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:

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."