Seeing God in the Ordinary and the Ugly

Chaplain Lynn from Western Australia tells her story

Lynn never imagined she would become a prison volunteer.
In fact, she once told God that’s exactly what she didn’t want to do.

“I said, ‘Lord, I’ll do anything — but I really don’t want people I don’t understand. Neither drug addicts nor alcoholics,’” Lynn recalls.

God, as it turns out, had other plans.

Years earlier, while living in South Africa, Lynn sensed God speaking to her during a quiet moment outdoors.

“It’s easy to see me and recognise me in the beautiful things of life,” she remembers Him saying.
“But you are going to need to see me in the plain, the ordinary, and the ugly.”

That lesson followed her across continents — first into a squatter camp in South Africa, and eventually into prisons in Western Australia through Prison Fellowship.

Listening and Encouragement

Lynn’s first visit surprised her. She wasn’t afraid — only curious. “There was absolutely no feeling of fear or anxiety,” she says. “Just anticipation. What’s it going to be like?”

While she didn’t feel unsafe, the reality of being inside prison walls was profound.

Inside the meeting rooms of women’s prisons, Lynn and other Prison Fellowship volunteers facilitate Bible studies — spaces where prisoners can come, raise their own questions, and speak openly. Often, the conversations go far beyond the planned study.

“What they want is somebody who listens,” Lynn explains. “Somebody who’ll understand.”

“Sometimes everything just falls apart,” she says, “and you don’t even get a chance to do a Bible study because they’re just pouring out their hearts. You can’t stop the flow sometimes.”

One day, only two women attended: a young Indigenous woman who had been in and out of prison since she was fifteen, and a South African girl barely older than a teenager. Despite cultural and language barriers, when the younger woman broke down over her sick mother — now unable to visit — the Indigenous woman quietly tore a page from a colouring book, drew flowers, and handed it to her.

“They hugged,” Lynn recalls. “It’s amazing - you can see the love of God even in the direst of situations.” Again and again, Lynn has seen that truth.

Prison is a hard place — but it is not God-forsaken.

Many prisoners arrive expecting judgement. What they encounter instead is dignity.

“They’re so used to being looked down on,” Lynn says. “They all have a story. And sometimes the real question isn’t why they’re in prison — but how, after such disrupted and painful upbringings, they ended up anywhere else.”

On one visit, as Lynn and the volunteers were leaving, prisoners waved from their windows, calling out their thanks. “They look forward to us coming,” she says quietly.

For Lynn, prison ministry has been deeply fulfilling — not because it’s easy, but because it reveals God’s heart.
“You get far more back than you give,” she says. “You see God where you least expect Him.” And that encounter begins with God’s Word.

A Bible becomes something prisoners can return to long after volunteers leave. It offers truth when emotions overwhelm, comfort when shame resurfaces, and hope when the future feels closed off.

For just $20, you can place a Bible into the hands of an Australian prisoner — giving them the opportunity to encounter God, find guidance, and begin a transformed life.

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