more pictures in His wallet.

Chuck Colson served as special counsel to President Richard Nixon from 1969 to 1973.

On Aug. 12, 1973, at the height of the Watergate scandal, Colson gave his life to Christ. He later voluntarily pleaded guilty to obstruction of justice and served seven months in prison. His commitment to Christ and his time served in prison dramatically shaped the second half of his life.

When Colson was released from prison, he had a vision to mobilize the Christian Church to minister to prisoners. In 1976, he founded Prison Fellowship Ministries, which quickly became the largest ministry in the world serving prisoners, former prisoners, and their families and advocating for criminal justice and reform.

Colson later founded The Colson Center for Christian Worldview with a mission to equip Christians to boldly live out their faith, influence the culture, and redeem a fallen world for Christ.

Colson, who died in 2012, was tireless in his efforts, speaking into the lives of presidents and prisoners, leaders and learners. He was one of the most influential and well-respected Christian leaders of the last half-century. His life powerfully shaped Christian thinking and affected millions.

And if he were here today, he would be quick to tell you, all glory belongs to God.