Below is a link to a video talking about the college program at the prison. You will see Larry at 4:52 on the timer talking to the teacher in the front of the class (shaved head and black glasses).
http://www.southside.edu/news/2011/campus_within_walls.asp
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
1200
I hit a milestone the other morning. I completed twelve hundred pages in my diary. As I’ve written before, shortly after my arrest I began keeping a daily journal of my experiences in here. Each page has approximately three hundred words. So many times during the past thirty-two months I’ve been asked by guys “what are you writing down?” A little bit of everything.
I recently completed Nelson Mandela’s newest bestseller based on his diary and personal correspondence written during his twenty-seven years of imprisonment. I was surprised by a good deal of the book. Perhaps it was my preconceived notion of what thoughts would cross a great man like Mandela’s mind. I just assumed everything would be deep and profound. But it wasn’t.
Mandela wrote about powerful topics such as maintaining your dignity in the face of a system bent on breaking you. He also wrote about his commissary order, and his vegetable garden, his love for his wife and children, his health. He wrote about everything.
In one letter to his young daughter, he wrote the following:
“Spiritual weapons can be dynamic and often have an impact difficult to appreciate except in the light of actual experience in given situations…To put it bluntly, it is only my flesh and blood that are shut up behind these tight walls…”
As I think about all the pages I’ve written, the mundane and profound, the boring and insightful? I understand what Mandela was saying. They can put a man behind bars, but they can’t take his freedom if he still has his mind, his experiences, his faith.
I write a good deal about the day to day happenings in here that are life in prison. A lot of those happenings are things I never knew occurred. I write about men and experiences that were far removed from my apparently sheltered life. I write about my family and friends. My ex and my kids make my entries almost daily. I’ve been told numerous times to “move on” and “close that chapter”. Ironically, shortly after his release from prison Mandela and his wife of thirty years separated. A few years later, they divorced. Mandela knew of his wife’s indiscretions while he was locked up. He also knew he was no saint. The divorce shattered him. As the notes in the book reflect, he could never speak publicly about her. Yet, even after his release, after the divorce, he wrote about her.
There is hope in writing. There is despair. Many mornings and nights I’ve written letters directly to God telling Him I’m not quite sure I can do this. Then, two days later I’m writing about receiving my commissary. The day after that I’ll be running and hurry in to record some self realization.
Twelve hundred pages. Following receipt of the divorce papers the court appointed a lawyer to serve as my “guardian ad litem” – an ironic twist of incarceration: no suit can proceed against an inmate without the court being assured the inmate understands the nature of the action.
I was called to a lawyer visitation room at the Henrico Jail and was met by a stunning, mid-thirties blond who introduced herself as my court appointed lawyer. We spent three hours together and during that time she asked about my life, my circumstances, my marriage. I told her the story, my story. Near the end, she looked at me and said “you need to write that down, for yourself, for your sons, for others.” She was the first person I told I kept a diary.
Everything about this experience is documented. I guess I do it because I don’t want to forget even a day of what this is like. I thought I knew so much before my arrest. I realized these past few years just how little I really knew. It may not matter to anyone else, but these pages represent the struggles and successes, the joys and heartaches I’ve been through. And, Mandela was right. No matter what happens to me, these pages represent my freedom.
I recently completed Nelson Mandela’s newest bestseller based on his diary and personal correspondence written during his twenty-seven years of imprisonment. I was surprised by a good deal of the book. Perhaps it was my preconceived notion of what thoughts would cross a great man like Mandela’s mind. I just assumed everything would be deep and profound. But it wasn’t.
Mandela wrote about powerful topics such as maintaining your dignity in the face of a system bent on breaking you. He also wrote about his commissary order, and his vegetable garden, his love for his wife and children, his health. He wrote about everything.
In one letter to his young daughter, he wrote the following:
“Spiritual weapons can be dynamic and often have an impact difficult to appreciate except in the light of actual experience in given situations…To put it bluntly, it is only my flesh and blood that are shut up behind these tight walls…”
As I think about all the pages I’ve written, the mundane and profound, the boring and insightful? I understand what Mandela was saying. They can put a man behind bars, but they can’t take his freedom if he still has his mind, his experiences, his faith.
I write a good deal about the day to day happenings in here that are life in prison. A lot of those happenings are things I never knew occurred. I write about men and experiences that were far removed from my apparently sheltered life. I write about my family and friends. My ex and my kids make my entries almost daily. I’ve been told numerous times to “move on” and “close that chapter”. Ironically, shortly after his release from prison Mandela and his wife of thirty years separated. A few years later, they divorced. Mandela knew of his wife’s indiscretions while he was locked up. He also knew he was no saint. The divorce shattered him. As the notes in the book reflect, he could never speak publicly about her. Yet, even after his release, after the divorce, he wrote about her.
There is hope in writing. There is despair. Many mornings and nights I’ve written letters directly to God telling Him I’m not quite sure I can do this. Then, two days later I’m writing about receiving my commissary. The day after that I’ll be running and hurry in to record some self realization.
Twelve hundred pages. Following receipt of the divorce papers the court appointed a lawyer to serve as my “guardian ad litem” – an ironic twist of incarceration: no suit can proceed against an inmate without the court being assured the inmate understands the nature of the action.
I was called to a lawyer visitation room at the Henrico Jail and was met by a stunning, mid-thirties blond who introduced herself as my court appointed lawyer. We spent three hours together and during that time she asked about my life, my circumstances, my marriage. I told her the story, my story. Near the end, she looked at me and said “you need to write that down, for yourself, for your sons, for others.” She was the first person I told I kept a diary.
Everything about this experience is documented. I guess I do it because I don’t want to forget even a day of what this is like. I thought I knew so much before my arrest. I realized these past few years just how little I really knew. It may not matter to anyone else, but these pages represent the struggles and successes, the joys and heartaches I’ve been through. And, Mandela was right. No matter what happens to me, these pages represent my freedom.
Bob Sold Out, Martin and Moses Didn't
I read an article this week about Bob Dylan taking his tour on the road all the way to China. In order for Dylan to perform there he had to agree to strict government censorship of his songs. He agreed to abstain from performing “Blowin’ in the Wind”, “The Times They Are A Changing”, “Chimes of Freedom”, “Desolation Row”, and “Hard Rains Gonna Fall”. For the opportunity to finally perform in the world’s most populated country, Bob sold out.
What’s left to believe in now that Bob gave up his message for a show? Like the little boy who ran into “Shoeless Joe” Jackson on the street shortly after his lifetime ban from baseball was announced by Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, I want to run up to Bob and cry out “say it ain’t so Bob; say it ain’t so”.
Selling out is a funny human trait. We abhor it, yet we tolerate it, we expect it and worst of all, we do it. In here, selling out comes in a couple of different forms: being a snitch is one noticeable one. Buddying up to the officers, ratting out a fellow inmate to make your life easier is wrong. The job of the prison staff is to maintain order and discipline. The job of the inmate is to do their sentence. It is not the inmate’s job to police the compound.
Another sell out is the way guys react to this environment. You should never get comfortable in here. Too many men in her consider this place home. This is not home. This is a government imposed penalty; a court sanctioned “time out” in effect. Everything an inmate is given was fought for and eventually conceded to as a means of maintaining security, discipline and control.
Prisons are in place to house inmates. They aren’t places for treatment or rehabilitation, at least not as they are currently structured. It is the responsibility of the incarcerated to do their sentence and to challenge the status quo, the “that’s just the way things are done” attitude that permeates DOC when “the way things are done” is unjust.
This past week the English students were assigned Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s, “Letter from the Birmingham Jail”. Forty students; twenty-two African American, eighteen white and not one of them had ever been exposed to the letter before this week. As I’ve written before in this blog, there is perhaps no other single piece of writing by any American clergyman that as profoundly and persuasively spells out the moral obligation of Christians to challenge injustice.
To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: “An unjust law is a human law that is not rated in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust.”
I broke the law. The Commonwealth of Virginia has the absolute right to set a just punishment for my law breaking. The Commonwealth doe not; however, have the right to operate an unjust sentencing apparatus and prison system. And, there can be no mistaking this simple fact: Virginia’s prison system degrades the men and women it holds. The system is unjust.
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”
What does Dr. King mean by that? He means that everyone, especially people of faith, should care how a state punishes those who break the law. It is the moral responsibility of every person of faith to ensure that justice is done – even to those who break the law.
As I said earlier, guys in here sell out regularly. They feel hopeless. They see a system that not only has deprived them of their basic freedom, but then continues to break them down. They believe the system is rigged, that the poor, the uneducated, the nonwhite, receive harsher more frequent sentences.
And they see me and they are amazed of the harsh, unjust sentence I received and they wonder “what did you do to deserve being treated like us?” And they ask “how can you still have hope?” Simple, I tell them. Because in a dark, lonely cell God saved my life and told me He loved me. And my God is a God of justice and He is stronger than any prison, any prejudice, any predicament.
The Apostle Paul commanded believers to:
“Remember the prisoners, as though in prison with them, and those who are ill-treated, since you yourselves are also in the body.”
Remember the prisoners –
If the Commonwealth takes your freedom then they must provide an adequate, nutritious diet;
The Commonwealth must provide adequate, competent medical care for inmates;
The Commonwealth must provide adequate personal mental health, drug and alcohol treatment programs for those in prison;
The Commonwealth must provide meaningful access to rehabilitative programs and give inmates a just opportunity for early release and restoration of their rights as citizens.
Disparity in sentencing must be eliminated.
This past week my Old Testament lessons were from the Exodus. As I sat here each morning I pondered the story. We all know the ending, but the story itself, how Moses – a murderer – went to the leader of a powerful nation and delivered a simple message, “God says let my people go”. The Egyptians, under their “rule of law” had every right to hold the Israelites. They scoffed at Moses. The Bible even goes so far as to say “Pharaoh’s heart harden”. Over and over, God sent signs. Over and over, Moses repeated “let my people go”.
This coming week, the Jewish inmates here will celebrate the Passover as a reminder that God is a God of justice. He demands the same from us.
Bob sold out. Martin and Moses didn’t and there are 40,000 incarcerated people in Virginia that can rest assured that justice will be done.
Remember the prisoners. Remember the Exodus. Remember justice.
What’s left to believe in now that Bob gave up his message for a show? Like the little boy who ran into “Shoeless Joe” Jackson on the street shortly after his lifetime ban from baseball was announced by Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, I want to run up to Bob and cry out “say it ain’t so Bob; say it ain’t so”.
Selling out is a funny human trait. We abhor it, yet we tolerate it, we expect it and worst of all, we do it. In here, selling out comes in a couple of different forms: being a snitch is one noticeable one. Buddying up to the officers, ratting out a fellow inmate to make your life easier is wrong. The job of the prison staff is to maintain order and discipline. The job of the inmate is to do their sentence. It is not the inmate’s job to police the compound.
Another sell out is the way guys react to this environment. You should never get comfortable in here. Too many men in her consider this place home. This is not home. This is a government imposed penalty; a court sanctioned “time out” in effect. Everything an inmate is given was fought for and eventually conceded to as a means of maintaining security, discipline and control.
Prisons are in place to house inmates. They aren’t places for treatment or rehabilitation, at least not as they are currently structured. It is the responsibility of the incarcerated to do their sentence and to challenge the status quo, the “that’s just the way things are done” attitude that permeates DOC when “the way things are done” is unjust.
This past week the English students were assigned Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s, “Letter from the Birmingham Jail”. Forty students; twenty-two African American, eighteen white and not one of them had ever been exposed to the letter before this week. As I’ve written before in this blog, there is perhaps no other single piece of writing by any American clergyman that as profoundly and persuasively spells out the moral obligation of Christians to challenge injustice.
To put it in the terms of St. Thomas Aquinas: “An unjust law is a human law that is not rated in eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust.”
I broke the law. The Commonwealth of Virginia has the absolute right to set a just punishment for my law breaking. The Commonwealth doe not; however, have the right to operate an unjust sentencing apparatus and prison system. And, there can be no mistaking this simple fact: Virginia’s prison system degrades the men and women it holds. The system is unjust.
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”
What does Dr. King mean by that? He means that everyone, especially people of faith, should care how a state punishes those who break the law. It is the moral responsibility of every person of faith to ensure that justice is done – even to those who break the law.
As I said earlier, guys in here sell out regularly. They feel hopeless. They see a system that not only has deprived them of their basic freedom, but then continues to break them down. They believe the system is rigged, that the poor, the uneducated, the nonwhite, receive harsher more frequent sentences.
And they see me and they are amazed of the harsh, unjust sentence I received and they wonder “what did you do to deserve being treated like us?” And they ask “how can you still have hope?” Simple, I tell them. Because in a dark, lonely cell God saved my life and told me He loved me. And my God is a God of justice and He is stronger than any prison, any prejudice, any predicament.
The Apostle Paul commanded believers to:
“Remember the prisoners, as though in prison with them, and those who are ill-treated, since you yourselves are also in the body.”
Remember the prisoners –
If the Commonwealth takes your freedom then they must provide an adequate, nutritious diet;
The Commonwealth must provide adequate, competent medical care for inmates;
The Commonwealth must provide adequate personal mental health, drug and alcohol treatment programs for those in prison;
The Commonwealth must provide meaningful access to rehabilitative programs and give inmates a just opportunity for early release and restoration of their rights as citizens.
Disparity in sentencing must be eliminated.
This past week my Old Testament lessons were from the Exodus. As I sat here each morning I pondered the story. We all know the ending, but the story itself, how Moses – a murderer – went to the leader of a powerful nation and delivered a simple message, “God says let my people go”. The Egyptians, under their “rule of law” had every right to hold the Israelites. They scoffed at Moses. The Bible even goes so far as to say “Pharaoh’s heart harden”. Over and over, God sent signs. Over and over, Moses repeated “let my people go”.
This coming week, the Jewish inmates here will celebrate the Passover as a reminder that God is a God of justice. He demands the same from us.
Bob sold out. Martin and Moses didn’t and there are 40,000 incarcerated people in Virginia that can rest assured that justice will be done.
Remember the prisoners. Remember the Exodus. Remember justice.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Revolving Door
Albert Einstein reportedly said “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.” I always thought Einstein was referring to my behavior. Since seeing the prison system up close, I now realize he was referring to Virginia’s corrections mentality.
This past week USA today reported on the results of a recent Pew Center Study that showed the number of inmates returning to state prisons within three years of release has remained steady for more than a decade “a strong indicator that prison systems are failing to deter criminals from re-offending.” The report further noted the lack of change “despite huge increases in prison spending….”
Virginia government officials immediately presented Virginia’s “results”: the Commonwealth’s recidivism rate was 28 percent (that’s slightly below the national average) thanks, in large part, to Virginia abolishing parole in 1995. Oh Albert, where art thou when we need you?
Virginia just proved Dr. Einstein’s quote and once again showed that “numbers don’t lie, but liars use numbers.” Yes, Virginia does have a recidivism rate below the national average. But, that rate has not changed in any statistically significant way since the abolition of parole. What has significantly changed is the rate of incarceration (Virginia now has one of the highest incarceration rates in the country), the overall number of inmates (quadrupled since parole was abolished) in DOC’s control and the cost to operate this unyielding bureaucracy (over $1.1 billion and the largest number of state employees: 13,000).
Abolishing parole, incarcerating at an abnormally high rate, warehousing inmates without adequate rehabilitative programs, has not made the public safer.
As the director of the Pew project noted, the national prisoner recidivism rate will likely remain at the same levels unless “state’s more deeply embrace programs to better prepare offenders for re-entry and reward corrections officials for finding alternatives to prison for many non-violent offenders.”
Are you listening Virginia? As I’ve written before, Governor McDonnell should be commended for placing emphasis on prisoner re-entry. But, without directing the same energy to early release, his program is doomed to fail. Virginia cannot afford the hard dollar costs necessitated by its draconian sentencing and incarceration methods. Those costs don’t even include the millions lost in tax revenues from 40,000 individuals who could be living as working, productive citizens. It doesn’t include the soft costs of children deprived of a parent, being raised in one parent or no-parent homes.
Simply put, there is no way to reduce prison costs without closing prisons and letting people go. As Marc Mauer, Executive Director of the Sentencing Project stated, “the only way you can really reduce spending is close prisons. “
This isn’t some “liberal, soft on crime” fantasy. It is fact. In 2005, Texas began implementing sentencing changes and poured money into drug treatment and probation programs. The results: the state’s incarceration rate dropped, since 2003 – there has been a 12.8 percent drop in violent crime, and the state has saved over $2 billion that was needed to build new prisons. That drastic change was spearheaded by Conservative Republican Governor Rick Perry.
Or, ask Republican Governor Haley Barbour of Mississippi what he thinks. In 2008, Mississippi, with the highest incarceration rate in the country, implemented a bold initiative to allow inmates to earn significantly more good time credits toward early release. Included in that was the retroactive provision allowing all nonviolent offenders to be eligible for parole after serving just 25 percent of their sentence. Barbour, coincidentally, has been named as a possible candidate for the 2012 Republican presidential nomination.
Want to stop the revolving door of recidivism and gain significant financial savings Virginia? Urge Governor McDonnell to boldly implement early release programs as part of his re-entry initiative.
You don’t have to be an Einstein to know that’s the only solution that can succeed.
This past week USA today reported on the results of a recent Pew Center Study that showed the number of inmates returning to state prisons within three years of release has remained steady for more than a decade “a strong indicator that prison systems are failing to deter criminals from re-offending.” The report further noted the lack of change “despite huge increases in prison spending….”
Virginia government officials immediately presented Virginia’s “results”: the Commonwealth’s recidivism rate was 28 percent (that’s slightly below the national average) thanks, in large part, to Virginia abolishing parole in 1995. Oh Albert, where art thou when we need you?
Virginia just proved Dr. Einstein’s quote and once again showed that “numbers don’t lie, but liars use numbers.” Yes, Virginia does have a recidivism rate below the national average. But, that rate has not changed in any statistically significant way since the abolition of parole. What has significantly changed is the rate of incarceration (Virginia now has one of the highest incarceration rates in the country), the overall number of inmates (quadrupled since parole was abolished) in DOC’s control and the cost to operate this unyielding bureaucracy (over $1.1 billion and the largest number of state employees: 13,000).
Abolishing parole, incarcerating at an abnormally high rate, warehousing inmates without adequate rehabilitative programs, has not made the public safer.
As the director of the Pew project noted, the national prisoner recidivism rate will likely remain at the same levels unless “state’s more deeply embrace programs to better prepare offenders for re-entry and reward corrections officials for finding alternatives to prison for many non-violent offenders.”
Are you listening Virginia? As I’ve written before, Governor McDonnell should be commended for placing emphasis on prisoner re-entry. But, without directing the same energy to early release, his program is doomed to fail. Virginia cannot afford the hard dollar costs necessitated by its draconian sentencing and incarceration methods. Those costs don’t even include the millions lost in tax revenues from 40,000 individuals who could be living as working, productive citizens. It doesn’t include the soft costs of children deprived of a parent, being raised in one parent or no-parent homes.
Simply put, there is no way to reduce prison costs without closing prisons and letting people go. As Marc Mauer, Executive Director of the Sentencing Project stated, “the only way you can really reduce spending is close prisons. “
This isn’t some “liberal, soft on crime” fantasy. It is fact. In 2005, Texas began implementing sentencing changes and poured money into drug treatment and probation programs. The results: the state’s incarceration rate dropped, since 2003 – there has been a 12.8 percent drop in violent crime, and the state has saved over $2 billion that was needed to build new prisons. That drastic change was spearheaded by Conservative Republican Governor Rick Perry.
Or, ask Republican Governor Haley Barbour of Mississippi what he thinks. In 2008, Mississippi, with the highest incarceration rate in the country, implemented a bold initiative to allow inmates to earn significantly more good time credits toward early release. Included in that was the retroactive provision allowing all nonviolent offenders to be eligible for parole after serving just 25 percent of their sentence. Barbour, coincidentally, has been named as a possible candidate for the 2012 Republican presidential nomination.
Want to stop the revolving door of recidivism and gain significant financial savings Virginia? Urge Governor McDonnell to boldly implement early release programs as part of his re-entry initiative.
You don’t have to be an Einstein to know that’s the only solution that can succeed.
Easter 2011
It is a week before Easter and I’ve been reflecting on what that really means. In my “other” life I never gave Easter much thought. I accepted on faith it was “the day”, but really it was more a chance to go to church as a family, make disapproving glances at the “twice a year” churchgoers, and have a nice meal. When the boys were small we’d hide eggs and put Easter baskets together. Family and friends would come over and we’d eat, we’d drink and we’d say a rote blessing thanking God for our “good” life.
In 2009, I spent my first Easter away from my family. I was struggling, just weeks removed from my sentencing, and I heard the judge’s pronouncement ringing in my head. I wondered if God had pulled a fast one on me when He convinced me not to take the “easy way out”.
What kept me going was a belief that I’d be the recipient of an Easter miracle. About two weeks before Easter, a friend came to the jail for a visit. He and his wife were part of our “circle of couples”, those three or four families that seemed to do everything together. I confided in my friend that I believed an Easter miracle was coming. “She’ll come see me. She’ll tell me she loves me and appreciates me signing everything over. She’ll tell me our marriage will endure this.” My friend looked at me and just smiled.
The Friday before Easter, I received a letter from her. It was not what I expected. “You told [insert name here] you expected an Easter miracle. You’re a f---ing idiot! I’ll never come see you. Why would I be interested in you? You have nothing; your credit is ruined; you owe millions; you’re a convicted felon. You’re not much of a catch”. And those were the nice parts of the letter!
“The tomb is empty.”
I remember spending the reminder of the weekend and the next week in a fog. Each night as I lay down, her words scrolled through my head. “Happy Easter”, I thought. God so loved me that He allowed me to be utterly destroyed. And, to make matters worse, He waited until after I promised to see it through before He really put the screws to me. Resurrection was just a word.
Everyone pretty much knows the rest of the story: An angel appeared and convinced me I was needed. My wife realized I was a good man and organized our friends to help me. I was leading a wonderful life. Wait a minute, that’s not what happened to me. That’s Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed in “It’s A Wonderful Life”.
No, my “Easter miracle” went from her “love” letter to having my motion to reconsider my sentence being denied. The Judge “misplaced” my paperwork for seven weeks leading me to foolishly conclude he was seriously considering my request. Instead, he lazily scribbled one sentence to my original sentencing order. Within two days of getting that “good news”, my wife, my soulmate, the love of my life, served divorce papers on me that reserved her right to later ask for alimony and child support (I guess she wanted to cover all the bases. When you get everything without asking you might as well ask for more). In one of my few displays of humor at the time, I told a friend at least she didn’t ask for organ donations or blood (as Bob Dylan said “I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul”).
Yeah, Easter 2009 was, in my humble opinion, a crock. And, things continued on their downward spiral. I was transferred to DOC Receiving and learned my marriage of twenty-eight years was legally dissolved on the twenty-ninth anniversary of our first date. Of the few friends I had left, a couple of them dropped off the map. I apparently couldn’t be as much fun behind bars as I was when I was the life of the party on the outside. And, I would learn later, my newly declared ex-wife was so traumatized by the divorce and being a single parent that she was involved with a married Canadian before the divorce was even final. Yes, 2009 sucked.
“He liveth.”
I found myself re-assigned to Lunenburg and in early 2010 I began working as an academic aide. I’d also been writing the entire time since my arrest and felt a strange pull to teach a creative writing workshop. A teacher at the school shared my vision and we began teaching creative writing. I was in the classroom, she oversaw editing pieces. By Easter 2010 I had a crazy idea to start this blog.
Truth be told, 2010 was another lousy year: more heartache and pain from the divorce; no contact with my sons; a few more of my dwindling number of friends abandoning me. But, I held on. I remained for the most part, hopeful. I knew things couldn’t – theoretically – get any worse. And, people I came in contact with were actually thankful for my efforts.
I started 2011 convinced miracles were coming. Just like ’09, I was kicked in the teeth. All those feeling of utter despair and hopelessness came charging back to me just as they hit me at Easter 2009: my ex, my sons, my life, all gone never to come back. I was being drowned in a tidal wave of disappointment, abandonment and rejection. One thing, however, was different. This time I knew I wasn’t alone.
I thought about something Paul wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians. He said “we do not lose heart”. In Modern English it goes like this:
“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without His unfolding grace.”
I thought about the Easter story. Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem as a hero, the Messiah come to save Israel. Within five days He was betrayed, abandoned and given over to the authorities. He was beaten mercilessly and publicly executed. His followers scattered fearful that they would know the same fate, ashamed that they sold him out.
There on the cross Jesus was executed with two criminals. Then one said to him “you don’t deserve this. I do. Remember me.” Jesus did.
Easter is about miracles. It may not be the miracle of brining my ex-wife and sons back to me; it may not get me released early; but I’m like the criminal on the cross. I made a mess of things but God still loved me enough to remember me and give me a new life.
Knowing that, I won’t ever give up hope. I won’t ever lose heart. Happy Easter!
In 2009, I spent my first Easter away from my family. I was struggling, just weeks removed from my sentencing, and I heard the judge’s pronouncement ringing in my head. I wondered if God had pulled a fast one on me when He convinced me not to take the “easy way out”.
What kept me going was a belief that I’d be the recipient of an Easter miracle. About two weeks before Easter, a friend came to the jail for a visit. He and his wife were part of our “circle of couples”, those three or four families that seemed to do everything together. I confided in my friend that I believed an Easter miracle was coming. “She’ll come see me. She’ll tell me she loves me and appreciates me signing everything over. She’ll tell me our marriage will endure this.” My friend looked at me and just smiled.
The Friday before Easter, I received a letter from her. It was not what I expected. “You told [insert name here] you expected an Easter miracle. You’re a f---ing idiot! I’ll never come see you. Why would I be interested in you? You have nothing; your credit is ruined; you owe millions; you’re a convicted felon. You’re not much of a catch”. And those were the nice parts of the letter!
“The tomb is empty.”
I remember spending the reminder of the weekend and the next week in a fog. Each night as I lay down, her words scrolled through my head. “Happy Easter”, I thought. God so loved me that He allowed me to be utterly destroyed. And, to make matters worse, He waited until after I promised to see it through before He really put the screws to me. Resurrection was just a word.
Everyone pretty much knows the rest of the story: An angel appeared and convinced me I was needed. My wife realized I was a good man and organized our friends to help me. I was leading a wonderful life. Wait a minute, that’s not what happened to me. That’s Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed in “It’s A Wonderful Life”.
No, my “Easter miracle” went from her “love” letter to having my motion to reconsider my sentence being denied. The Judge “misplaced” my paperwork for seven weeks leading me to foolishly conclude he was seriously considering my request. Instead, he lazily scribbled one sentence to my original sentencing order. Within two days of getting that “good news”, my wife, my soulmate, the love of my life, served divorce papers on me that reserved her right to later ask for alimony and child support (I guess she wanted to cover all the bases. When you get everything without asking you might as well ask for more). In one of my few displays of humor at the time, I told a friend at least she didn’t ask for organ donations or blood (as Bob Dylan said “I gave her my heart, but she wanted my soul”).
Yeah, Easter 2009 was, in my humble opinion, a crock. And, things continued on their downward spiral. I was transferred to DOC Receiving and learned my marriage of twenty-eight years was legally dissolved on the twenty-ninth anniversary of our first date. Of the few friends I had left, a couple of them dropped off the map. I apparently couldn’t be as much fun behind bars as I was when I was the life of the party on the outside. And, I would learn later, my newly declared ex-wife was so traumatized by the divorce and being a single parent that she was involved with a married Canadian before the divorce was even final. Yes, 2009 sucked.
“He liveth.”
I found myself re-assigned to Lunenburg and in early 2010 I began working as an academic aide. I’d also been writing the entire time since my arrest and felt a strange pull to teach a creative writing workshop. A teacher at the school shared my vision and we began teaching creative writing. I was in the classroom, she oversaw editing pieces. By Easter 2010 I had a crazy idea to start this blog.
Truth be told, 2010 was another lousy year: more heartache and pain from the divorce; no contact with my sons; a few more of my dwindling number of friends abandoning me. But, I held on. I remained for the most part, hopeful. I knew things couldn’t – theoretically – get any worse. And, people I came in contact with were actually thankful for my efforts.
I started 2011 convinced miracles were coming. Just like ’09, I was kicked in the teeth. All those feeling of utter despair and hopelessness came charging back to me just as they hit me at Easter 2009: my ex, my sons, my life, all gone never to come back. I was being drowned in a tidal wave of disappointment, abandonment and rejection. One thing, however, was different. This time I knew I wasn’t alone.
I thought about something Paul wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians. He said “we do not lose heart”. In Modern English it goes like this:
“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without His unfolding grace.”
I thought about the Easter story. Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem as a hero, the Messiah come to save Israel. Within five days He was betrayed, abandoned and given over to the authorities. He was beaten mercilessly and publicly executed. His followers scattered fearful that they would know the same fate, ashamed that they sold him out.
There on the cross Jesus was executed with two criminals. Then one said to him “you don’t deserve this. I do. Remember me.” Jesus did.
Easter is about miracles. It may not be the miracle of brining my ex-wife and sons back to me; it may not get me released early; but I’m like the criminal on the cross. I made a mess of things but God still loved me enough to remember me and give me a new life.
Knowing that, I won’t ever give up hope. I won’t ever lose heart. Happy Easter!
Leaven Causes Blindness
One blessing of being in this place is I’ve had to confront many of the prejudices I carried through my life as I interact with all types of men I frankly thought were beneath me. As I face these issues, I’ve come across numerous Bible stories that bring home the hypocrisy of my life. Ironically, the more I read, the more I realize we live lives that ignore what God sees. We see color, we see differences; we feel intellectually superior. God sees His children.
If anyone would have told me I’d learn life lessons from “convicts” I’d have thought they were crazy. Yet, as I watch these men deal day in and day out deal with disappointment, I learn patience. Character, I always believed, comes through in times of trial and crisis. If that’s true, I have seen more character exhibited in these past three years than in my entire life. The same goes for compassion. I have watched men with little share all they have.
In one of the Gospel stories Jesus, as he was accustomed to doing, warned his disciples against the leaven of the Pharisees. Leaven, yeast, the blowing up of our lives in hypocrisy and self-delusion. He was warning His followers that hypocrites put on a good show, but eventually all their sins will be revealed.
I ponder that lesson a good deal in here. I was one of the Pharisees in a manner of speaking. I was a “good” church elder, active in community service, a “good” employee – really a big fish in a little pond. I had, from outside appearances a perfect home life: attractive wife, two wonderful sons, big house, travel, money. And, it was easy to cast judgment on others. After all, I made it, why can’t they.
But, I had a dark side. I was stealing from my employer and boosting my own ego by throwing money at family and friends to get what I craved. And, like Jesus said, all my sins were revealed and the life I’d built was really a house of cards.
The “perfect” marriage; that disintegrated the day I was arrested. All my “soulmate” really wanted, really kept me around for, was the money and stuff. My side of the bed wasn’t even cold and she was filling out questionnaires on date sites (apparently there were some “out” clauses in our vows I overlooked). And my kids? In their eyes, I was replaceable. Everything I held up as evidence of my moral superiority and self-worth lay in ruin. The “loaf” that was my life had risen with bad yeast.
Then I came in to “the system” and I started meeting the “dregs” of society, the “bad guys”, the “failures”, all those people I looked down on. And a funny thing happened along the way. My eyes were suddenly opened to the decency of these “scumbags”, and the darkness in my “perfect” world.
I received a copy of a recent sermon delivered by a minister as part of his Lenten series (it wasn’t from my church family. They dropped me soon after my arrest. All those “good” church people delivered meals to my wife but only three ever bothered to visit or write. Not one ever spoke to my wife about God’s view of marriage). His sermon was about Jesus giving sight to a blind man.
His disciples asked if the man – blind since birth – was that way because of his parents’ sins. Funny how we equate bad circumstances as “Karma” – “he must have done something to deserve that.” Instead, Jesus turns things on their head and, in effect said, the reason he’s blind isn’t important. But, watch how God heals him. In a matter of minutes the man sees. God has made him whole.
But, his community rejected him. They rejected him because their perception of him was different than the reality of what God saw, and what God can do.
Many days I sit here in awe of the lessons I learn from these men. During these very difficult past few months as I struggled over the correspondence exchange with my ex, it was guys in here who came by with a kind word. My “friends” from home? They had to remain “neutral” and not appear to be giving any aid or comfort to me. After all, my ex has a new boyfriend who’s now part of the circle!
I received a card the other night from a friend. In it he told the story of a minister who asked members of his congregation to list on a piece of paper their top three hopes for their life. As the congregation finished writing, he told them to draw a line through their items because “none of them will happen”. As the crowd grew uneasy and sad he told them “Hope is what is left when all of the things we hoped for do not come true. Hope with a capital “H” is in you, and gives you life and the will to go on trusting God.”
I have a list and my list is in tatters. Everything I hoped for has been lined out. Yet, I see clearly now. I see people for what they are. The young inmate, back in prison for his second bid, covered in tattoos, yet he stops by to check on me or he shares a meal with someone worse off, he is closer to a Christ like man than I ever was. He sees what mercy, compassion and kindness are all about.
My family or my friends? They are so much like the community that pushed the man – with sight restored – away, their sins are still hidden.
I see now how my life really wasn’t that great. I see now that even those who look differently, act differently, have a capacity for love, forgiveness and mercy beyond what I ever experienced.
I see the danger of the leavening. None of us are really “good”. Oh, some may try harder than others, but as Mother Teresa admitted, we all sin. We all treat others in a way we wouldn’t want to be treated.
What I learned in here is, God can do anything. He can make the blind see – and a self-absorbed arrogant man learn humility, mercy and hope.
If anyone would have told me I’d learn life lessons from “convicts” I’d have thought they were crazy. Yet, as I watch these men deal day in and day out deal with disappointment, I learn patience. Character, I always believed, comes through in times of trial and crisis. If that’s true, I have seen more character exhibited in these past three years than in my entire life. The same goes for compassion. I have watched men with little share all they have.
In one of the Gospel stories Jesus, as he was accustomed to doing, warned his disciples against the leaven of the Pharisees. Leaven, yeast, the blowing up of our lives in hypocrisy and self-delusion. He was warning His followers that hypocrites put on a good show, but eventually all their sins will be revealed.
I ponder that lesson a good deal in here. I was one of the Pharisees in a manner of speaking. I was a “good” church elder, active in community service, a “good” employee – really a big fish in a little pond. I had, from outside appearances a perfect home life: attractive wife, two wonderful sons, big house, travel, money. And, it was easy to cast judgment on others. After all, I made it, why can’t they.
But, I had a dark side. I was stealing from my employer and boosting my own ego by throwing money at family and friends to get what I craved. And, like Jesus said, all my sins were revealed and the life I’d built was really a house of cards.
The “perfect” marriage; that disintegrated the day I was arrested. All my “soulmate” really wanted, really kept me around for, was the money and stuff. My side of the bed wasn’t even cold and she was filling out questionnaires on date sites (apparently there were some “out” clauses in our vows I overlooked). And my kids? In their eyes, I was replaceable. Everything I held up as evidence of my moral superiority and self-worth lay in ruin. The “loaf” that was my life had risen with bad yeast.
Then I came in to “the system” and I started meeting the “dregs” of society, the “bad guys”, the “failures”, all those people I looked down on. And a funny thing happened along the way. My eyes were suddenly opened to the decency of these “scumbags”, and the darkness in my “perfect” world.
I received a copy of a recent sermon delivered by a minister as part of his Lenten series (it wasn’t from my church family. They dropped me soon after my arrest. All those “good” church people delivered meals to my wife but only three ever bothered to visit or write. Not one ever spoke to my wife about God’s view of marriage). His sermon was about Jesus giving sight to a blind man.
His disciples asked if the man – blind since birth – was that way because of his parents’ sins. Funny how we equate bad circumstances as “Karma” – “he must have done something to deserve that.” Instead, Jesus turns things on their head and, in effect said, the reason he’s blind isn’t important. But, watch how God heals him. In a matter of minutes the man sees. God has made him whole.
But, his community rejected him. They rejected him because their perception of him was different than the reality of what God saw, and what God can do.
Many days I sit here in awe of the lessons I learn from these men. During these very difficult past few months as I struggled over the correspondence exchange with my ex, it was guys in here who came by with a kind word. My “friends” from home? They had to remain “neutral” and not appear to be giving any aid or comfort to me. After all, my ex has a new boyfriend who’s now part of the circle!
I received a card the other night from a friend. In it he told the story of a minister who asked members of his congregation to list on a piece of paper their top three hopes for their life. As the congregation finished writing, he told them to draw a line through their items because “none of them will happen”. As the crowd grew uneasy and sad he told them “Hope is what is left when all of the things we hoped for do not come true. Hope with a capital “H” is in you, and gives you life and the will to go on trusting God.”
I have a list and my list is in tatters. Everything I hoped for has been lined out. Yet, I see clearly now. I see people for what they are. The young inmate, back in prison for his second bid, covered in tattoos, yet he stops by to check on me or he shares a meal with someone worse off, he is closer to a Christ like man than I ever was. He sees what mercy, compassion and kindness are all about.
My family or my friends? They are so much like the community that pushed the man – with sight restored – away, their sins are still hidden.
I see now how my life really wasn’t that great. I see now that even those who look differently, act differently, have a capacity for love, forgiveness and mercy beyond what I ever experienced.
I see the danger of the leavening. None of us are really “good”. Oh, some may try harder than others, but as Mother Teresa admitted, we all sin. We all treat others in a way we wouldn’t want to be treated.
What I learned in here is, God can do anything. He can make the blind see – and a self-absorbed arrogant man learn humility, mercy and hope.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Priorities
As I write this, E is still in the hole (day 12). No one knows if he’s getting out today, tomorrow, or ten days from now (time in the hole past ten days usually goes in five day increments). His remaining prison time has been altered. He has lost educational opportunities, a chance at completing his degree while here, his employment, and probably some of his good time.
Last night, one of the guys pulled a charge on the way to English class. “Unique” is no stranger to run-ins with officers. He’s a “5 percenter” (a Nation of Islam offshoot) and isn’t averse to being verbally confrontational with the staff. I’ve repeatedly told him to “be smarter than the guards” but they clearly bait him and he takes the bait.
As I’ve written before, I spend a great deal of time talking to these guys. In the past, I’ve said over and over “Get your priorities straight! Your education, your future, is too important to waste.” As my frustration would build, Randy (the personal trainer) could always be counted on to remind me “Larry, they do have their priorities in order. You may think E doesn’t have his priorities in order, but he does. He wanted a tattoo more than anything else. Doesn’t make sense, but a lot of what we do doesn’t make sense.”
And that made me think about my own situation. Did I put things ahead of my wife and kids? Painfully, I must admit I did. I knew embezzling from my employer was wrong. I knew there were significant risks. Yet, as I weighed the potential risks (prison, divorce, public shame) I always downplayed the likelihood of any of these risks coming to pass. In other words, I rationalized my wants by trivializing my risks.
Confession time. I had a good number of reasons for doing what I did. Did they make sense? Not in hindsight. But, at the time, having serious questions about my spouse’s love and commitment toward me, I rationalized being everything to everybody made sense. I could, I thought, make her love me.
In 2005, during a trip to Las Vegas, I was having drinks with my friend. I had had way too much to drink by this point and, as alcohol usually does, I spoke candidly to him about my worries that my wife really didn’t love me. “She’ll leave me if anything bad happens, any setbacks, and f---ups.” I slurred out. “You’re nuts,” he replied. But, then I told him about the problem in Tennessee when she told me we were staying together because she had nowhere else to go with our infant sons. I told him how she had pawned her wedding ring once before when I’d gotten in trouble. I told him after our friends lost a child she said to me “if anything happens to the kids, I don’t think we’ll survive.”
He and I never spoke about this again, until after my arrest and the first of many letters I would receive from the woman I loved. She began almost each jail letter with “there is no us, hasn’t been for a long time.” He and I revisited Vegas sitting in the jail.
As I thought about E and Unique and all the guys who seem to make dumb decisions, I couldn’t help thinking about my life. It dawned on me one day that I was willing to steal and do really anything to win a bet I had with myself that my wife loved me no matter what. “I bet I can steal a million dollars and she’ll stay because she loves me,” I’d tell myself, then remember she really wouldn’t hang in there.
Priorities. I made a commitment to a woman I loved. I took a vow and relied on that vow when I found myself wondering why this woman I adored wouldn’t eat and was depressed. At twenty-two, I realized when you loved someone it was for keeps, not just when things were good.
Priorities. I knew deep down I hadn’t been a priority in my wife’s life for years. That’s painful to write, but had I had the courage to say it years ago, I might not have ended up in here. Funny, she kept the house, the furniture, the artwork, everything we accumulated during our marriage, except me. The things were more important than the man.
Priorities. I received a blog response from “Anonymous” the other day suggesting I faced painful choices: close a chapter in my life and move on or hang on. In my mind I really don’t have a choice. Big S always says “you can’t make people be what they’re not and you can’t get disappointed when they are who they are.” What I want, what I needed all those years, was for the woman I loved to have said just once “I love you forever, no matter what we face.” But, she didn’t feel that for me. Why should I expect her to have an epiphany now and suddenly change?
Prison has given me a great deal of time for self-reflection and a chance to see the big picture. I watch the guys in here day in and day out, make self-destructive decisions and I realize it’s not any different from living “in the real world”. We all get our priorities out of whack at times. We all get desperate for something – a car, a house, recognition, love – and we minimize the risks and consequences of our reckless behavior.
For a long time I thought prison had radically changed me. That these experiences were making me into the loving, compassionate man God wants me to be. Then, I remembered that 22 year-old boy who was willing to hang in there out of a sense of love and commitment. That boy had his priorities in order. This 51 year old man is finally back to getting his right. So “Anonymous”, I wish I knew who you were. You really make me think. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it will be the right thing though; I can assure you of that.
And E? He was just released from the hole as I write this and removed from the college program. He’s living in a different building; he’s lost his grant for college and will not be allowed back in. He can say “what the hell” and waste the rest of his time here or he can regroup, fight back and get his priorities in order. The choice is all up to him.
That’s the thing about priorities. They’re all up to us.
Last night, one of the guys pulled a charge on the way to English class. “Unique” is no stranger to run-ins with officers. He’s a “5 percenter” (a Nation of Islam offshoot) and isn’t averse to being verbally confrontational with the staff. I’ve repeatedly told him to “be smarter than the guards” but they clearly bait him and he takes the bait.
As I’ve written before, I spend a great deal of time talking to these guys. In the past, I’ve said over and over “Get your priorities straight! Your education, your future, is too important to waste.” As my frustration would build, Randy (the personal trainer) could always be counted on to remind me “Larry, they do have their priorities in order. You may think E doesn’t have his priorities in order, but he does. He wanted a tattoo more than anything else. Doesn’t make sense, but a lot of what we do doesn’t make sense.”
And that made me think about my own situation. Did I put things ahead of my wife and kids? Painfully, I must admit I did. I knew embezzling from my employer was wrong. I knew there were significant risks. Yet, as I weighed the potential risks (prison, divorce, public shame) I always downplayed the likelihood of any of these risks coming to pass. In other words, I rationalized my wants by trivializing my risks.
Confession time. I had a good number of reasons for doing what I did. Did they make sense? Not in hindsight. But, at the time, having serious questions about my spouse’s love and commitment toward me, I rationalized being everything to everybody made sense. I could, I thought, make her love me.
In 2005, during a trip to Las Vegas, I was having drinks with my friend. I had had way too much to drink by this point and, as alcohol usually does, I spoke candidly to him about my worries that my wife really didn’t love me. “She’ll leave me if anything bad happens, any setbacks, and f---ups.” I slurred out. “You’re nuts,” he replied. But, then I told him about the problem in Tennessee when she told me we were staying together because she had nowhere else to go with our infant sons. I told him how she had pawned her wedding ring once before when I’d gotten in trouble. I told him after our friends lost a child she said to me “if anything happens to the kids, I don’t think we’ll survive.”
He and I never spoke about this again, until after my arrest and the first of many letters I would receive from the woman I loved. She began almost each jail letter with “there is no us, hasn’t been for a long time.” He and I revisited Vegas sitting in the jail.
As I thought about E and Unique and all the guys who seem to make dumb decisions, I couldn’t help thinking about my life. It dawned on me one day that I was willing to steal and do really anything to win a bet I had with myself that my wife loved me no matter what. “I bet I can steal a million dollars and she’ll stay because she loves me,” I’d tell myself, then remember she really wouldn’t hang in there.
Priorities. I made a commitment to a woman I loved. I took a vow and relied on that vow when I found myself wondering why this woman I adored wouldn’t eat and was depressed. At twenty-two, I realized when you loved someone it was for keeps, not just when things were good.
Priorities. I knew deep down I hadn’t been a priority in my wife’s life for years. That’s painful to write, but had I had the courage to say it years ago, I might not have ended up in here. Funny, she kept the house, the furniture, the artwork, everything we accumulated during our marriage, except me. The things were more important than the man.
Priorities. I received a blog response from “Anonymous” the other day suggesting I faced painful choices: close a chapter in my life and move on or hang on. In my mind I really don’t have a choice. Big S always says “you can’t make people be what they’re not and you can’t get disappointed when they are who they are.” What I want, what I needed all those years, was for the woman I loved to have said just once “I love you forever, no matter what we face.” But, she didn’t feel that for me. Why should I expect her to have an epiphany now and suddenly change?
Prison has given me a great deal of time for self-reflection and a chance to see the big picture. I watch the guys in here day in and day out, make self-destructive decisions and I realize it’s not any different from living “in the real world”. We all get our priorities out of whack at times. We all get desperate for something – a car, a house, recognition, love – and we minimize the risks and consequences of our reckless behavior.
For a long time I thought prison had radically changed me. That these experiences were making me into the loving, compassionate man God wants me to be. Then, I remembered that 22 year-old boy who was willing to hang in there out of a sense of love and commitment. That boy had his priorities in order. This 51 year old man is finally back to getting his right. So “Anonymous”, I wish I knew who you were. You really make me think. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it will be the right thing though; I can assure you of that.
And E? He was just released from the hole as I write this and removed from the college program. He’s living in a different building; he’s lost his grant for college and will not be allowed back in. He can say “what the hell” and waste the rest of his time here or he can regroup, fight back and get his priorities in order. The choice is all up to him.
That’s the thing about priorities. They’re all up to us.
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