Being Peace

Have you ever seen the painting of the mother bird covering her fledglings in the middle of the raging storm? That picture has been at the forefront of my mind this week as I’ve sought to be peace in the midst of chaos.

It was moving week again! When we first came to the Swannanoa facility in June of 2008, 96 women were moved into Sloop dorm which had been cleaned and painted, but was still in need of some major renovations. Soon the same temporary fix-up was completed in Gilliatt and 96 more women joined us. The first major renovation was recently completed, and this week the women vacated Sloop, with its drafty windows and insufficient electrical outlets for Greenwood.

Moving 80-something women is no small feat! One would think it would be simple when those women’s possessions must fit into three small garbage bags. However, in addition to moving those three bags, they also had to take their bunks apart and move them, the mattresses and bedding, and their lockers. Fortunately, these two dorms are only a few yards apart.

Sounds simple and fairly easy to coordinate. However, when you add 80 incarcerated personalities and who knows how many staff into the mix, you have a recipe for a major explosion. It hasn’t happened, though. I’ve seen a few tiffs, some ruffled feathers, and some rather traumatized-looking faces, but no one totally lost it. I did seem to attract complaints every time I walked through. I would stop and listen, sometimes sympathizing and sometimes chastising, but always trying to remember to pass the peace.

So the picture of that bird in the middle of that storm has been my prayer: help me be peace.

Swannanoa Prison Blues

Ever since I began working as a prison chaplain 28 months ago, the words “smoking ban” have been been tossed about, and always with great angst on the part of inmates. Last week their fears became reality.

Chaplain Michie had planned a trip to the beach. I really do believe her when she says she didn’t realize it would coincide with the first three days of the ban! As a peace offering, she purchased what appeared to be an inordinate amount of hard candy and huge bowls which I filled and placed in each dayroom early on Monday morning. And just as the last wafts of smoke had quickly been swept away the night before, the candy disappeared! Seriously! When I walked through the dorms about ten minutes later, I was handed back those huge, empty bowls. That was Day One.

Day Two, there was a heightened sense of anxiety. The women chewed their drinking straws, and I threatened to confiscate pepper spray from the custody staff (with good humor, of course). One officer said, “Chaplain, I just had two women arguing over a towel. A TOWEL!” Walk and drink lots of water became my mantra. I held impromptu classes in the hallways, trying my best to answer questions, grateful I had actually retained some of the words I had heard my friend and personal trainer, Kam, share with smokers. “Don’t panic,” I told them, “if you think you’re getting the flu. It may be your body flushing itself of the toxins. The more water you drink and the more you walk, the sooner you will begin to feel better.”

On Wednesday morning, I hit the Internet, scanning various web sites to verify my hunch. Yep! It would be the pinnacle. Wednesday is my 2-8pm day, so I got the full brunt of it. By the time I arrived, the canteen shelves were totally bare. No chips, no crackers, no candy, no snacks to be had. I announced the chapel was open for anyone who was struggling. “Come on over, have a piece of peppermint, and chill out for a few minutes.” The first woman burst through the front doors and headed down the aisle toward me, arms outstretched. “Chaplain, I can’t take it! My skin is crawling.” I embraced her, giving her a blessing and a peppermint.” Others followed, some simply non-smokers who were tired of the drama and wanted to sit quietly. After supper, another woman came to the office, sat down and talked very loudly for thirty minutes! I ate a peppermint!

At 8:00 I closed up the office but then decided to take one more walk through the dorm that seemed the most anxiety-filled. The first thing I heard was, “Chaplain, my bunkmate is in the sergeant’s office. Something happened at home.” I walked into the office, greeted by a grateful sergeant who thought I had left already. A very young lady sat crumpled in a chair, shaking from head to toe. Through sobs she managed to say, “I prayed so hard. I prayed every day. He can’t die.” Word had come that her dad who was receiving hospice care at home was near death. After sitting with her for a while, I asked if she would like to walk outside. Always in the past, in a moment like that, I would have asked, “Are you a smoker?” On Day Three I realized I would need new rituals. We sat at a picnic table for a while. A cool breeze was blowing as she handed me a picture. It was nearly dark, but the security light revealed a man holding up a large fish. It was all she had to hang on to. When I asked if I could pray with her, she nodded her head. As I was closing that prayer, the gentle breeze became a wind that whipped through our hair. I remember saying, “Ah, You are here, and we are grateful. Thank you for making your presence known.”

After that I took four days off. Monday began a new week. The nicotine withdrawal was over, and the psychological effects were setting in. The rain didn’t help. Tuesday was a beautiful fall day with Carolina blue skies and mountains dripping with reds and yellows. Now it’s Wednesday again and it’s raining again. “Light of God, shine through me. Peace of God, pour through me.”

Love Inside a Fence

I think it’s a fair statement to say that many of the incarcerated women with whom I work have been negatively impacted by at least one man. Often they are “looking for love in all the wrong places,” and I spend much of my time trying to help them understand that God loves them unconditionally, and their first need is to love themselves. I’m not really sure which comes first, self-forgiveness or self- love. Maybe it’s a single-package deal.

However, once in a blue moon, I sense a true love story, and I am blessed to be part of that journey. Yesterday was one of those exceptions. My husband, Danny, and I were able to witness an unusual event. One of our inmates had been married, but in her addiction, she got a divorce. She came to prison. Her ex-husband stuck by her and wanted to remarry her.

It’s a new day at our little prison that is growing. A year ago we had 96 inmates. Today we have 192. At some point in the not-so-distant future, we expect to have as many as 454 women. With that increase, and very limited funds for chaplain services, we are trying to be careful with every precedent we set. Weddings have not occurred very often, but we recently had two requests, so we set about researching how other units handle the situation. We discovered that if we were not careful we could spend all of our time operating the SCCW Wedding Chapel Express, and we did not feel that would be a wise use of our time. Finally, we had an SOP (Standard Operational Procedure) in place, and permission to move forward.

An important part of the SOP is for the groom to secure the marriage license and find a minister willing to perform the ceremony. For the afore-mentioned couple, this process started on Thursday and culminated on Sunday (except for the fact that the initial request was written in May)! To say he was persistent would be an understatement, but I also believe this was a God-ordained event. He didn’t know any local ministers, and I think he was not quite satisfied with asking a Magistrate. This marriage was about pleasing God. So when he secured the license he asked for and received a referral. He contacted the minister who was touched by the story, agreed to meet with the groom and to provide his services.

While I won’t feel it necessary to always be present for weddings in the chapel, I wanted to be there yesterday so that I could see this “first” and know what glitches we may need to work out in the future. It was just a bride, a groom, and a minister. I pressed Danny into service, and we truly were witnesses. I asked him to go to fulfill a signature on a piece of paper, but, as God would have it, we witnessed the hand of God. With the most humble hearts imaginable, those two cried through the entire service. I had, as an afterthought, plucked a bloom from a hosta outside the chapel door and given it to the bride. Then I took the crocheted shawl I happened to be wearing and placed it over the shoulders of her prison shirt. Beyond those simple things, they had no music, no cake, no guests, no fuss. Just heart-felt “I do”s, sealed with a kiss. Hugs and handshakes. Signatures on a piece of paper, and tearful goodbyes. Four of us walked toward the gate, and the bride went back to her dorm, watching until her beloved was out of sight.

Don’t be sad for them. The future of which they spoke looks bright. She looks forward to being home this time next year, rocking her grand-babies! In the mean time, he will continue the long, four-hour drive to visit his wife, and perhaps, now, she will be approved for home visits. But the most important thing, for them, is that they have set something right in God’s sight and in theirs. Grace abounds inside the fence.

Networking

"Charlie's" mom is ill. She lives three states away, and Charlie has to rely on snail mail for communication. Recently she came to me in tears because she had received a disturbing letter from her mom and there was absolutely nothing she could do. She was powerless. I asked what support her mom has, and Charlie knows of no one. "Mom has been waiting for me to come home. I asked her again to hold on and wait for me, but she says she's tired and she doesn't know if she can." Charlie broke down, sobbing.

I asked if her mom has any connections with a church, and, when the answer was "no," I asked if I could check out the area and see if perhaps a church might step in and offer some kind of support. Charlie was grateful.

I located a church with a Stephen's Ministry not too many miles from her mom. Later she brought her mother's name, address, and phone number to me, and I emailed the coordinator. Today I received an amazing email:

I am so sorry to be responding so late to your request. I have been on vacation since June 28th and decided to not even look at my computer during my vacation. I regret that I did not read your email until tonight.

I happen to be a Mental Health Specialist in a maximum security prison in Florida. I am also a crisis negotiator. Because of both positions, I have friends that work in **. I will try to contact a police office friend and see if he can do a wellness check for you.

Pleas keep in touch and I will also stay in touch with you and let you know as soon as I find anything out.

Isn't God good? I am amazed at His goodness all the time. Can you imagine that I am a Stephen Minister, also work in a prison and know someone in **?

Again, I apologize for the delay because of my vacation, but I will see what I can do.

Indeed, God is good!

Take Up Your Cross and Follow Me

Jesus said it. We quote it. But can we do it.

M is doing it. She is an inmate at Swannanoa Correctional Center for Women. Her family lives thousands of mile away. She gets lonely, as we might all imagine; yet, her faith sustains her. She has only been a Christian for about 18 months now. Last week when she told her husband she was being baptized, he gave her an ultimatum: Do that and I will divorce you.

She had hoped he would bring their daughter to our next Mother/Child Retreat, but now he refuses. He does not want his daughter exposed to "crazy Christians."

I told M that I understand that mindset. If the "crazy Christians" were the only ones I had ever been exposed to, I would have the same reaction. She understands. She says before she met authentic Christians who share the love of Christ rather than the wrath of God, she felt the same way. She really thought all Christians were like the ones who get all the press.

M is beginning to understand that her actions will have to speak. As far as she can tell today, her marriage is over, but her relationship with God has only just begun, and she is being faithful.

"Will you come and follow me if I but call your name..."

Finding a Sense of Purpose...in Prison

I continue to be amazed at the numbers of women who find a sense of purpose in prison ... a totally new concept for them. The story often begins something like this:

"Chaplain, I should have been dead a long time ago."

"So why do you think you're still here?"

"I think God has a purpose for me."

"What do you think it might be."

"I wish I knew."

After multiple conversations, they sometimes discover wonderful answers. Answers that warm the chaplain's heart:

"I just enrolled in a correspondence course to become a certified Substance Abuse Counselor. I want to help people."

Between those two points, not knowing their purpose and speaking their purpose, can lie such mountainous terrain. Despair beckons, "Follow me, for you have done the unforgivable. You are worthless, for you have lost your children. You are using up valuable oxygen." God whispers, "You are my good creation. I love you, no matter what. Just trust me, and I will direct your path." 

Exercising their will on that up-and-down journey, women are able to grow strong in faith. The most successful women discover a sense of balance between faith in God and working the 12-step program. They realize recovery is one day at a time for the rest of their lives. They reach step 12, and they are able to assist others along the journey, but they also realize an every-day need for steps one through 11.

This chaplain's greatest joy, though, is when a woman realizes she doesn't have to wait until she walks out the gate to have a purpose. She is worth something in this very moment. She can begin living a positive life, full of purpose, right now. That is a priceless treasure!

AA Steps

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Rest in Peace, Marsha

Last year, when we were still at the Black Mountain facility, I was standing outside Master Control as a new bunch of inmates filed past me into the library for orientation. I locked eyes with a young lady, and she continued looking at me. She appeared so young that I thought she might be someone who recognized me from my daughter's high school days. She would later tell me that when she got on the bus in Raleigh, she thought they were headed for Rocky Mount which was near her home. Instead, she found herself all the way at the other end of the state. She said when she saw me, for some reason, she decided it would be okay.

Soon after that, I was leading Sunday evening worship. We had a good evening, and I was just about ready to wrap things up when this same young lady said, "Chaplain, the Lord laid a song on my heart. Do you think I could sing it now?" Not knowing what might be coming, I tentatively said, "Sure." Marsha took us right to heaven that night with her song of gratitude. She had the voice of an angel.

Marsha spent a lot of hours in the chaplain's office. She was tired of prison life... I believe that was her fourth incarceration. Drugs had gotten hold of her at an early age. She had really tried, though. At one point she had gotten her life together and had become a licensed CNA. But then her mother became the patient she cared for in her final stages of cancer. Marsha told me of the day she spent at the dining room table with her mom, and she apologized to her for every time she ever disappointed her. They made their peace, and her mom soon lost her fight. 

One of Marsha's greatest sources of shame and blame was the fact that, even though she had been in recovery for some time, she left her mother's funeral and went to a crack house. Relapsed again, she found herself in prison, and in the chaplain's office. She taught me so much about recovery, and about the difference in abstinence and recovery. One day she told me a story that I have quoted so many times. She said it was a really hot day, and she was sitting out on the prison yard. She started thinking about how good a beer would taste right then. She said to herself, "Okay, Marsha, you play that tape all the way to the end. You know you would walk to the store and buy a case of beer, you would drink every one of them, and then, dissatisfied, you would make your way to the crack house." She said, "Chaplain, relapse begins in the brain. It starts with a thought. I need to remember to play the tape all the way to the end, or I'll be back in prison or dead."

The day before her release, Marsha expressed her concerns to me. Her sister was coming to pick her up, and she was afraid she wouldn't understand recovery. Marsha had a plan to stop, on the way home, and attend a noon NA meeting. She was sold on the whole 90-meetings-in-90-days concept. But she was convinced that her family believed all she needed was Jesus. She said, "Chaplain, you see that oak tree over there? The Bible tells me that if I have enough faith, I can move that tree, but I know I will be more successful if I have a bulldozer. That's what NA is for me." She called me a week later and told me she was doing well. That was the last time I heard from her.

 Today I learned that Marsha lost her life on March 8, 2009, at the age of 35, the victim of a hit-and-run. I don't know why she was walking on Cemetery Road in the dark. I don't know the results of the toxicology report. I do know this: Marsha is free. She is free of addiction and the struggle of recovery. She will never return to prison. Marsha loved Jesus, and she loved to sing. She loved people. She loved her family. She taught me lessons that I use almost every day in the chaplain's office as I continue to encourage, love, confront, and hold women accountable when they ask for my help. Kyrie.