Locked behind the razor-wire fences of a Florida prison is no place to spend a holiday. I'd spent 15 Christmases under these less-than-festive conditions, but this year my situation looked even more bleak. I was stuck in confinement—a prison inside a prison where the supposed trouble-makers are sent. In reality, anyone can find himself in the hole by irritating the wrong person.

Because I was going to be locked in a cell 24 hours a day through Christmas, I figured nothing memorable could happen. Beyond a five-minute shower three times weekly, there wasn't much to look forward to.

Even in prison, I normally could expect something good to occur over Christmas. My mom likes to send me two or three cards, and many of my pen-pals can be counted on to send greeting cards, too. I'd decorate my cell with them, and it would put me in the Christmas spirit. Unfortunately, I'd have no cards in confinement. I'd lost my mail privileges, too.

I wouldn't get to watch It's a Wonderful Life. No TV in confinement. I wouldn't hear my sister's encouraging voice on the phone wishing me Merry Christmas. No phone calls in confinement.

	The lights went out and I stared at the ceiling from my bunk, wondering if I could praise God in the midst of my circumstances.

The Christmas meal wasn't too bad: one slice of canned turkey, a cup of sweet potatoes, and a spoon of cranberry jelly were a departure from the regular mundane meals. But it didn't match the treats I usually got from volunteers at the chapel. I especially hungered for the Cuban coffee and donuts one of the Hispanic volunteers brought. No chapel services for those in confinement, although the chaplain was allowed to bring me Guideposts and Inside Journal to read.

Just Another Day
In a way, that Christmas was like the first Christmas 2,000 years ago. Most people went about their lives paying bills, cooking dinner, traveling to and fro. Nobody noticed anything different, including the innkeeper who told a young couple to sleep in the barn.

Oh, a few shepherds working the late-night shift got a spectacular celestial show from some angels who proclaimed, "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace and good will to men!" (Luke 2:14). The sheep probably guessed something was up. And some wise men, eastern Magi, had begun their journey to Jerusalem looking for someone called "The King of the Jews." They'd studied ancient manuscripts and knew the Scriptures foretold the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem.

But for the rest of the world, it was just another day. No holiday music, no discount sales, no trees with lights. Nothing except the need to be counted in a census by their Roman occupiers so they could be taxed. Maybe the Romans were having tax parties, but they didn't know that God had arrived: " … and they shall call his name Emmanuel … God with us" (Matt. 1:23).

Christmas night in confinement, alone in my cell, I read in my Bible about Paul and Silas, who were also inside a prison. Despite their miserable predicament, they were praying and singing hymns to God while the other prisoners listened.

Carols in the Dark
The lights went out and I stared at the ceiling from my bunk, wondering if I could praise God in the midst of my circumstances. I could hear a mouse nibbling on some crackers I left out for him. Then suddenly I heard a voice come out of the vent above the toilet. It was Andrew in the next cell. "Merry Christmas, Roy," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Andrew," I replied.

"Do you know any Christmas songs?" Andrew asked.

"Yeah, I know a few."

"I'll sing one if you'll sing one," he said.

"Are you kidding? Have you been reading the Bible?" I asked incredulously.

"No, why?" Andrew replied.

"Never mind. What should we sing?"

"Joy to the World." And he sang every verse. I sang the chorus with him. Then it was my turn and I chose "Silent Night." Then he sang "O Come All Ye Faithful." And I answered with "Feliz Navidad."

"Hey, I remember that one from the Christmas play last year. Wasn't that the song you sang? What was the name of that play?" asked Andrew.

"It was me. It was called The Real Meaning of Christmas."

"That's right," Andrew recalled. "A lot of people liked it. Boy, things sure have changed."

"You're right," I agreed, "but the real meaning of Christmas hasn't changed. It doesn't matter where you wake up or what day it is—God has arrived. Emmanuel is with us. He's here to bless us, save us, heal us, grant us peace, and do many more wonderful things."

"I have another song," Andrew said, and sang "O Holy Night." Silence filled the quad as everyone listened. It was a moment I'll never forget. It not only reminded me of Paul and Silas, but made me realize every day is Christmas when God has arrived. It wasn't just another day, and I wasn't alone. Emmanuel was in confinement with me, in my cell, blessing me.

This story originally appeared in Inside Journal, a publication of Prison Fellowship. It is reprinted by permission.

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