This Thanksgiving has been great. Even with the big decision looming, this year was far better than the past two. Sure, I missed the family and home-cooked food, but not as much as I have in the past. I think it's been the guys over here who I've been able to share time with that have made it easier.
Our meal today was quality food. The meat was a large slice of smoked turkey. The sides were stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls and yams with brown sugar. For dessert we received a Styrofoam "doggie tray" filled with a slice of pumpkin and pecan pie and a cottage cheese and fruit salad. Since we would not return to the dining hall for dinner we were also given a johnny sack with a banana, slices of bread, cheese, peanut butter, carrots and celery. All the food tasted wonderful, except the cottage cheese stuff and the celery. I've never liked celery, though.
I was very grateful for the food I got. I am also thankful for the support and prayer of family and friends outside these walls. I hope your holidays are filled with blessings great and small.
Sunday morning at church I saw a face I didn't ever expect to see again. My friend, Heinz, left for INS (Immigration and Naturalization Services) court last week to hear whether he would be allowed to stay in the U.S. or be deported to Germany, where he hasn't lived since the age of five. INS decided to let him stay and we praised God together.
After the service, I told him about my parole answer and asked him to be praying for me to have guidance on my decision to accept it or not. He said that he would definitely be in prayer and asked if I would like to fast with him. I said yes and that it would be for Monday and Tuesday.
So, over the past two days I have fasted, acknowledging God's sovereignty over the situation and asking that my decision would be in accordance with His will. I chose Psalm 5 as my prayer. Both days were spent in prayer, reading and singing. I'm glad my cellmate is gone during the day because the solitude was great to have.
This was the first fast I've done since high school that I can remember. There were a few guys who asked why I was giving away my food at all the meals. I did get hungry and was lightheaded during my light workout. But the time with God was awesome.
Now, after eating with Alan and Chris to break the fast, I don't feel like I was given a direct answer on what my decision should be, but I do feel a peace in my leaning toward turning down the treatment. And I know I will have Him with me along either path.
"Twelve bottom! You have a lay-in!"
As I signed my initials on the lay-in sheet to acknowledge my reception of the lay-in. I saw the word "parole" beside my name. Earlier than expected but hopefully I'll get an answer instead of the delays I've seen with some guys.
Talking with Alan a few nights ago, I remarked that I wouldn't even mind getting a year set-of. I've definitely been growing in this place God prepared for me, physically and spiritually. I'd rather be home, but I could be comfortable here close to home, learning so much.
I went down to the parole office this morning and waited in line for a few minutes for my turn to see the unit officer. There was a weight on me as I saw several men's futures told to them bluntly through the windowed steel door. A few guys couldn't hide their reaction and their faces told the story upon exiting.
My turn. I walked in, sat down, and answered the officer's question of how I am doing today with nervous , excited anxious and hopeful.
"Don't be nervous," said the officer. Yeah, right, I thought. You're holding my future in your hands right now.
I handed him my lay-in and he searched the stack of parole answers for the one with my name on it.
"I don't know how you're going to take this," he said as he passed the sheet across his desk to meet my hands. "You got an FI18. I think you should be happy, but some guys aren't."
In my head I did a fist pump of triumph. I made parole.
I figure you can make parole when the justice system was heavy-handed to begin with. But even now I was given an F!18 parole on condition that I complete eighteen months of treatment. After a quick calculation while I was walking back to my pod, I realized that not only would I be getting home only ten months early, but the eighteen month is longer than half of the time I've completed. The excitement drained faster than a frat boy's keg. How am I going to handle this?
There was a pretty cool event going on here this weekend. An outside ministry called Bill Glass' Weekend of Champions took over the rec yard with Harleys, a NASCAR car, a high-wire act, and several men who have been world champs in their respective sports - football, kickboxing and NASCAR. I'd never seen such an event take place in prison and, though I'd heard of them, I guess I thought they didn't happen anymore.
Before the event yesterday, many of the volunteers for Bill Glass came to the pods and went to lunch with us. It was strange to see men and women decked out in riding leathers walking the hallways with inmates, but very cool.
When we went out to the rec yard, the bleachers were pulled out of the gym and were filled with men in white (the TDC inmate's only choice in clothing.) The motorcycles were revving loudly. Dust clouds lifted as one rider did burnouts in the dirt, leaving a black spot in the light clay soil.
A man stepped up to the microphone, said a few words, then introduced the first speaker, an offensive lineman for the Super Bowl champion 49ers. He gave his testimony of how he came to Christ after chasing money and fame for much of his career. Looking around, I saw many men leaning in to hear each word. After a closing prayer, he invited the volunteers to grab about six guys each to speak and pray with.
I don't know how many guys came to Christ or rededicated themselves, but I think the love that all the volunteers showed in bringing their motorcycles and themselves to talk with prisoners affected many. I didn't go to any of the other talks, but there was definitely a buzz on the unit. I'm glad to see God's people doing God's work in a place like this.
There's a guy a few cells down that has been in and out of prison for much of his life, but has developed a relationship with Christ over the past few years. Chris has a lot of knowledge and is still working on some behaviors, as many of us are. He is Alan's coworker in the kitchen supply, so they have a pretty good friendship. Often, when they come back to the pod after work, Chris will come to our cell and talk with Alan about the Word or how the Word applies to something one of them is dealing with.
Usually I'm just reading with the headphones on, trying to get into their conversation, but the past few nights Chris has pulled me in, always asking for me to "tell me something good." After telling him something generally good the first time he asked, he responded that he wanted to hear something I had read in the Word. Whoa! I haven't been in a place like this with people like this in a long time, if ever.
After telling him I had read that day, the three of us went into impromptu study right there. A few nights of this have gone by and I'm realizing I'm not being fed well in just the dining hall, but also back in my cell.
At a Bible study last week the leaders showed a short video about manly men as soldiers of Christ needing to come together for support and accountability. The video seemed a bit contrived, but it did get me thinking. There's not really a a place I can go for support or accountability here.
In the days since, I felt God telling me to get with my cellmate, Alan, for prayer and fellowship. The last time I heard from God about a prayer group, the group was taken away a week later. Even though it took a few days before making up my mind to ask Alan if he wanted to join me, I knew I had to say yes to God.
When I asked Alan last night if he was interested in praying before we went to sleep, he was pretty excited about it. Boy, this situation with my cellmate keeps getting better. We shared our concerns and praises, then prayed over them. Both of us called out, "I love you, Lord." after the "Amen." There was certainly a peace in our cell as we went to sleep last night, a peace that I hope continues as long as we are here.
* "For where two or three come together in my name, there am I [Jesus] with them." - Matthew 18:20
I've made a few calls home now, talking to my parents and my youngest brother. The phones have been a real blessing in keeping relationships intact. A few weeks ago I asked my parents if it would be possible to have my grandparents over to my parent's house for dinner or something so I could call and talk to them.
Before I was incarcerated I lived with my grandparents in Fort Worth. The only way I've communicated with them has been through letters every few weeks. That's more than many guys get from anyone, but since I plan to return to their household upon release, I want to make the connection stronger. I know a phone call will help reassure them, too.
I had the chance to talk with them yesterday. When my folks came to visit last weekend, they told me I could call while my grandparents were over at my parent's house last night. My grandmother, usually a marathon talker over the phone, took only about two minutes to say how glad she was to hear my voice and how much she missed me. I gave her a quick update of how things are going here. My granddad told me about stuff he's doing and let me know about some computer projects he's hoping I'll be able to help him with soon.
The call closed with a short conversation with my brother about how school and such is going. It was so good to hear from all of them and I hope I'll get to speak with my grandparents more soon, preferably in person outside these walls.
It's been about six month since I've run or worked out seriously with all the down time here. Not having a real job or classes to keep me busy, I figured it was a good time to start again. I went out a few times last week to do some stuff solo - pull ups, hanging crunches and leg presses - and get used to the new facility. Even taking it easy, I made myself sore and I wasn't able to do near as much as I had previously. I knew I had a long way to go to end up in the shape I needed for the triathlons I dream of doing.
As I was warming up to run yesterday, a new friend asked me how far I planned to run. I told Doc I hoped to reach two miles. Then we set off on the 1/4-mile trail around the rec yard. After four laps I said I needed a break, but Doc told me I had two more laps in me. His pushing got me through those and, after one lap break, he pushed me through the next two to finish the two miles.
Having completed my mission for the day, I was content to continue walking the track but Doc had other plans. We went into the gym and he put me to work. The entire two-hour rec period was spent doing some kind of lifting or moving. Doc was really good at finding good weights for me and also pushing me to complete the sets. Without even trying to, I had found a good workout partner. I look forward to killing myself on the weights, getting sore enough to waddle and stand stiffly, and eventually getting to my desired fitness level.
For much of the day I had a mystery cellmate. I was moved out of the new arrival dorm into a more permanent spot. When I dragged all my stuff into the cell, I saw all the signs of an inhabitant but nobody around. No one claimed to be my cellmate in the dayroom either. After I finished unpacking, I went to the library to ask about a job.
When I arrived on the unit the education coordinator told me she would look into the library job and let me know if it was available when she called me in later that week. I still haven't been called in, so I figured I would go straight to the source. The librarian told me she could use an extra person. Step one complete. I happened to see the education coordinator in the hall and asked her if she remembered my request. She said yes and wondered if the librarian needed anyone. I told her what the librarian had just told me. About twenty minutes later the librarian came to tell me "Looks like I'm going to be your new boss." Step two complete. Now I wait for the job slip.
Back at my cell with a new book to read and new hopes for a better job, I still didn't see my cellmate. Who could it be? What's he going to be like? From the artifacts I could see - a Bible and Christian books - I gathered some idea. There as the call for rec so I was off again. Maybe I'd find out who the mystery man was when I got back.
No such luck. Even after dinner I didn't know who I was going to be living with. It wasn't until after my Bible study this evening that I came home to another person in the cell. The mystery man was here. He is a young Christian guy, both physically and spiritually. He told me he has education in the morning and works the rest of the day in the kitchen. It looks like we'll click well.
This spot seems perfectly prepared for me. I have the cell to myself all day for reading, writing and study. My cellmate is a Christian who I can both nurture and learn from. We probably won't butt heads much, if at all. It's as if God looked at my personality and habits and found the perfect fit.
This morning I woke up very early. My clock said 6:30 but, with the time change and an accidental bump in the night, it was actually 4:30. Since it was so close to breakfast time, I rolled out of bed instead of rolling over. After returning from a less-than-filling pancake meal, I fixed the time on the clock, set my alarm for 7:15 church, and slipped back into dreamland.
"Go, if you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to. So make your move..."
Click. My hand slid over to turn off the 7 AM playing of Weezer's new single on the radio. Ugh. I was so tired and comfortable. I really didn't want to roll out of bed again this early. I lay there with the Weezer song stuck in my head, the chorus on repeat.
Wait a second. Those lyrics were a strange coincidence on a Sunday morning when I didn't want to get out of bed, but I could hear God saying those same words to me this morning and over years past. Weezer has been my favorite band for years, yet I never expected River Cuomo's voice to tell me to decide for Christ.
I oozed out of my sluggishness and got dressed for church (nothing special; just my prison whites. It's especially hard to go to church so early here because I'm so accustomed to not doing much during the day anyway. The service this morning was rich though, and worth getting out of bed for. Isn't it usually that way, when we listen to God calling, even from a rock song?
