Locked inside a cell in Butirka—the infamous Moscow prison where the Soviets used to shoot Christians—it occurred to me that I might have made an awful mistake. My new friend, Dimitri, had arranged for me and my Russian friend, Victor, to see his prison ministry, and even secured permission for me to go in without a prison escort, the first time an American had ever been granted that privilege.

Butirka hides in Moscow. A few turns off the sidewalk, through a gate and you are inside the ancient, stone-and-cement bulwark of a prison. It's like time travel. The first sign of entry is the stench, a cross between a locker room and a slaughterhouse. Dimitri even changed clothes before we went into the main building because the smell clings to his clothes.

Inside, the cell-houses all had similar arched hallways dimly lit by bare light bulbs, and long rows of heavy, wooden doors, each with a 10-inch hatch.

We stopped at some doors where Dimitri would open the hatch and give the men Bibles, or soap for their monthly shower. As we stood by one door, a guard appeared and spoke to Dimitri in Russian, then opened the door. Dimitri and Victor went in, so I followed. Then he closed and locked it from the outside!

When my eyes adjusted, I saw that we were standing in a 20-foot by 40-foot, domed, crowded room. Home for 140 men who shared one open toilet and 50 cots stacked three high. They slept in shifts.

After the inmates checked us out, they brought out their stash—cheap tea, Russian chocolate and a shriveled mango. It was all they had, and they insisted we enjoy it while they watched. I've never felt more esteemed in my life. I came from relative luxury, but they gave me their best.

About 45 minutes later, the guard returned and pushed us out of the cell, poking me in the back with his truncheon. As I passed the door, an inmate handed me the last of the chocolates. "Give this to some American prisoners," he said, "and tell them we are thinking of them." I admit that even after I came home, I kept the chocolate for a while. But I didn't eat any. It had become sacred.

After returning to my modest house in America, I couldn't get these men out of my mind. I remembered grumbling about Georgia and how poorly I thought God had provided for me. But now I realized how profusely God had blessed America in general and me in particular. Now, when I feel like complaining about my circumstances, I picture a piece of dried-out Russian chocolate.

Ever get stumped trying to explain why God came to earth? Here's a story that drives the point home.

A Hindu man heard about Jesus, but he couldn't comprehend how the great Creator God of the universe could stoop to become a human being. One day, as the man walked in a field, he stopped in wonder to observe the activity at an anthill.

Suddenly he heard a tractor. He looked up and saw the plow heading for the anthill. The ants' home would soon be destroyed and thousands would be killed. Frantic, he wanted to save them. He thought, I could write a warning in the dirt, but they couldn't read it. I could shout to them, but they couldn't understand me. The only possible way I could communicate with them would be to become an ant myself.

In that moment he saw why God made the incredible sacrifice of becoming one of us. Knowing our hopelessness, God intervened to save us from being plowed under by sin.

"What's that raunchy smell?" I asked my friend.

She scrunched her face and looked at me from the passenger seat. "I think it's coming from that old, dumpy car in front of us," she replied.

My dad had allowed me to drive his brand new 1994 Saturn to the mall with my friend.

"Hmm. Well I hope it turns off this road soon," I said as I rolled up the window and turned on the vent in a vain attempt to escape the odor.

Finally that beat-up car turned down another street. "Phew!" I exclaimed. But I continued to inhale the whiffs that smelled just as bad as before.

"Maybe it's that car," my friend pointed.

"Maybe."

Then its blinker flickered and it disappeared. The odor didn't.

I realized then that my Dad's plum-colored Saturn might be the problem. I glanced at the dashboard. Tiny, red letters revealed the problem: "BRAKE." My heartbeat quickened. I looked down and sure enough, I had never released the emergency brake.

Should I tell my parents? I pondered. I didn't want them to know that I had ruined Dad's brand-new car.

Jesus says, "And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free" (John 8:32).

Right then I had a hard time believing that by telling the truth in this situation that it would somehow free me rather than confine my means of transportation.

I navigated the car into the driveway. My dad was working on the yard. "How did the car work out for you?" he asked.

Decision time.

My conscience pricked me. "I kind of drove most of the way with the emergency brake on," I stammered.

I don't remember what exactly he said, but he was kind about it. I do remember what he said to me the next morning, though. He walked out the door for work, then came back into our house. "Jennifer, it's a good thing you told me about the emergency brake," he said, "because the tire rims are coated with black brake shavings. I would have known." The truth did set me free.

On a cold March day, a man stood on the edge of Niagara Falls and watched birds swoop down to snatch a drink from the clear water. As the birds dipped down for a drink, tiny droplets of ice formed on their wings. As they returned time after time for additional drinks, more ice weighed down their bodies until, finally, they could not rise above the cascading waters. Flapping their wings, the birds suddenly dropped over the falls.

This is how sin acts in our lives. Some sins may seem small, but they are like those tiny droplets of ice. Each time you choose to follow your old habits of sin, you are saying "no" to the new life Christ has given you, and, like those birds carried over the edge of Niagara Falls, you may pay dearly.

Colossians 3:3 promises, "You died when Christ died, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God" (New Living Translation). Christ redeemed you and gave you eternal life that begins now. You have the power of the Holy Spirit to withstand temptation. Consider yourself a new creature instead of a sinner, for sin has no power over you.

Because of Christ's sacrifice, we are as dead to sin as a corpse is dead to this world. It cannot respond to any pleasure the world offers. No appealing aroma, glitzy picture or sultry music can cause that dead body to get up and indulge. In the same way, we are to consider ourselves dead to the desires and attractions of sin.

Because you are a new creation, sin no longer dictates your behavior.

Yet we walk around in flawed, finite bodies that want to do wrong. In God's eyes we are dead to sin, but each day we have to consciously submit ourselves to the power of the Holy Spirit and decide to live according to how God sees us—according to our new nature.

Paul says, "I advise you to live according to your new life in the Holy Spirit. Then you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves. The sinful nature loves to do evil, which is just opposite from what the Holy Spirit wants. . . . These two forces are constantly fighting each other, and your choices are never free from this conflict" (Galatians 5:16,17; NLT).

We are in the midst of conflict because we house Christ in a body of flesh. The Word of God states in 2 Corinthians 4:7, "This precious treasure—this light and power that now shine within us—is held in perishable containers, that is, in our weak bodies. So everyone can see that our glorious power is from God and is not our own" (NLT). But even this tension can bring glory to God. We must place our trust in our loving Savior, and, by faith, see ourselves as God does—as dead to sin and alive in Christ.

Paul urges, "Do not let any part of your body become a tool of wickedness, to be used for sinning. Instead, give yourselves completely to God since you have been given new life. And use your whole body as a tool to do what is right for the glory of God" (Romans 6:13, NLT).

Instead of living for our own, selfish purposes or to fulfill the purposes of this world, we must dedicate all we have and all we are to our wonderful God. Offering ourselves means nailing to the cross our bodies, possessions and everything we are.

In 1813, King Frederick William III of Prussia found himself in trouble. Wars had been costly, and he was seriously short of finances. He could not disappoint his people nor capitulate to the enemy. After careful reflection, he decided to ask the women of Prussia to bring their gold and silver jewelry to be melted down for their country. For each ornament received, he exchanged an iron cross as a symbol of his gratitude. On each cross was inscribed, "I gave gold for iron, 1813."

The response was overwhelming. The women of Prussia prized their gifts from the king more highly than their expensive jewelry because the crosses were proof that they had sacrificed for their king.

As Christians, we proudly display the cross of Christ. When we exchange the "treasures" of our former life for a cross, God will use us to win the greatest war of all—a spiritual one.

Recently, one of our editors traveled to Spain to write about El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage to the city of Santiago de Compostela, the reputed burial site of James the apostle. Along the trail, pilgrims stop at monasteries and cafés, collecting stamps in a passport, a validation that they had completed that part of the journey. At the trail's end, hikers with enough stamps in their passport get a certificate officially recognizing them as "pilgrims."

After returning, my friend told stories about the trek, and the people he met as he hiked the last 93 miles. Some had come for adventure, others wanted a cheap vacation, but many came for spiritual growth and insight. As the pilgrims walked together, new friendships formed and, during the days on the trail, God spoke to many of the wayfarers.

But one man showed up every day in a taxi, riding from town to town so he could acquire all the stamps without the effort of the walk.

As my friend told that story, I thought, What a perfect illustration of walking with God. While many genuinely seek an encounter with God, others are just trying to look right. Then I examined my own journey, and had to admit there were times when I was just collecting stamps and totally missing the fellowship of walking life's pilgrimage with God. It made me want to lace up my boots.