Being Invisible

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.