Killer

He’s a crack head.  I know it.  He doesn’t work very hard to hide it. Ever.

On Friday he came up behind me.  I am always weary when the inmates are behind me, as I should be.  He shouted, “Hey teacher!”…I quickly turned around.  Then I jumped and screamed, all in one motion.  He had a lizard in my face.

His pet.  It had been in class with us all day….they are so good at hiding things I hadn’t even realized it.

His name is Killer.  He will hold still on anything he is set on.  The inmates love to pet him…you would think he was a dog.  The inmates go crazy looking for bugs to feed him with. This is odd for me. A trained lizard that is better behaved then my own doggies.

 

Kicking It Up A Notch

Writing is something I have done most of my life.  To publish was the next step, the scary next step. I could not stop thinking about it. Yet, I was AFRAID.  It takes a lot of courage to air your dirty laundry in public.  Then, someone in my life that I have always admired who happens to be published AND successful at it…finally gave me the kick in the pants I needed to go for it.  I am forever in her debt. Thanks Linzaroo.

Recently, I have volunteered to take on the art and writing clubs at the prison. I did so because when there is ANYTHING positive and healing for those guys, I am all about being a part of it.  NO ONE was stepping up to the plate…the projects were in limbo, and God turned up the volume so I would hear the opportunities knocking. I even tried getting civilian volunteers to help at first, but God laughed at me…I didn’t understand HE was telling ME to do it. Oh…”okay” I said, I hear you…guide me, tell me what you want me to do.

Our God is an intentional one.  I didn’t realize taking on these projects was going to be more for my benefit then for the inmates. Silly me.  Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to think.

The writing has been happening.  I am sharing publicly. Now HE wants me to draw too? Okay.  And HE wants me to combine my writing and drawing? Okay.  Bring it on…I am ready.

Stay tuned and may your blessings be uncountable.

 

Prison Pups

Behind our prison facility, we have a K9 unit.  There is a man who raises and trains hounds to recover missing people by following a scent trail.  Today I was blessed enough to finally meet him.

For weeks I have been asking different officers about the dogs at the K9 camp.  How many are there, how old are they, can I play with them? I was told different things.  It started to feel like it would never happen, that I would never get to go.

Then today happened.  I inquired AGAIN to a different officer about the dogs.  I shared that someone had told me there were puppies there and I was eager to meet them.  He smiled and told me he would mention it to so and so.  The same response I am used to hearing by now.  I went on with my business, thinking this encounter would have the same results as the previous ones.  NADA.

I was sitting in the Major’s office a few minutes later and someone came to the door.  She told me that the dogs were there.  I jumped up and excitedly walked to the front gate.  There was an elderly man leaning on the fence.  He asked if I was the one that wanted to see the dogs. I smiled and hopped into his pick up truck. He drove slowly around the perimeter of the prison to a small shed with cages and a yard.  The dogs stared at me with wagging tails.

He took me to each cage and explained details about the hounds. Their name, their age, where they came from.  He pointed to 2 beautiful girls that were sweetly licking my hand and turning my heart into mush.  Of course I naturally began to speak in my puppy voice, the way I talk to my own pups everyday. I can’t seem to help it.

He goes on to share that these 2 particular dogs work very well together and have the highest person recovery success rate.  The 3 of them combined are a tracking dream team.

He tells me the process of how he begins a fresh manhunt.  It is not just escaped convicts they search for. Sometimes it is the sick, the elderly, children, and missing endangered adults at risk for harming themselves.  A bell goes off in my head.  I casually ask him if he was involved in the recent search of young woman who was found dead in the water one town away.  He puts his head down and shakes it from side to side.  You can see he is in pain. He says he was.

This woman was my neighbor.  She was in her 30s and had just given birth to her first beautiful baby. She was married to the love of her life, a fighter pilot in the US Air Force. They had just bought a house 3 doors down from mine.  They had barely been living there when she went missing.  The next day her body was found in the marina down the street from her home.  From my home.

She was suffering from severe postpartum depression.  They had tried and tried to get her the help she needed.  God has other plans sometimes that we just cannot understand.

Here I was, talking to the tracker and petting the hounds that had worked to try and help find her.  To get to her before she could hurt herself.  We have all felt the pain of knowing no one was able to save her from herself.

He told me that when he works, when they are tracking, he talks to God.  God guides him and gives him the wisdom he needs.  The dogs had not found her body.  What they realized later is, they had found the spot where she took her last step on the dock, and the area in the water she landed in, before she drifted away. Peacefully, finally out of her hellish suffering. Leaving behind her devoted husband and beautiful baby boy.

This evening we took a walk down the road.  Guess who was standing in his driveway rocking his sweet beautiful boy to sleep, in his pilot uniform.  My heart begins to hurt every time I pass that house.  The pain of what they have been through bleeds onto the street. Our job is to be there for them, and help them move forward.  I was so happy to stop and chat and bring some sunshine his way. We admired his new truck that barely fit in his garage.  Pulling into a driveway everyday with her empty car sitting there must have been so painful.  I think that truck was a wonderful step forward.

God works in mysterious ways it is true.  Meeting Mr. Dexter today, a man that talks to God when he walks with God, just as I do…was no accident. He is a vessel for The Lord. He opens his heart to God so that HE can work through him. Meeting him and learning more about what happened gives me more understanding and helps me have more peace with the tragedy 3 doors down. And just in his perfect timing like he always has, God brought us into my neighbor’s driveway tonight, so we can all begin a new journey together, to bring healing and friendship and joy.

it is never our place to question God’s plan. It is our responsibility to live patiently in our faith and make the best of everything that we face. Knowing God will guide us through it, and even carry us if we need HIM too.

 

Iron Tears

In prison there is always a first time for everything.  As was the case today.  I must say, it literally shocked me.  I am prepared for a lot, but never expected this…

This was my fourth class day with this group of student inmates.  They are a big group and have been intimidating to me from the beginning.  I have been gentle and patient with them, observing as they slowly grow together as a cohort and curious to see how this dynamic will play out. They are of varying ages, races, and criminal histories….some have been “down” (incarcerated) for a LONG time, for some it is their first time.

Today we were discussing different conflict styles and the best way to handle experiences with each. I would read scenarios, and they would discuss how they would handle them.  The final example was how one would handle catching your brother finishing your chocolate pie without permission.  Many of the inmates joked about making their brother pick up more, or pay them for the amount they ate.

To my surprise, one inmate went on a tangent about family, and how precious time is with them.  He continued to get deeper and deeper on this matter.  Everyone in class became absolutely silent as we gave him our full attention.  I noticed his eyes begin to water.  I figured it was allergies.  Wrong.

He suddenly and unexpectedly began to CRY!

This is a grown man, in PRISON!  Prison code states you never show your weakness, your emotions, your vulnerabilities. I am always very careful not to push the guys emotionally because of this. I am even cautious about displaying too much emotion myself.

As he began to sob, inside I was fighting every instinct to not run over to him and hug him.  I wanted to comfort him.  Tell him I understood and that everything was going to be okay. I quickly assessed the other inmates reactions.  They were also in shock, and very uncomfortable.

What do I do? I very nonchalantly told them it was break time.  Everyone got up and walked out of class.  I saw one inmate walk up behind him and gently pat his shoulder as they left.  They have few opportunities to display such forms of physical comfort to one another, and I am always so touched when I catch it.

My assistant who is also an inmate stayed behind, I could tell he wanted to talk.  When the door closed behind the last student, he told me this class is more than just a class to these men.  It is more like therapy.  It is a rare opportunity for them to relieve emotional stress in a safe environment.

He looked at me very seriously.  He asked me…of all the prisons in the world, why did I think God sent me THERE? I was quiet, I was thinking, I didn’t know what to say. He paused, and said that it was not an accident.  That it is part of God’s perfect plan.  That the inmates need me…and God sent me there on purpose.

Wow.

I know that God loves me.  I trust him. I know he has a very special plan…for all of us.

 

My Faith Phone Charger

I am very blessed to have a job that I love. It fills my heart and my spirit with joy and gratitude.  I learn something valuable everyday behind those prison walls.

Yet, there are many days the weight of it all bears down on me.  My head hangs because sometimes it is just too exhausting to simply hold it up.  My shoulders feel as they carry the burden of every man I meet behind the iron curtains.  My heart…my heart. Pieces of it everywhere.

I am dealing with many men that have been abused and neglected most of their lives.  They lack a family, an education, and basic life skills.  They have trust issues, addictions, impulsive natures, rage, violent tendencies, and on and on.

Many of them need counseling, medication, love, and support.  Few have any of those things. Many of them will NEVER have any of those things.  They are a statistic.  They will relive the cycling lifestyle of the streets, followed by prison, and revolve until that lifestyle eventually kills them. Few will notice. Even less will care.

I suffer from a condition I have had since childhood.  I refer to it as a bleeding heart. It causes me chronic spiritual pain.

Due to all of this, I feel worn out,  I have tried a few times to write the past couple of days….but each effort was a FAIL.  When you give and give, you become depleted. That is a natural cycle.

God is reminding me to slow down.  It is time to recharge.  Time to plug my faith batteries in and let the charging…I mean, HEALING begin.

Blessings to all of you.  Thank you for taking the time to read my words.

 

Truth or Consequences

Today was the kind of day where I walked out of class, and my heart couldn’t contain the rays of sunshine that laser beamed out of it back into the world…and the voice in my heart reminded me that God has me exactly where HE needs me…making sure HIS work is being done.

Let me rewind to Monday morning, when I once again began a new class of inmates to teach my community re-entry course.  For the next 2 months, we will all slowly get to know each other, and by the end of it all, it will be hard to say goodbye.

However in the beginning, it is scary…for all of us. New inmates, new histories to learn, new body language to observe and comprehend. New people to gain respect and trust with. A new dynamic to survive.  Just as much for them as for me.

I have 2 young inmates that sit in the back of this brand new class.  They are hardened and criminalized dramatically despite their youth. They stare at me, they seem angry, one even began a verbal confrontation with me 15 minutes into our first class 4 days ago. In front of the ENTIRE class. Great.

And how did I handle this test of his masculinity against my authority? With flying colors.  I stayed cool, calm, and collected and reminded him if he didn’t want to take class with me in a civilized environment, he had another option. To my impressed surprise not only did he listen, but he sustained no hostility the rest of the day.  He engaged and participated well. He gained respect from me for that.

Yet, I also noticed this young inmate was receding into his clothes that first day.  My training alerted me to the possibility he was masturbating. I did not want to jump to conclusions.  I could have hit my panic button and had security rush in and take him away to confinement,  He would have been one less headache to deal with.  But that is not my style.  I am here to help as many men as I can, and in order to do that I must remain a fact gatherer.  I want to be very sure of my decisions that affect my students, as long as I am not in jeopardy.

I consulted with security about my suspicions.  They listened, and with their typical enthusiastic support of me, agreed to let me handle the situation as I saw fit. My instinct told me to observe this kid slightly longer to make a full assessment of what was taking place. I am sooooooooooo grateful I followed my instinct.

Today this young man approached me after class.  With his shyness he approached me while staring at his feet.  He thanked me for caring so much about them, for being there.  He talked about how much he has suffered in his young life, and how no one has ever been there to take care of him, to support him, to teach him anything.  All of his older brothers are incarcerated.  As the youngest, he doesn’t have anywhere to go when he is released in 3 months. He is terrified.

He then begins to discuss his extreme anxiety.  He has suffered from it ever since he was a kid and child protective services began placing him in foster care (11 different placements to be exact).  Part of his behavioral response when he feels anxious, is to cradle himself.

He tells me he is sorry.  He doesn’t want me to be afraid, he would never want to do anything to make me feel uncomfortable or  disrespected.  He has been in trouble so many times at the prison because he is often accused of masturbatory behavior by female officers. It has forced him to recognize that his unconscious behavior of comforting himself during panic attacks is misconstrued to observers as inappropriate touching of himself.  He gets it now.  He doesn’t mean it.  It is a habit that started when he was 4 years old.  He draws into himself, cradles, and rocks.  As a long time sufferer and survivor of anxiety, I can understand this young man’s pain.

I am so proud of him for coming to me.  For being a man…that no one ever modeled for him how to be…to admit something, and to apologize. For being honest with someone he hardly knows, which in prison takes a heck of a lot of courage.

I could hear the harps of heaven ringing in my ears as he spoke.  We were both being lifted into the love and grace of God, with our moment of peace and understanding.

I could have let the devil’s fear control me, and cast this man from my class into confinement.  I wouldn’t have had to deal with this. But when the Holy Spirit lead me to hold steadfast, I listened…and he listened to the Spirit that lead him to testify his truth to me.

And now, here we are. This man that needs God to guide him and love him…and his teacher who is working as the Lord’s vessel to deliver just that. God’s beauty and perfection is undeniable.

Amen.

 

Code Red

There have been a LARGE number of drugs discovered and confiscated at the prison this week.  A spike in the number of fights and stabbings often is the following pattern when that happens.  Such has been the case the last few days at work.

Security has been on high alert as a result of this.

The security shift that worked today is one of my favorites.  Those guys would run into a burning building if my life depended on it. They always keep an extra vigilant eye on me and what inmates are doing in my presence. I am very grateful for all of the security that keeps me safe and allows me to do God’s work.  But these guys are exceptional.

On our radios (walkie talkies) that every staff member carries,  we have a “magic” red button.  If one were ever to touch it, it would send off an alarm over the entire prison.  I have been fortunate enough to never need it, but for the first time I finally heard it.

I was sitting in my office consulting with my assistant about the morning class, when my radio starting beeping.  I could hear the other radios in the building doing the same.

I know the radios beep when my battery is low so I turned it off, despite the battery indicator being full.  I turned it back on… still beeping.  One of the inmates yelled out that it was THE alarm. Suddenly my heart started to race.

Before I could blink, officers came running from every direction… into my office!  They pushed my assistant to the ground and ran towards me and surrounded me.  I knew immediately they thought I was the one that had hit the alarm, and here they were coming to my rescue!

I began to scream, “It’s not mine! It’s not mine!”. Their training was in high gear and they grabbed my radio to verify what I was saying.  They were out of breath and sweating.  Many of them had even run across the compound from the dorms… all the way to my office.  I could see the relief on their faces as they looked into my eyes.  And then in an instant, panic again, and they took off.  They still needed to find the person who DID set off the alarm, to make sure they were not in danger.

Suddenly another teacher was standing in my doorway.  With a smile on his face, he looked at me and said, “Why did they only come looking for YOU?!” We both laughed.

I cannot express what that feels like.  To know a panic alarm goes off at that prison, and the first person security RUNS to protect, is me.  Even security staff that is assigned to be watching inmates in a dorm far far away, left their posts… for ME.

The story ends happily.  The librarian accidentally set off her red panic button.  All is safe in the land of maximum security, for today.

Blessed and grateful.  Glory be to God.

 

I Love Secrets…My Family Has Lots of Them

I have a deep secret to share. In the past I may even have used the word “dark” to describe it.  But not today. Not ever again.  Holding onto shame over my weakness won’t do me any good.  I chose to be open about my flaws so that I can overcome them.  Just like those before me that were open about theirs…served me. So I will serve.

Before I share what it is, let me tell you what I endure as a result of it. Every fucking day.

Depression, racing thoughts, self medicating tendencies, extreme memory loss, shame, guilt, hopelessness, fatigue, difficulty concentrating, irritability, chronic pain without a known cause, suicidal ideation, difficulty sleeping, anger, confusion, sensitivity, delusions, a tendency to isolate myself, and on and on we go. Where it stops, who the hell knows. Oh, and medication.  Every day. For the rest of my days.

Do not misunderstand.  I am no victim.  I overcome this crap, every day of my life.  I FIGHT for my joy. For my peace. And I fight hard! I will not let the darkness take control of me. Although sometimes I feel like it will. Sometimes I think it has.

Every day I fight to smile.  And if I don’t, it is because the demon on my back is fighting me harder than usual.

Have you guessed what it is yet?

When I meet new people, I feel like a fraud.  How can I explain what I am? They don’t really know who I am, and what I wrestle every day.  Like when I don’t return a phone call, and someone is offended, I wish I could explain.  I might say, “My head was pounding as I was fighting depressive mood swings with all of my strength. It zapped me of all my ability to deal with anything but my next breath. How are you?”…or something along those lines.

I have always been afraid of labels. C-R-A-Z-Y is my least favorite.  My biggest fear is if someone knows this truth about me…I will be stamped with the C word and abandoned.  Left in the dust.

I often joke with my friends that I am crazy.  They always laugh.  Inside of me I am screaming, “It’s true!”.  I just wish they knew and it was over with.  They could hug me, love me, and accept me.  Check please.

When I first met my husband, this terrible secret hung over me like a terminal diagnosis.  I was terrified he would leave me.  I finally broke down and told him. Ready and expecting to never hear from him again. I concluded by telling him I was damaged goods, and it was best for him to move along.  I am no good to anybody.  I didn’t want him to have to endure my living hell with me.  Nor did I expect him to want too. Why would anyone?

His response to my confession startled, shocked, and moved me speechless.  He saw something beautiful in my heart, there was no way he was using any excuse to dismiss me from his life.  He told me WE would deal with this TOGETHER.  My salty tears kept me from speaking.  His love began to crack the pain that covered my heart, and had for so many years… as I had struggled in a personal prison of agony. He has been the blessing that really opened me to living my LIFE. To feeling, seeing, and overcoming.  He holds my hand through every peak and every valley.  He deals with my mood swings, my rage, my depression.  That is no easy task.  He is….my love, my strength, my HEART.

He sees me on my worst days, and still loves me.  Sometimes I wonder if he is the CRAZY one….He is amazing.

I think working in prison makes sense now.  In my worst days I could have easily been sick enough to make a mistake that cost me my freedom. I am sure I actually have made many.  But GOD has a plan for me, for all of us.  It is easier to support my students in love, when I know what it feels like to expect no one to love you.  For no one to try and understand you and help you become well…or at least better. I know what it feels like to think you are broken, defective, and worthless.

Only GOD knows what is in a man’s heart.

Have you guessed yet? Do you know? I am sure you are scratching your brain.

I NEVER talk about this.  I allude. Sometimes I drop hints, secretly hoping someone will guess and publicly declare their acceptance and love for me anyway.  Maybe even love me more in spite of it.  I know my Mama does. Thank goodness for her.

I am what I am because my Lord made me this way.  I am no accident.  I am Depressed.

 

Teacher’s Gang

Today they came to me in waves.  The outcry on my behalf…”Teacher, we heard what happened!”, they shrieked.  They were angry on my behalf. They swore their allegiance and oath to protect me forever, as long as I am there.  They had a meeting and discussed why my safety was vital.  My mission to be there and help them would be compromised if any asshole scared me, hurt me, or worse. And they feel responsible for ensuring I am there for them, by being there for me.

This is both awesome and rare for 1 big reason.  This is because inmate code states you NEVER get involved in another man’s business.  You see what is going on, but you don’t “see” it.  You keep out, mind your own business, and keep your mouth shut.  Snitches get stitches…and wind up in ditches. True story. They have shank fights every day over the smallest infractions that break this code of inmate conduct.

Yet a group of 10+ inmates have pledged to defy this rule.  To protect me at any cost. To secure their teacher will be there to help them and support them, for as long as she wants to be.  And more importantly, they want it to be in the capacity that I am myself.  Where I feel truly safe enough to be the genuine, caring staff member that I have been since my first day.

Wow.

Walking in today, despite what occurred yesterday, my trust in HIM lead me without fear.  This is yet another confirmation of HIS awesome power to work in our lives.

 

Boobs in Prison

Today something powerful happened. I got SCARED. The trouble with working in prison is, I work in prison.  Prison rules apply. Let me explain.

When I began teaching in an all male facility, I was nothing shy of terrified. I would shake, sweat, and lose my temper… a lot.  My defense and coping mechanisms manifested in ways that communicated: STAY AWAY!

Over time, I have found my groove.  I am comfortable being myself in safe ways.  What has really eased my stress is having developed a strong rapport with my students that commands respect.  They watch out for me all the time.  They speak up on my behalf when anyone is inappropriate, much like a big brother does for his sister.

My initial teaching assistant I inherited from the teacher I replaced was a veteran convicted child predator.  He didn’t last in my kingdom after a month.  I was onto his manipulative selfish ways very early on….and he got the boot. I was content to run the show without an assistant.  But as my initial class graduated, it became very clear that one of my star pupils would be a wonderful addition to my circus.  It was a tremendous experience and he has been a delight to work with.

I didn’t really understand what I had done until very recently…what that move signaled to the inmates on the compound.  I had replaced my first assistant, a convicted sex predator, with an old school Hells Angel member. I had unwittingly changed my position in the pecking order in the eyes of the prison population.  I showed I was not a child molester sympathizer, but a staff member who aligned myself with men of power capable of violence.  Of course it appeared to all it was a calculated move, for my own safety. I was untouchable.

Looking back I see how people began treating me differently.  Inmates no longer muttered inappropriate things under their breath to me.  They kept their distance and no longer STARED at me or tried to get too close.  If they greeted me, it was in a manner of great respect, as if I was truly a princess in prison.  How silly of me, I thought my reputation as a kind and caring instructor was responsible for all of this. Oh how naïve of me.

Today marked a milestone of change.  I am no longer “protected”.  I see now how vulnerable I truly am.  I can no longer sit in comfort behind a veil of ignorance.

You see, my teaching assistant who has been with me since almost my beginning there is being released in 3 days.  He is going home.  And now I am a sitting duck.

At the end of the day, the Art Club that I VOLUNTEERED to instruct concluded at its usual time.  This is usually chaotic as many inmates are moving around, putting supplies away, and leaving the room.  Because of this, I did not notice the 2 inmates who entered the room.  I was sitting at my desk that is catty-corner in the classroom away from the door and has nothing but a barred window behind it. I had a sense to look up and saw 2 large inmates I did not recognize approaching me…quickly.  I had nowhere to go.  I grabbed my radio and stood up in an attempted power move.  They got as close as they could, one leaning over the desk.  They looked like salivating tigers ready to pounce on weak prey.  I asked them what they wanted.  They began asking me about the class I teach (my salary position) and when it was starting.  If they would be on my roster….blah, blah, blah.  I could see their disgusting eyeballs moving up and down my figure and could almost hear them inhaling deeply to smell me.

I shot back verbally and thank goodness my assistant was nearby and came to my rescue.  Upon seeing him, one of the creepy inmates took off.  The taller and fatter of the two stood his ground.  He became hostile with both of us.  He tried arguing with us and became more and more agitated.  I thought of an excuse to leave and my assistant picked up on my cue and followed out behind me.  I could not have walked faster to the officer’s station on the cellblock.

When I got there it was no wonder the officer hadn’t picked up on what was happening. He was working alone and trying to manage 200 inmates.  I basically threw my supplies in the office and tried to move towards the gate to leave.  OH CRAP!  There are inmates surrounding the door.

As in a mist sent by angels, I see inmate Knowledge.  The inmate who works in my office.  He makes eye contact with me and signals to me to walk to him.  I keep my eyes glued to the floor and follow as closely as I can.  He gets us to the gate and pounds on the door.  The officer buzzes it open and we escape.  He slams it shut and presses on it to make sure it locked behind us.  He walks me outside and stands with me until another officer arrives. Making sure I could leave safely. I was so grateful.

Why has all of this transpired? Because the inmate that spoke up as my guardian is leaving.  He will no longer be there to protect me and all the inmates know it.  What happened in my classroom was a test.  Inmates are testing the waters to see how they can get to me and who will do something to protect me now.  My assistant has lost their respect, because he did not stand up for me.  He can’t anymore and I understand why. Any altercation will jeopardize his release on Sunday. His release to go home and care for his children.  What is more important than that?

Now I am in trouble.  The inmate I have lined up to be my new assistant has no affiliation in the gang world. He is an accountant with a cocaine problem.  I had no idea how vital a choice that was.  Welcome to prison girl.  How do you like your rose-colored glasses now?