If Only

Yesterday, another group of men were conferred degrees and certificates by our sponsoring community college.  As it was on prior occasions, the ceremony was joyful and uplifting with the graduates mingling with faculty and family just like graduates in the “real world”.  And, as with other college graduations I’ve attended in here, there were moments for me of bittersweet memories as my mind ran through “If only, Larry”.  More on that later.

The other weekend I was at visitation with my folks.  Every month, they make the ninety mile drive from their home in North Carolina up here.  They are both healthy, late-seventies people, and that gives me hope for a lot of years post prison.  Our conversations run the gamut of what’s going on with whom, and where people are.  Invariably, my mom will make an aside about my former church and the minister there.  At my worst, as I sat in the Henrico County Jail trying to find any reason to go on, he refused to come see me.

For a long time that treatment – by people I worshiped with and helped – gnawed at me.  How can my own minister turn his back on me?  2012 was an epiphanal year in my life.  And a fair number of issues and emotional baggage I’d been carting around slowly began to go away.  Things that had seemed to hurt me so deeply didn’t really matter too much.  In fact, I began to appreciate the pain they caused.  Call it rationalization, or maturity, or salvation, but I began to understand what the Apostle Paul meant when during his imprisonment he wrote “And in all things God works for the good of those who love Him according to His purposes.”

Paul was a heck of a writer and his words struck at the mystery that is faith in times of deep trouble.  Those words – I recited that verse literally dozens of times on my worst days as I tried to will myself into believing nothing was happening that God in His infinite power and grace couldn’t work out for my benefit.

I have a dear friend, an Episcopal minister, who regularly visited me at the jail and the receiving unit.  He has provided counsel, and support – even getting his congregation involved in my circumstances, and has listened during my Job-like periods when nothing made sense.  He stayed in touch, writing and visiting me even while undergoing chemotherapy.  His friendship is a true blessing in my life.  Here’s the irony.  I never would have met Gary had it not been for my own minister’s snub.  Another friend, one of Gary’s parishioners, asked him to come see me after my own church rejected me.  “If only”.  Somehow, I think Paul is smiling and saying, “Larry finally gets it.”

Back to college graduation – I sat there and watched our students march in and I remembered I missed my older son’s college graduation.  A wave of emotion – sadness, guilt, loneliness – hit me.  “If only”, I thought, and I felt myself growing back into the guy who struggled so long in here. I started thinking about Paul’s words.

The ceremony ended and I was eating with a few friends and two college faculty members when one of our graduates came up.  “Larry, my parents want to meet you.”  I walked over with him and said hello.  An elderly black woman with a cane stepped up, then threw her arms around me.  “Thank you”, she said.  “You helped our son so much.  You answered our prayers.”

Funny thing, that same reaction happened eight or nine times after that as grad after grad got me and introduced me to parents, grandparents, spouses, children.  “This is the guy who got me through my academic classes.”

I thought about Joseph in Egypt.  Sold into slavery, sent to prison, forgotten and then saves Egypt during a terrible drought.  Through divine intervention he is reunited with his brothers who fear for their lives.  Joseph, in one of the Bible’s great lines of mercy forgives his brothers.  “You meant to harm me, but God meant it for good.”

“If only.”  Sometimes we focus too much on the regret and not on the blessing.  I couldn’t help but think about Paul, and our graduates and their families, and my prison journey.  “In all things God works for the good….”  Even in embezzlement convictions, incarceration, and divorce that message applies.

 

This Past Week

Every week in here the monotony somehow gets broken up by slightly off-kilter conversations and events.  Opie has developed a strange habit of not going outside (avoiding rec) except on weekends.  He bought into the prison logic that the more you sleep, the quicker your “bid” goes by.

This past week temperatures hit the century mark (with a heat index topping 106).  I went out and had a leisurely run and Opie, he decided to forgo his sleep regimen that day and “get a little sun”.  You guessed it – Opie got sunburned.

Now Opie is a big, muscular kid.  He’s a kid who grew up in the prison system.  He’s been in fistfights, beaten with locks, belts, and shanked (stabbed) twice while locked up.  But, when it comes to things like colds and sunburn he is, well, he is a little kid.  All day yesterday he whined and moaned “my sunburn hurts”.  He tried to go to medical even filing an emergency grievance to “get some salve.  I’m in pain damn it!”  But, his request was turned down (most emergency med requests are turned down.  “It isn’t life threatening.”)

So Opie has sunburn.  He’s been locked up, disrespected, beaten, stabbed, ignored, had good time taken away and he never batted an eye.  But his red chest – the world was coming to an end. ____________________________________________________________________

Against the backdrop of Opie’s sunburn, there was Paulie’s legitimate med emergency.  Paulie’s an ex-marine:  two tours in Iraq; was in Fallujah during the “bad run”.  Paulie’s doing four years on some ridiculous grand larceny case and a prescription pill addiction.  He’s mid-twenties and he has bleeding ulcers.

The other night – 2:00 am – Paulie collapsed in his cut, coughing up blood.  Medical was called and he was wheeled out and transported to the hospital.  Two days later he was back.  “I’m on a bland diet”, he told me (who isn’t?).  I only have a year left.  They said I can get it fixed better when I get out.”  That is prison medical care.  Lock people up, push pills rather than proper treatment, and put band aids on serious problems.  Medical costs are skyrocketing in prisons.  The solution is, let the non-dangerous inmates go.  That, it seems, is too obvious.

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The dorm political debate the past week focused on New York State passing a law recognizing gay marriage.  Prison is a funny place.  Guys are in here – many back for a second and third visit – and rules don’t matter to them.  Except when it comes to homosexuality.  Then, everyone (well, almost everyone) becomes a member of Focus on the Family.

There is a well-defined group of gays in prison and they are extremely flamboyant.  The dirty little secret is they all have boyfriends.  Associating with gay inmates is almost as bad as being a snitch – except for gang leaders.  Then, it’s business (they serve as “mules” – sneak contraband in).  There is this fear that permeates the general population that these “she men” can turn you.  It’s a clear lack of understanding about human sexuality and your own sexual orientation.  It also helps explain – in part – the ultra testosterone charge guys exhibit in here.  Every compliment has to include the catch phrase “no homo”. 

So, New York passed same sex marriage and the dorm went nuts.  “It’s disgusting.”  It’s immoral.”  “It’s against God’s law” (funny, so is murder, theft, tattoos).  “The children suffer.”

The irony isn’t lost on me.  The guys most upset are the ones who routinely talk about the four babies’ mommas they “ain’t payin’ to support”.  Having multiple offspring by multiple unwed partners is somehow better than two people in love raising a child when the two are the same sex.

A couple of guys asked my opinion.  I’ve changed.  I used to be anti-gay marriage.  I thought marriage vows were sacred; that the mystery of God’s love for us was expressed in a man and woman pledging fidelity and love “no matter what”.  Then, I felt the pain of rejection.  Those vows – always a loophole available.  Marriage is the ultimate commitment.  You lay everything on the line for your spouse because God lays everything on the line for us.  Unfortunately, the vast majority of us are too self-centered and too unwilling to go through the valleys – “the worse” – and bail when the “betters” dry up.  Commitment and love aren’t defined by your sexual orientation.

I reminded the guys of a U.S. Supreme Court case from the 1960’s.  It overturned a Virginia law that made it illegal for blacks and whites to marry.  It seems to me we’d do better focusing on love and commitment and less on how people look.

The last three years I’ve come to some startling revelations about myself.  One that I think about quite regularly is that I was a racist.  I know, we’re all a little racist.  But being a minority in prison has opened my eyes.  White Americans don’t know how tough it is to be a young, black man in America.  Here’s a simple truth:  blacks account for 12% of the population and close to 60% of the inmates.  Yet, drug use in the black community and white community is at the same level.  Fact is, if you’re a young, black male chances are a criminal charge will land you in prison.  The same can’t be said for white kids.

There are a lot of reasons for this discrepancy.  I don’t think the law intends to be racially biased.  I think it just happens.  You have a young, poor, black kid and he gets an overworked public defender or worse, a court appointed lawyer who just wants to get the file closed.  So deals are made, corners cut, and these guys come to prison in record numbers.

In my last three years I’ve been treated with deep respect by young, black men whom prior to this experience I would have shunned.  I have developed friendships with guys like DC, and Ty, and Saleem; men from world’s far removed from mine.

Will we ever be able to not see color? I’m not sure.  You can’t help but notice when someone looks differently.  But, it took prison for me to realize people are all pretty much alike.  We all really just want to be loved and appreciated.  We’re more alike than different.

Randy – the workout guru – had 31, mostly young, guys on the rec yard this morning working out.  Lunges, sprints, calisthenics; on and on they went through this routine.

I was jogging on my own, stopping for reps of dips and pull-ups and some interval sprints.

Later in the day, Randy stopped by my cut, cup of coffee in hand.  He’d just returned from the watch commander’s office.  Seems the tower witnessed his group workout.  Prisons hate crowds.  No groups of inmates numbering over four are allowed to congregate unless it’s an organized church service or program.  It is a series 100 charge (and you will get shipped to max security) for an inmate to organize any work stoppage or protest (ironic huh, in the “land of the free”).

Fortunately for Randy, the watch commander knows he’s just leading a workout.  Things that you take for granted outside are a big deal in here, like who you hang out with.

I’ve got a whole group of guys hooked on “House”.  Frankly, it’s probably the best written show on TV.

Two things from recent episodes.  A friend sarcastically told House “so the great Doctor House doesn’t deserve to be happy?”  He’d been beating himself up for decisions he’d made, relationships that ended.  His friend was right.  House deserved better.  Not everything was his fault.  I understood that.  I’ve dealt with a lot these past three years and beat the hell out of myself for everything.  I made a good many mistakes, but I’m a decent, loving guy.  As Big S and a lawyer buddy from the street have told me, I deserve better.  And I’ll get it eventually.
Lastly, I rewatched the House episode where his love, “Cuddy” broke up with him.  She couldn’t stay with him after learning he’d slipped and taken Vicodin again (House, you see is not just a brilliant, sarcastic doctor; he’s also addicted to prescription pain pills).

House begged Cuddy “don’t do this to us.  I’m doing the best I can.”  Her reply, “that’s not enough”.  Not enough.  I felt those words.  Love, even when you’re broken, is supposed to be enough.

My friend Craig told me his closest friend from the street let him know he was going through a divorce.  “Larry, he’s one of the nicest guys in the world.  She came home, told him she met and fell in love with someone else and she didn’t love him anymore.”  I told Craig my divorce weighs on me more than anything.  There was, frankly, no loss, no pain that hurt more.

“That’s not enough”.  Sad, searing words.  Damn fine writing.

GED tests are being given this coming Wednesday and Thursday to those students who earned passing scores on our recent placement testing.  Three of my guys are going for their GEDs.  One – Hayward – I’m thrilled for.  I met Hayward my first day working at the school in December 2009.  He’d had no success in school or with tutors during his bid.  Reading and math were at third grade levels.  Yet, he is an amazing artist.  He uses a pencil in both hands writing words and math problems with both simultaneously.

In one of those weird things that only can happen in a place like this, we hit it off.  He started improving, gradually at first.  Last week’s placement test results confirmed what I’d been seeing:  he was high school grad material.

Guys in here occasionally ask me why I work so hard and smile so much.  All I needed to keep motivated was the look on Hayward’s face when he realized he succeeded. 

Chronicles Part II: "If God so loved us, we ought to love one another"

Perhaps nothing in this experience has rocked me, wounded, and scarred me as the loss of my wife. I have spent months contemplating the meaning of our divorce. Frankly, what I’ve concluded probably won’t sit well with most folks, but so be it.



As I’ve written before, I love her, always will. But, as I’ve endured this experience I realized we both had weaknesses, failings as spouses. Neither of us was perfect. We both said things we shouldn’t have said, hurt each other when we should have been a comfort. I have realized, however, that I was a pretty good husband. She can never say I didn’t love her.


We were married in the church, in a religious ceremony. We took vows, to each other and before God. We were one. Except, we really weren’t. Those vows meant something, or they were supposed to. Ultimately, in the eyes of my wife, they didn’t matter. I’m sure there is a sociologist somewhere who will offer a detailed justification for divorce. Yes, divorce is legal, but it isn’t moral, at least to those of us who believe in a higher power.


I read this week Jesus’ teaching on divorce in Mark 10. “Moses permitted it because of the hardness of your hearts.” “Hardness of your hearts,” what powerful, eye-opening words. We are all – each and every one of us – created in God’s image. And God loves each of us. He never gives up on anyone. He never divorces Himself from us even when we do the most unspeakable acts.


God continually loves us. He loves us unconditionally; loves us even when we sin. He expects the same from us, especially when we become “one” with another.


I have a minister friend who visits me. During one visit we discussed Paul’s statement in 1 Corinthian 13 about love (“it is patient, kind . . . it endures. . .”). He told me something interesting. He said: “I counsel young couples who want to use that verse in their wedding to think very carefully about that. That is a high bar. It expects you to love unconditionally, the way God does”.


Love unconditionally. That means you endure – even if your spouse cheats on you, even if she’s anorexic, or depressed, or he steals $2.1 million. You are one. Just love; in spite of the failings, you are called to love.


But, we are a throw away culture. We bail out when things get tough, when we don’t feel “happy” or “fulfilled”. We set expectations for others, yet want a free ride for ourselves.


God loves each and every one of us. We are precious in His sight. He loves the lame, the autistic, the rapist, the terrorist. He loves us even when we are nothing but self-centered, vicious bastards.


When we profess love for another we need to mean it. Look past the blemishes, the quirks, the sins.


1 John 4 describes in simple, beautiful words, our obligation.


“We love, because He first loved us. If someone says ‘I Love God’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for if you hate your brother who you see, you cannot love God, who is not seen.”


In spite of the divorce, I love my ex. I may never see her again. That’s OK. I pray for her and our sons daily. Who would have thought prison could teach you anything about love.


Somewhere up above, John Lennon’s singing. Perhaps he really was right – all you need is love.


I learned my favorite blog critic -“Dan” responded – again – to my “Dee” posting.


Dan – you’re a bright young man. Re-read the blog (s). From day 1, I accepted full responsibility. Do I think I didn’t deserve prison? No. Do I think my sentence was just? No. Do I think the criminal justice system is corrupt, broken, and lacking justice? Yes.


As for “Dee” – he was definitely guilty. But, as I pointed out in my blog. HSC had a choice. They could have done the merciful thing; they could have done the “Christian” thing, and made a difference in that man’s life. They chose otherwise.


You argue just like my oldest son!