After 10 weeks of being shuffled around from facility to facility I think I am finally settled. Next stop on my prison tour: work release. I have been to all three women's facilities in the state, and been house at 3 out of 5 security levels. I've been in maximum security levels (yes, with the murderers); minimum security and am now house at a pre-release "camp" facility. I've been clear across the state, and am so thankful now to be housed much closer to home, about an hour away. It has been a wild 10 weeks, and I've seen an aspect of society that, frankly, society would rather ignore. It has been an eye-opening experience.
I find it helpful to find a way to relate this experience to others I have had. Sharing a room and sleeping on a bunk bed isn't much different than working as a summer camp counselor and sharing a room and sleeping on a bunk bed there. Following a set of arbitrary rules and having a dress code here isn't very different than attending a strict, conservative Bible college. The staff and officers are generally courteous and about as respectful to you are you are to them. The food is plentiful and, more importantly, edible, the sheets and clothes are clean, and the showers are private--and hot. It's not being here that is hard, it's being away from my family that makes this time so difficult
The facility is nice, actually. It's a minimum security facility, which means there is only one fence around us, and we aren't confined to our rooms or certain buildings and having freedom of movement to go outside, watch TV, hang out with other women, spend time at the gym, attend chapel services, participate in craft programs, and even attend some (limited) educational programs. I'm in a new unit built earlier this year, and it is surprisingly non-institutional. No cinder-block walls or bars on the windows. I share a room with 3 other women and share a common area/great room with 100 others. There are couches and chairs, tables to work, play games or eat at, a big TV, and a kitchen area with microwaves, a sink, a hot water tap and an ice machine. Even the decor isn't institutional --it is Starbucks red walls, accented with taupe and tan, and the furniture is upholstered in red, yellow, orange, and green. It may sound grade school-ish, but the overall feel is pleasant and colorful.
The population of women here is also different than what I expected. There are mostly white women with maybe 15% minorities. I'm sure it's different in other parts of the country, as well as in men's institutions. There are many lesbians here, and the ups and downs of relationships, as well as the dynamic of 100 women living in close quarters creates an extreme amount of drama. Imagine living with 100 women. Now imagine that the average maturity level is about 7th grade. Amplify that by the stress and worry that results from being away from family and home and add in the fact that no one wants to be here (with the exception of a few women). If you can imagine all that, then you will have an idea of what it's like to be here, and all the drama that comes of there circumstances.
This is an invisible aspect of our society. No one wants to acknowledge that we exist, except our families and some of our friends. And sometimes, not even those few people. There is very little information provided, and even fewer resources exist for inmates and our families. There are very few books (I haven't found any) one dealing with the separation. And you'd think that there would be at least some mental health resources here to help the inmates with the adjustments. But no. And the very lack of resources point to the fact that society would rather pretend that we don't exist--or if we do, then at least they are sufficiently isolated from us (or we from them).
But thank God that I am not invisible to him. And I am learning how to give thanks--rejoice even--when I face "trials of many kinds," because I know that the testing of my faith develops perseverance. These circumstances will bring good things in my life. I'm grateful that God's ways are not my own, and I take refuge in His transcendence. God has a better imagination, and I'm sure He will find remarkably creative ways to turn this hard time into something beneficial.
I am not trying to be churchy, or just spout off acceptable Christian God-talk. I really am learning how to give thanks in all circumstances. And believe me, it's not easy. But I'm learning to accept that it's ok to not understand the point of this time, or predict the end result. God is a lot bigger than me, and I don't want a relationship with a God that I can pack neatly into my comfort zone. If I seek a God like that, that will be exactly what I get: a God who I can manipulate, suspciously like myslef, the wideness of whose mercy I have cut down to size. Instead, I seek a God of greatness, a God of vast mercy and love, whose mysteries I can only imagine, and never fully know.
November 11, 2008
November 3, 2008
Awaken
It's been so long since I've written anything except letters to my family. Almost 9 weeks. My fingers are accustomed to the keyboard; my thoughts are accustomed to flowing formatted later, dragged and dropped into the proper places. My fingers are experimenting with the new medium--pen and paper--my thoughts unprepared to be organized before being fully committed to the paper. But we work with what we have, and right now, my pen will do the writing, and my sister's fingers will do the typing.
Mercy Project was my personal blog--highly private, anonymous. I told my husband about it after I was sentenced. He shared it with my sister and my mom. Of course, others had read it too. But you and I are strangers, known only to each other through these pages, and I run no risk of seeing you across the apples in the produce department or running into you at church. And even if we did, you probably would not know that it's me because after all, I'm known by a different name outside the blog world.
But now others do know, and I have to determine how to proceed. To be candid and honest is also to be vulnerable. And being vulnerable anonymously is entirely different than being vulnerable and known. But this is my blog, so I choose to continue to share my life, such as it is even now. If you do know me outside of my blog please allow me to continue sharing anonymously and to be the one to share about my life. These are my thoughts, my perspectives, my experience with faith, my search to discover and know mercy.
So what is my life now? Very different than before! On August 21st, I was sentenced to 57 months in prison. I could use the term "Department of Corrections" but that's almost euphemistic, like saying "room" instead of "cell." The judge ruled within the standard sentencing range, even though he gave me the highest sentence within that range. It could have been much worse. The prosecutor was asking for an 11 year sentence, and the judge denied such an extreme sentence. The judge could have also sentenced by crimes back to back (consecutively) but chose instead to sentence them concurrently. My court fines were minimal, and once I'm done serving my time, then I'm done--I have no probation or community custody, my rights will be restored, and I can resume life in as much a normal way as possible after being incarcerated.
Several family members and friends were at court to show their support, and appeal to the judge for leniency in his sentencing. My children were there, even though they did not comprehend the proceedings. I wanted to be able to kiss them goodbye, which, unbelievably the judge did not allow. I was transferred immediately to the county jail, where I spend 6 miserable days before being transferred to the women's state prison. I could tell you story after story about the women I met in jail, and the women I have met during my 8 weeks in prison. I won't, at least not right now. There are thousands and thousands of women across the country who are incarcerated separated from their families and their children. Each one has a story to share, and it is not for me to share their story, except in how it intersects with mine.
Someday I will share about those first days, of learning how to live within a system that seeks to protect society by fragmenting families, that attempts to modify behavior without changing the person herself, that enforces "justice" but breaks its own rules. But as my sister is typing this for me, I don't want to exhaust her with a complete account, as interesting as it may be. Let me leave, for now, with this:
Mercy Project was my personal blog--highly private, anonymous. I told my husband about it after I was sentenced. He shared it with my sister and my mom. Of course, others had read it too. But you and I are strangers, known only to each other through these pages, and I run no risk of seeing you across the apples in the produce department or running into you at church. And even if we did, you probably would not know that it's me because after all, I'm known by a different name outside the blog world.
But now others do know, and I have to determine how to proceed. To be candid and honest is also to be vulnerable. And being vulnerable anonymously is entirely different than being vulnerable and known. But this is my blog, so I choose to continue to share my life, such as it is even now. If you do know me outside of my blog please allow me to continue sharing anonymously and to be the one to share about my life. These are my thoughts, my perspectives, my experience with faith, my search to discover and know mercy.
So what is my life now? Very different than before! On August 21st, I was sentenced to 57 months in prison. I could use the term "Department of Corrections" but that's almost euphemistic, like saying "room" instead of "cell." The judge ruled within the standard sentencing range, even though he gave me the highest sentence within that range. It could have been much worse. The prosecutor was asking for an 11 year sentence, and the judge denied such an extreme sentence. The judge could have also sentenced by crimes back to back (consecutively) but chose instead to sentence them concurrently. My court fines were minimal, and once I'm done serving my time, then I'm done--I have no probation or community custody, my rights will be restored, and I can resume life in as much a normal way as possible after being incarcerated.
Several family members and friends were at court to show their support, and appeal to the judge for leniency in his sentencing. My children were there, even though they did not comprehend the proceedings. I wanted to be able to kiss them goodbye, which, unbelievably the judge did not allow. I was transferred immediately to the county jail, where I spend 6 miserable days before being transferred to the women's state prison. I could tell you story after story about the women I met in jail, and the women I have met during my 8 weeks in prison. I won't, at least not right now. There are thousands and thousands of women across the country who are incarcerated separated from their families and their children. Each one has a story to share, and it is not for me to share their story, except in how it intersects with mine.
Someday I will share about those first days, of learning how to live within a system that seeks to protect society by fragmenting families, that attempts to modify behavior without changing the person herself, that enforces "justice" but breaks its own rules. But as my sister is typing this for me, I don't want to exhaust her with a complete account, as interesting as it may be. Let me leave, for now, with this:
I woke up this morning, and immediately upon opening my eyes, wanted to cry. I dressed, and went to a quiet place in one of the day rooms to pray. Out the window, I saw deer grazing in the frosty field. The wind was blowing and the shadows of the leaves scrambled on the floor. It was quiet and tumultuous as well, just like in my head. My heart was sad, my mind concerned with my family. There was heaviness, a dampness, in my heart. I'm not a person who tends toward depression, being generally cheerful and having an optimistic outlook, but I could feel the weight of my circumstances settling in, the stretch of the months ahead adding to the mass. In my whispered pray, I asked God to help me know how to pray. A very old church song immediately came to mind: Awaken my heart to love and adore Thee O my Lord. Awaken my heart to bow down before Thee O my Lord. Awaken my heart to know thy love and to love Thee in return, freely flowing from and awakened heart. That has become my prayer today. I don't want to be buried in my circumstances. I don't want to be weighed with the worried of my life. I want a heart that can learn to sing in the dark, that can rejoice in God's goodness, that can recognize His greatness during times of great difficulty, and that is awakened to and aware of His great love and mercy. And most of all, I want a heart that can bow down in reverence and humility, and say, with true sincerity, "not my will, but Yours, oh Lord."
August 21, 2008
Peace
I don’t know what’s going to happen today. Duh. But I’m unexpectedly at peace right now, inside.
The scripture that came to my mind was from Philippians 4:6 and 7: Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.
That’s beautiful! And it’s true for me today. And hopefully tomorrow, as well.
A friend from college found my blog. He sent me a note and part of it read “…Keep in mind that God is currently behind the scenes putting things back together better than they were before you entered this mess. Remember Jeremiah 29:11.”
See, I love that verse. I love the promise that God knows the plans that he has for me, plans to give me a hope and a future. And when you read the verse in context, it’s all about how the nation of Israel is going into exile, but encouraging them to have hope because God has planned a beautiful future for them.
Hello, I can relate to going into exile (even though I don’t know what will happen today). And I can embrace the promise of God to give me hope and a future.
Last night I was putting Wild Thing to bed, and was snuggling him. Something that I said made him giggle, and he repeated it and started laughing. We laughed and laughed together, with him snuggled into my shoulder, my forehead nestled against his warm neck. It wasn’t planned or anticipated, but it was a very sweet moment with my son. When I put Ladybug to bed I held her, and looked into her eyes, and told her how much I love her and that I will always love her. I was solemn. She giggled and replied, “Oh, I had a very quiet burp.” Some moments just don’t work out. Some do. These are my children, and I love them, giggles, burps, and all.
I was reminded today through this post of how much God loves us as his children, and that “the heart of a mother reflects the heart of God.” I believe it’s even more than that. I believe that God loves me and delights in me even more than I love and delight in my children. Unfathomable, but true. But the best way for me to understand how much he loves me, is by understanding my own depths of love for my children.
I would do anything for them. And God has done everything for me. No matter what my future holds, my future in Christ is assured.
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