Ask and You Shall Receive

Upon his initial arrest in March 2025, my husband, Chris, was held alone in a cell for four consecutive nights as he awaited arraignment. He had no contact with anyone, other than one phone call a day with me, and one 15 minute video-call visit.

Upon arrival, he began asking every guard that passed his cell if he was permitted to have a Bible. He was told a couple of times that religious reading materials were available, but they were all in spanish. Family was not permitted to bring him a Bible, and after two days of asking he began to lose hope of getting one.

Time was meaningless during those four days, as the lights were always on and there were no clocks - morning and night were imperceptible other than the delivery of meals. He slept when he could, exercised when he was awake, and lay on his bunk with his thoughts and apprehensions for company. The focal point of Chris’s cell was the small passage in the door through which these “meals” arrived each day - the questionable substances that pass for food in jail are a topic for another day. He did not stop asking for a Bible, and each time food landed, he got up hopefully to see if anything else was with it.

He does not remember, in the monotonous passing of time, precisely when he got the answer. During the second or third day, he awoke to discover a gift sitting alongside his food - a tiny, pocket sized Gideon bible. A Gideon bible contains the New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs. He will never know who had mercy on him and left it there - a gesture of no small meaning and import.

Chris observed in retelling this story that Matthew 7:7 says “Ask and you shall receive”.

“I asked, and I received”, he wrote to me.

This began our daily routine of reading the Gospels “together”, and discussing notable passages during our brief conversations.

Faith has been a pillar of discussion and debate in our relationship, dating back to the earliest days of our courtship. We returned again and again to this subject, attempting to penetrate it with our intellect while also cultivating a shared sense of reverence with which to build a foundation for our union.

During one of our first phone calls, I asked him if he had any spiritual beliefs. His answer was ambiguous—not particularly—but his life experiences had opened him to the belief that there must be something governing serendipitous encounters, or aligning and facilitating events. This guiding power he called “The Universe.” I asked him: in what way—aside from the specific doctrines of organized religion—was the “Universe” he was describing any different from “God”?

His reply told me everything I needed to know regarding the heart of his beliefs: “Between you and me, they are interchangeable.”

It is not surprising that in the initial shock of our present crisis, when he was stripped of control, isolated and uncertain, he turned to the only possible source of help—and asked for a Bible.

Faith in the Abyss

Faith can be challenging even in the best of times, and the delicate foundation of Chris’s own has endured immense strain the past three months. For the pretrial detainee, faith offers no guaranteed liberation from the oppressive, isolating conditions of a county jail. Our faith does not promise a revelation in the meaning of the court proceedings ahead - which will direct our fate as a family in all earthly matters for the foreseeable future.

The mystery of the material impact of faith is precisely that which necessitates it. It is the difficulty of the very act of faith that points us in the right direction - this is where we persist in knocking at the door, that one day it might open for us.

Chris and I persist - for one another, for the baby, for the future.

We recently finished reading Dr. Jordan Peterson’s book We Who Wrestle With God together. I sent him a copy, and ordered one for myself, so we could read it side by side, chapter by chapter. This was the fourth book we’ve read in this manner since we have been separated. It’s one of the few rituals we are able to share. I sent Chris the following quote from Chapter 8.2 in a letter, as it resonated with all that we are trying to hold on to:

“If you are visited by misfortune, however just or unjust, and you maintain your faith, you at least have the consolation of your courage and faith to accompany the misery visited upon you. If you lose hope, turning instead to the path indicated by the spirit of resentment, arrogance, and deceit, the hell you have already suffered—no matter how bad it is—will be nothing compared to the hell you will create.”
—Jordan Peterson