Another Complete Christmas

            With a son in prison, it's another Christmas without my complete family. That seems to be the norm since my grandmother left us. I remember the Christmas Eves of my childhood, with aunts, uncles, cousins and food. Now we are lucky to get a meal where everyone can sit down and eat peacefully. We actually accomplish that better at Thanksgiving now that we go out for our turkey dinner.
            Christmas feels different since my visit to Israel last March. I must say that Jerusalem and Bethlehem were much too commercialized for my ideas of the Holy City, but I found comfort and connection with my Lord and Savior on the mountainsides and the valleys. Much like life itself, I had to get away from the busyness and the masses to find my peace with God.
             On one of our daily trips, we visited the old city of Capernum. There we saw the actual house of the mother-in-law of the Apostle Peter, the place where Jesus healed her. I knew without a doubt that Jesus had been there.
         While standing alone in the ruins of the synagogue having a quiet time with my Lord, I asked if He had been where I was standing. In my mind I recalled the verse in Matthew 28 where Jesus said "low I am with you always." No words had been spoken until I answered with the comment, "Yes, you are!" When I spoke the words I heard  "Yeshua" which is the Hebrew name for God.
That was an "aha! " moment for me! I had felt the presence of the living God right in his own country, right where he had stood, right where he had healed, right where he had lived . Even though I was in Israel, I had felt Emanuel, God with Us, the same one who is with us now at Christmas and forever, the God who is with us always, wherever that may be.
       Those memories of Capernum have encouraged me this Christmas season. Through Christ, my family IS together.  We are a complete family, even when separated.  My son may be in prison, but Emanuel is with him and with me. Praise God!

A Most Unusual Opportunity

       Today I was given a most unusual opportunity for service. While loading borrowed tables for a yard sale, I was approached at the door of my church by a strange woman who had appeared out of nowhere. She had seen the cars and moved on the opportunity to ask for help.  It was obvious from her smell that she had not bathed in some time, yet her skin was not dirty and the clothes she wore looked clean. She explained her plight but my mind was hearing the words through the filter of a skeptic.

         As she spoke, I began to feel an unsettling in my abdomen. I knew she was about to ask me for money and I was not in any mental state to entertain questions. I was busy. Too busy to even think up excuses for why I had no money or who I could refer her to for charity. Her most immediate need was money for gas.

         I continued with the task at hand and told her the only thing I could do at the time was go with her and get some cash from my bank. She agreed without hesitation. I could tell by the sneer on the face of my companions that they doubted her sincerity and truthfulness. Yet, something in that small voice I call a conscience told me to listen. Trust my inner feeling. Open up my heart.

        I decided to take a chance. My mind began to overflow with questions and thoughts. What if that were my Matt, homeless and hungry, even if it was because of his own actions? Would someone take a chance on him? If everything really is a gift from God, why am I so hesitant to give money to a total stranger? Would God want me to feed his sheep even if they were drug addicts?

        Shaking from the emotional stress I pulled into the service station. A simple thought had changed my course of action. I explained that I only had a credit card, but I would buy them gas and a meal. She agreed and pulled next to the pump. After purchasing the gas, I invited them to meet me at the Dairy Queen.

          I waited briefly in the parking lot, contemplating my actions. When they pulled up all 3, yes 3, got out. I knew without a doubt I had to pray with these strangers. I had to go one step farther than simple charity. I had to tell them that God loves them unconditionally.

         As I stepped up to the counter, I told the young man that these were God's guests. They had approached me with a need and I was going to feed them. His response was heartwarming. He said not many people do that now days, so he was going to give me his employee discount. His gesture was assurance that I had made the right choice.

           We sat down to wait on the meal and I seized the moment. I reassured them that regardless of the reason they were where they are today, God loves them. I prayed for their deliverance from these circumstances and I thanked God for giving me the opportunity to be His hands and feet.

           Having a son in prison has changed my perspective on people and really life in general. Hardships have a way of molding our character, of bringing us closer to God, our Creator and Protector. For those of us who try, we can see others a little more through His eyes and less through our own.  If we look closely, we just might see a glimpse of His Glory. Better yet, we just might get to BE a part of His Glory. 

Visiting Prison: A View From the Inside

Visiting Prison: A View From the Inside

A View From the Inside

Once again I have a blog entry from Matt. I have been encouraging him to write about his experiences. Not only is it therapy for him, it helps answer many questions that people have asked me about what it is like on the inside. I hope you enjoy his thoughts as much as I do.

Stepping into a Maximum Security Federal Penitentiary is a learning experience, and you must learn very quickly.  There are 4 custody levels in the Bureau of Prisons with penitentiary being the highest. Without question, they are the most dangerous as well.  In those types of places, the threat of violence is constantly looming - in fact, it is the glue that holds everything together.  After all, what good are rules and ultimatums without consequences for breaking them?  The punishments for all violations are physical; to what degree depends on the seriousness of the infraction.  Because of this, the United States Penitentiaries (or USPs) are places of utmost respect.  If you were to take a hundred inmates from all custody levels the USP prisoners would definitely stand out. 

For example, when I first arrived at an FCI Medium Security facility, I was about to take a shower.  As juvenile as it sounds, who has next usage of any given facility is determined by “who called it” - just like second grade.  There was one shower open and after inquiring about who was waiting, I got in.  As soon as I did, I saw an older Italian guy, maybe 65 or so, appear in his shower garb.  I wasn’t sure if he was waiting, and I hadn’t started bathing yet, so I got out and let him shower out of respect.  I was there first and in the right, but respected an older, seasoned convict. Later on in the evening the man came up and introduced himself as Anthony.  He said, “So kid, what Pen did you come from?”  Perplexed, I asked him how he knew that because not many people go down to mediums from maximums.  Anthony replied, “Respect.  I been doing this a while kid, and you can tell the Pen guys.  Plus, you were wearing your boots to and from the shower.”  In the USPs, all the inmates wear their boots to and from the shower for safety reasons.  If someone is going to attack you, the best time is when you have your guard down, like going to the shower in flip flops.  In really tense times, another inmate would escort you and stand guard while you washed off.  Crazy huh?  Anthony saw that no one but me was wearing boots to the shower. 

Because of that one small gesture of respect I gave him, Anthony could tell everyone he associates with that I was a stand up guy.  Because he is respected himself, his approval was as good as a platinum credit card.  As a matter of fact, on my way to lunch the next day there were no less than 15 New York and Boston guys that I had never seen or met who spoke to me.  “How ya doin’ pal?  You need anything, you let us know.”  Word travels fast, and it travels even faster when there is a negative report. 

So now you can see how crucial a positive image is in prison - it can be a matter of serious injury, even life and death.  Respect and one’s word are the only currency convicts have on the inside, and once either of those is compromised (even a little), they both fall away.   In here just like so many other places in life, anything worth having has to be earned. 

A Letter from Solitary

           On this journey called life we never know when we are going to hit a bump in the road. If we stumble and fall we have to pick ourselves up and move on. It is easier task for some than for others.
We found out last week that Matt's scheduled move to a minimum security facility has been delayed. Two days before his departure he was attacked by a new inmate and transferred to the SHU or Special Housing Unit. He sent this letter that reminds me of the son I once knew. I want to share it with you.

Mom,

How's it goin"?  Well, I guess you know it's not going very well here.  This is the craziest thing - it's even got me a little bit depressed.  I'm really struggling right now.  I just can't figure it out - I don't bother anybody, all I do is my schoolwork in the morning, exercise for a couple of hours, and then relax in the evening.  It's like I'm cursed in this prison and trouble follows me.  I just need to get out of here.  I'm waiting to see if I still leave on the next bus, which is August 6.  If I'm not gone by then, I will have to take RDAP and get out.  I'll let you know.  Pray for that to happen.  If I don't call or e mail you by August 8th, then I'll be stuck here for another couple of months.  

Don't forget the crosswords because I really need them.  As many as you can 7,8,9 a day even.  It's pretty bad back here, and I still haven't got my property so I can do my schoolwork.  Jeez, everything is falling apart.  I'll make it though.  Sorry all of this happened, but I probably would have gotten hurt badly if I hadn't defended myself.  This is prison, and anyone in here is capable of anything at anytime.  Believe it or not, I did the right thing.  This is just a different world than we've ever seen.  I just look at is as the "Rehab of all Rehabs" - this is what I have to go thru to get clean for good.  Well, I gotta go for now, but just pray for things to work out - you used to always tell me that.

I love you and Dad, and really appreciate everything you do, have done, and tried to do for me.  I can only call out once a month, so I should get to use the phone again until I'm out.  I'll write and keep you posted. 

Love you,    Matt

Where is the Prison?

        There seems to be a lot of interest in incarceration lately. Sunday’s newspaper had a lengthy article about the deplorable conditions in the Alabama prison system. Television is full of shows about prison lockup and life behind bars. There is even a show now about life in a women's prison. Orange may be the new black, but the men where I visit wear khaki.
        One thing is for sure, our country spends a lot of time and resources on the criminal justice system. It's sad that we spend so much money on reforming prisoners when we could be spending it on educating and training them before they become a problem. I guess that is why the Bible asks us to remember those in prison as if we were in prison with them. God knew we would always have prisoners who need help and the promise of hope.
         I have learned much since Matt's arrest and conviction, but one thing I am certain about: he was in prison even before he was arrested. His life was in a constant state of turmoil because of his addiction. He was afraid of everything. He couldn't sleep. He was unhappy. He had no purpose. His prison then did not have bars, but he was chained to a life of misery and hopelessness. It's no wonder that he tried to take his own life. He saw no other way out.
         I remember the words of one sweet little lady at church who was consoling me right before Matt's court appearance. With a determined voice and a stern pointed finger she reminded me that there are a lot more things worse than prison. Her words have proven to be true.
       God has protected Matt. He has given him wisdom. He has provided words of encouragement from family, friends, and church members. And most importantly, God has allowed him to come clean from a strong addiction even while behind the walls and fences of a maximum security prison.
        I don't know what tomorrow may bring but for now I choose to be
confident of this, "that He who began a good work in you (Matt) will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6
Thank you Lord for your promise.

Another Visit, Finally!

     I got to visit my son last weekend. It's been a year since we got to talk face to face. That's a long time for a momma not to get to hug her first born.

    The visit went well even though I had to be "patted down." The workers tell me every time things like that happen it is random, but I seem to be the random person every time. Wish I could have that much good luck in Vegas!

     There are many differences between a maximum security facility and a

medium. We can take our keys back and there are not as many locked gates to pass through, but some rules never change: always sign the form, bring you driver’s license, and prepare to WAIT!

    What I dislike the most is not knowing all the details. Should I leave my ID with the form? Will these earrings pass the metal detector?  Who goes first when we congregate outside before visitation starts. It reminds me of the first day of school with a new teacher. You know the school rules, but you’re not sure of the teacher's expectations.

     Some things do not change. Our time is spent buying every snack from the vending machine my son could possible consume. A friend once asked if we got to eat lunch with Matt. The answer is yes if you count a burger and fries warmed in a microwave as a meal. We usually let him do all the eating.

     We managed to get our picture taken this visit. I wanted a memento of

his long hair. He will not let anyone without barber training touch his hair. He still has a sense of pride even in prison. 

     Luckily my husband had a spare pair of shorts in the trunk this time.

He had worn khakis - a visitation no-no. Guess they were afraid he would be mistaken for an inmate.

     We were told we could not wait on the grounds until visiting hours.

That is a new rule at this location. At the maximum we might have to wait for hours if there were problems in the facility. And you could always count on an hour delay if you arrived between 9:30 and 10:00. The "count" started at 10 and everything shut down until it was over. We were told that here the visitors lined up in their cars just outside the gate and made a long caravan coming onto the grounds in order. We had just broken our first protocol, but no one faulted us this time.

      One thing I have learned to do is stay calm and be attentive. Most

things I have learned by simply watching. And I believe God gave me a gift for smiling. I smile a lot. It comes naturally with having a sense of humor. I've also learned that it's hard to be ugly to someone who smiles.

          

 

 

 

A Journal Entry from 2010

February 23, 2010

       I must write this before I forget. Matt had a court date today. I took off to go with him. Prayer has been sent up for this manchild for years but especially since the incidences of January 9, 2010. I have had a peace all along about his defense attorney. I knew he could not afford one and Joe and I did not have the money to pay for one, so he would be at the mercy of the court system. After listening to the message on Sunday I was more convinced than ever that God would work this out.

       Matt entered the court room and took a seat on the back row which is where the people go who do not have paid representation. He waited his turn and eased down the bench toward the magistrate who would assign an  attorney to the accused. I eased my way in and sat beside him.

     As he inched toward the woman who held his future in her hands, I still had a peace.  When it was his turn I could hear him whisper the details of his charges to the woman.  Apparently there had  been a mixup in the dates. This case had been grouped with the other robbery and possession charges. He explained how he had hoped to get this particular case dismissed. She said it would be in his best interest if one attorney handled all the cases and she would assign an attorney to him today. She commented about the seriousness of his charges and said she knew just the attorney he needed.

          As she was talking to Matt, an older, seasoned gentleman entered the courtroom. She immediately introduced him to Matt. She explained that these were some serious charges, to which the lawyer replied, "You know me, I handle serious cases all the time." He gave Matt his card and told him to call and set up an appointment.

         While Matt was signing the papers, I had a quick chance to ask the magistrate if he was a good attorney. Before I could explain she said, "You can pay all you want, but you will never find a better attorney. He is the best."  I asured her she was an answer to prayer and thanked her for the assignment.

          As we were leaving, we met her once again at the elevators. This time she introduced herself as Paula. She asked Matt to call her and make sure all the cases were together. I reminded her that she was an answer to prayer. I felt a wonderful moment of hope when she said, " I'll see you in court. We've got to get this boy straightened out."

        I don't know anything about the attorney, but just the fact that the magistrate would make a comment made me feel blessed. I could see God at work in that court room, with the magistrate and with the attorney. Joe said not to get too excited, keep an even keel, but he was not there to witness God at work. If I see glory,  I'm going to shout. Praise the Lord.

Another post by Joe

Whenever I talk to someone about my son in Federal Prison, I will usually end the conversation by saying, “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”  This isn’t a pandering statement or a cliché - it comes from the heart. I feel for anyone who has suffered through a loved one's addiction.  The pain, embarrassment, and humiliation cannot be put into words.  In our case, it was exacerbated when Matt was shot and then arrested. Trying to function was like trying to walk thru a vat of wet concrete.  Every step required an effort.  People went out of their way to avoid us.  In the grocery store I actually saw someone I knew turn and walk in the opposite direction.  I don’t think they were being cruel, I just think they didn’t know what to say.  Conversely, the comments section on AL.com gave a lot of mindless people a chance to say some incredibly hurtful things about my son.  (Sometimes I wonder how the internet would look if we had to use our actual name and address when we posted on forums). One of the most difficult things I faced was trying to explain to my relatives why this happened.  They could not comprehend it.  Honestly, neither could I.  

The one place of refuge we had was our church.  It was especially comforting to be with people who were (and are) supportive, empathetic, and non judgmental.   I’m still amazed that the day after Matt was shot and arrested an impromptu prayer service was attended by at least 2/3 of our congregation.

You may not face addiction or imprisonment of a loved one, but I can promise you that you will face a crisis in your life.  Without question, my one piece of advice to anyone in this situation is to lean on your church family, and if you don't have one, get one.  I'm sure people survive life crises without prayer, unconditional acceptance, and spiritual support, but I for one wouldn't want to. 

Testing Positive

I would have thought that metal detectors were enough to stifle illegal activity on a visit to a federal prison, but was I wrong! After the embarrassment of having to remove my under wires, I found myself once again being questioned by the authorities. This time I was asked to show my right pocket to the officer who waved a small wand over my hip area. I knew something was wrong when the machine it was attached to began printing a long strip of paper. I was asked to sit in an area that was away from the other awaiting visitors.

              Normally, we are scanned and taken back in small groups of 4 or 5. We go through several checkpoints where doors are closed behind us before others are opened. My son and husband had already been taken back while I had been delayed by the metal detector. When I was separated from the group, I knew there were complications.

               The female guard informed me that I had tested positive for a substance used to make illegal drugs. My reaction was one of shock and disbelief. I was calm on the outside but on the inside I was screaming my thoughts:   "What! No way! I have a son in prison because of drugs! I HATE drugs! Why is this happening! I just want to hug my son!"

              Inside the prison, my husband was not so calm! He was screaming on the outside! He had no idea what was happening except he now had to visit his son behind glass with only 2 visitors at a time!

              I waited in the waiting room until my son came out so I could go in. I had plenty of time to think and pray. I still do not know why all the bad things happened to me that day, but I do know Who was in charge. It was a test of my character, a completion of the verse I was reminded of with the metal detectors: Romans 5: 3-4

                     "And not only this, but we also exult in our 

                      tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about 

                      perseverance; and perseverance, proven character;

                      and proven character, hope"

            When my son came out of his visit, I could see his puzzled look through the glass even before he entered the room. I couldn't control my emotions as I blurted out, “I tested positive for ecstasy!" After a good cry, I was able to laugh right along with all the other visitors in the waiting room!  Finally, with lessons learned for future visits, I was able to have a pleasant visit with my son even with the glass between us.

Matt Gets Money

Keeping a journal is not only therapeutic, it helps me remember things I most likely want to forget.  I  must admit I am not very good at it, maybe once a week if I am lucky. But even with that infrequency, I can still recall my emotions and reactions at the specific time of the entry. It’s a great way to look back and see God’s glory even through the darkest of situations.  In this simple journal entry from last year, I can still see promise and hope.

Aug. 5, 2013 Matt gets money

     Today I sent money to Matt. I had to send it to a fellow inmate because he is on restrictions. I would've have been hesitant several months ago but I understand the process now. The inmates have a network of friends that help them in certain situations.  Matt was caught holding contraband, just cigarettes, but still contraband.  The guard who caught him gave him one year without phone, visits or privileges in the commissary. The punishment was excessive and he has appealed. The appeal process takes a long time as well.

        I usually send money to someone outside the prison, or maybe to another inmate account. This money is used to purchase stamps. Stamps is the type of currency within the prison system. Inmates use stamps to purchase things that can't be bought through the commissary-- like moving up in the dental line or fresh fruit from the kitchen. I was skeptical at first, but I realized this is survival behind the walls.

       Matt is beginning to see how much support he has from his family. Some of the guys in there have no one - not a mom or sister or child -- no one. I pray for Matt every day and I think about him often.  It's a high price to pay for his actions, but only by the Grace of the good Lord is he there today. He could have been dead numerous times.  I hope I live to see what God has in store for the rest of his life.  

Another Perspective

This blog entry is written by my husband, Joe. I thought it might be interesting to have another perspective, since the entire family is affected by the actions of my son.

For almost 20 years I have talked with counselors, rehab clinics, group therapists, clergy, and law enforcement officials trying to help my son. Interestingly, all of the experts agree on a universal truth about drug addiction: there are only three possible outcomes.   No matter which path you or yours chooses, addiction leads to only three destinations.  You will clean up, you will go to prison, or you will die.  This is an absolute truth.  So in my daily prayers to God, I ask Him to steer my son to the best option:  sobriety.  Because he has been involved with the other two outcomes - he’s is in prison now, and nearly died before he got there.

Many people don’t know the entire story. Here goes:

On January 9, 2010   The phone rang at 11:45 PM.  Over the years, we have been conditioned to expect the worse from a late night call, but could not even imagine the horrors this one held. It was a nurse from UAB Medical Center telling us my son Matt had been shot at close range during a home invasion.  She told us our son was conscious; we even talked to him briefly.  He asked us to go to his house and lock the door before we came to the hospital. 

Nothing could prepare us for what we saw as I turned into his driveway. It was surreal.  A half dozen police cars parked in the front yard.  Blue lights flashing.  Yellow crime scene tape.  Detectives everywhere.  It looked like they were filming a crime movie,  Stunned, we just sat there staring.   Carol was unable to even get out of the car.  When I finally opened the door I was  approached by a detective. 

Without any specifics, he told  me my son was involved with some bad people and was in over his head.   Later I learned that as the police combed the home for clues to the attempted murder, they found evidence linking my son to two drug store robberies.  He didn’t take any money,  just prescription pain relievers.  Apparently word got out on the street that my son had made a large “score”.  So whoever came in the house was going to take the drugs and kill him.  He nearly succeeded.  The shooter had an AK 47 assault rifle pointed at his head.  The shooter was so close that my son grabbed the gun barrel as he was squeezing the trigger.  Instead of killing him instantly, the shot went thru his arm, shattered a bone, and then punctured his lung twice.  The surgeon informed us that from point blank range the velocity of the bullet was so great that if it hit him anywhere in the upper part of his body, the shock wave would have been fatal.   

I retrospect, I believe God took over on this January night.  It’s almost like He said to us, ”OK, you have been dealing with this for 20 years.  Enough!  I’m taking over from here. I will let our son face death.  I will imprison him. I will get his attention.”

Is it so different from Paul?  Paul was struck down, blinded.  He never knew if he would see again.  He had time to reflect.  God got his attention and his life was changed.   My hope is that the same thing is true of my son.  I believe the Lord has spared my son for a reason.  My prayer is that He uses him and his story as an instrument to help rescue others on the path to destruction. 

Whom Shall I Fear?

         Those who know me know I do not like surprises.  I used to secretly unwrap all my Christmas presents. But life with an addict is always uncertain, always a surprise. In a way, living with a drug addict is like playing with a jack-in-a-box. You know he is going to jump out at the end of the song, you're just not sure which turn of the crank will be the last one.  My son would be positive and pleasant for a few weeks. He might even work a job and carry on normal actives. We would even start thinking that he was heading in the right direction and then... Surprise! Out comes the jack-in-the-box!

         We never knew when or where it might happen. Once we were having dinner with friends, when the phone rang during desert. I knew there was trouble even before the host handed me the receiver. The crank had been turning. Another arrest and the mood switched from silly to somber in seconds.

               After several surprises, we learned never to let our guard down. I always watched and waited for the surprise. Sometimes they came with a little forewarning, kind of like a premonition or feeling. Once when my youngest son was playing an important football game his senior year, I noticed paramedics scanning the crowd. I knew they were looking for me even before they approached my seat. My grandmother had called 911 after my son had attempted to take his own life. He had run into the woods behind our house, bleeding profusely, and the authorities needed to notify us.

               All the surprises were controlling my life. I was living from surprise to surprise.  I was becoming afraid of the jack-in-the-box. I knew I hated the surprises, but they were consuming my thoughts. They were directing my actions.

               It was in the middle of a Bible study on strongholds that I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit. The author defined a stronghold as anything that keeps us from being what God wants us to be.  I had checked off my list each week – no addiction, no insecurity, no obsessions. It was about the fourth week that I opened my lesson and there on the page was my stronghold—FEAR. Those surprises had become a stronghold because they represented my fear of the uncertainty of what might happen next. I was afraid and I needed help.

           Through my study I learned a lot about my stronghold. I began to see fear as the opposite of faith. I finally learned to cope with the surprises by letting go of the fear. It was not an easy task and I could not have done it without the help of the Holy Spirit. I found Bible verses that reassured my faith, like Psalms 23:4,” Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me,” and Isaiah 41: 10 “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.”  But perhaps the best one was a verse that used the word stronghold in the interpretation that I read:

Psalms 27: 1 (NIV) The LORD is my light and my salvation-- whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life-- of whom shall I be afraid?

               Controlling my fear impulse is a daily struggle, any stronghold is. I read somewhere that the Bible say "fear not" some 350 times. God must have wanted us to listen if he mentioned it that many times. That is almost one for every day of the year. Coincidence? I think not.

A Visit to Jail

             Visiting jail is not like visiting prison. Yes, both are correctional facilities but, prison is serious stuff. A visit to the jail is usually one night a week for 2 hours at the most. There are long lines of anxious people following written and unwritten protocol. Sign a form, show your driver's license and wait and wait and wait. When you are called back, you get to visit through a glass divider. Some jails have a phone to communicate with the inmate. I always wanted to wipe it down with Clorox wipes, but you can't take anything back with you. So you talk and you smile and blow kisses, but you can't touch.

             Occasionally, you meet a guard who enjoys his job. Those are rare. Most appear in a bad mood. Maybe it's a way to tune out the sadness. If I were a guard I would feel sorry for every person that walked in to visit. I really do now that I know what most are going through.
             No one ever told me what to expect. It is bad enough facing the consequences of what your loved one has done, but there is so much added stress in not knowing what to plan for at a visit. It takes courage to ask complete strangers where to sign in or where to sit. I once got reprimanded by another visitor because I unknowingly broke in line. Evidently there was a certain seating order and I sat down ahead of my turn. I just wanted to rest my knees.
               Being a woman of faith has helped me keep a positive attitude amid all the frustration.  I chose to see the positive in people. I chose to see God at work in even the direst situations. I chose to smile.
                When you are going through the experience, it is hard to imagine not being immersed in the culture. Some never get to escape. I remember waiting for a visit at the Cullman jail. In the lobby were several children playing as best they could while they waited to see their loved one. I overheard one say, "now you be the Warden." How sad for such young lives to even have that knowledge at such an innocent age.
                I hope my story can bring words of encouragement to someone who is dealing with the court system right now.  Maybe you have a relative in jail, maybe it's you. Whatever the circumstances, there is a light at the end of the tunnel - and it's not a train. Stay the course, keep the faith and The Lord will see you through the gale of the storm. It could always be worse. It could be prison.

Can I Keep My Sense of Humor?

One constant in my journey has been my sense of humor.  It has sustained me when I felt like crying or just simply giving up.  It started long before the problems with my son. I used it as a defense for a tall, uncoordinated young lass who, along with her brother, was being raised by a quirky, single mom and a doting grandmother. Their stories alone could fill volumes.

I look back with smiles now as I recall some of the things I did to try to change my son’s actions.  My husband and I once broke up a party in a quiet neighborhood.  We must have looked like idiots banging on the door and yelling out our son’s name.  We chased suspects all over town, researched strange phone numbers, and even called jails and hospitals to see if he had been admitted. I guess we thought we could make such an impact on him that he would want to change.  We were wrong.  He was not going to change until he decided that staying sober was better than getting high.  No matter how we cried, screamed, threatened, or demanded, the decision had to be his.  I just hate that he had to make his decision in a federal prison. 

Prison has been the place where he has stayed stay sober enough to make rational decisions.  Before his incarceration, he saw suicide as the only way out.  Knowing what I know now, I can’t blame him.  He had dug himself in such a hole that even when he struggled to get out, the ground continued to fall in on him. He felt hopeless.

I can honestly say I never felt a loss of hope.  I guess that’s why I kept praying for him. Each and every day I prayed. Late at night I prayed.  During the day I prayed.  Riding down the road I prayed. In the shower I prayed.  A faithful mother never gives up on her child, no matter what.  On the outside I could laugh and smile, I had to. I had two other wonderful sons and I had to be a caring parent to them, also.  But inside I was screaming my heart out to the Lord.

Because of them I could still find humor in my circumstances.  We could still laugh at some of the situations in which we found ourselves.   I remember one trip with the boys to see my son at drug rehab.  We were all very quiet. We stopped for fast food where the restaurant was guaranteeing our meal in 5 minutes. Of course it took 20.  When we got to the window, the young lady taking our order said “Sorry about your wait, Mam.”  From the back seat, one son asked, “Mom, are you going to let her talk to you like that? “ He had taken her “wait” as “weight” and immediately saw a moment for comic relief.  It took a minute to register, but we had the biggest laugh about her multiple meaning comment to a pleasingly plump, overweight mother.

My joy does not come from my circumstances. It is not of my doing, I have supernatural help.  I have a promise in Romans 15:13 that the “God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”   I have hope.

Why Can't He Tell the Truth?

There is a quote about a tangled web of deceit and how it weaves itself tighter and tighter with every lie.  I never knew how true it was until my son became so intertwined in the drug culture. What would start out as a small lie would grow and grow until it was impossible to find the truth in all the layers of deceit. He got to where he would lie when the truth would serve him better.

It is so frustrating to try to glean the truth from the untruths. I found myself trying to complete the half truths with my speculations. That made matters even worse because I would fill in the blanks with the worst possible scenario. Many times I needed to, many times I did not.

Some things were very clear. There is no doubting a forged check. But often things would go missing and not be noticed for days. That would lead to accusations and arguments.  Sometimes we could catch him in the act, like the time he took his grandfather's pain medicine for his amputated leg. We were able to retrieve the pills. But more often than not we were unable to retrieve the stolen goods.

My husband noticed a signature print missing from his office the night after he had taken my son to a college football game. He had pawned the picture for drug money. Luckily, my husband was able to buy the print back, but we were not so lucky with two missing X Boxes, a PlayStation3, and a diamond bracelet.

After testing positive on a drug test, the courts allowed him to go to a Christian based program in Tennessee. The day my husband drove him to Knoxville, I got a phone call from my brother. My son had forged a check for several thousand dollars on the checking account of my late father’s estate. I was beyond angry.

My husband and son were just past the state line when I called. He admitted his actions. I guess we should have brought him home, but we decided to let him finish the program. We had hopes that it would change him.

You may ask why I just didn't let him get arrested. I was afraid that he might be forced to spend a lifetime in jail for being a repeat offender. I knew it was the disease and not my son acting that way. Fear was guiding my decisions. It was not until his arrest for robbery that I was made aware of his arrest record. He actually had only one prior recorded felony.  Another God thing considering how many times he had been arrested.

His web of deceit finally overtook his brilliant mind. Unable to make the right choices, he robbed a pharmacy.  What followed was like a dream, it just didn't seem real but it was.  All I can do now is look back with amazement and say thank you, Lord.   Thank you for saving my son.  Like the sun breaking through the clouds on a hazy morning, God's glory shone through that web of deceit and exposed the darkness.  His journey is not over and neither is mine. I just pray he can continue to walk in the light.

 

Another Late Night Call

The next arrest came on a Saturday night in January. I remember because I was scheduled to start a new Bible study at my church the next day. I remember being overjoyed about the number of participants since the count had doubled.  A good friend reminded me not to get too excited because the Evil One, whom she calls Big Red, loves to squelch our joy when good things are happening for The Lord.  Sure enough, I got a call at about 2 in the morning.

For anyone who has experienced dealing with a rebellious child, the stress can affect every relationship it touches.  Parents are especially vulnerable since both feel a responsibility in rearing the child.   It is often too easy to let the pressure of the situation dictate the behavior. Hurtful words begin to fly, emotions explode, and each parent finds himself blaming the other for something of which neither is responsible. Add to that the nurturing instinct of the mother and the mix can be volatile.

My husband and I had numerous disagreements about what to do with our wayward son. Do we leave him in jail to wait it out? Do we bail him out and set yet another ultimatum? Both of us thought we knew best what to do. I can remember the knots in my stomach from just worrying about my decision. It's almost a no-win situation regardless of what we choose to do.

My son had been living with my grandmother since his first arrest. She could not bear the thought of him staying in jail, so I found myself driving to Birmingham to bring him home. My mother went with me to pick him up. I was angry and venting on the way down.  When we inquired about bond, we realized neither of us has brought our tax cards so we had to make a trip back home. For some reason, we began singing hymns as we traveled the miles. It calmed me down. It was not until years later that I realized what we were doing was worship. We were unconsciously praising the God of Salvation with our words and our songs.

 

My son came home, but his short stay had not changed his behavior. It may have delayed the inevitable for a short time, but many heartaches were soon to follow.  The Bible Study was a huge success and I was able to rest somewhat peacefully that Sunday night. My greatest joy came from knowing that one Saturday night in January, I was able to praise the Lord and beat Big Red at his game. Like the verse in Genesis 50:20 says: “ You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” Praise the Lord.

 

Did I miss the signs?

People often ask me if I had any idea my son was in trouble. Did I see any signs? Did he exhibit any abnormal behavior? What can they do to prevent the same thing happening to their child?

I do not have the answers.  Looking back, I can see actions that might indicate a problem.  He knew not to steal, yet he shoplifted. He began to answer questions with half-truths and outright lies.  He lost interest in his normal activities and began to spend a lot of time with strange new friends. It was hard to tell if he was depressed or just exhibiting normal, irrational teenage behavior. 

After his arrest, the juvenile courts suggested we begin taking him to a child psychologist. We did, but even he did not suspect any abnormal behavior. The psychiatrist never suggested attention-deficit disorder, or mental illness, or possible drug use. We had no clue how severe the problem was until he ran away from home six weeks before his high school graduation.  By that time we had become aware of his habit of smoking pot. 

My son has a very melancholic personality. He is extremely intelligent and very intuitive. I think this may have contributed to a low self-esteem.  He wanted to play school basketball but never made the team. It was after his last try-out that we began to notice a change in behavior and attitude.  Whatever the cause, we were called in for a conference with his teachers because he had such a drop in grades.  He was an honor student, yet he was refusing to turn in assignments.  He was even caught trying to change a grade on the computer.  Tempers escalated at home; and when he would not follow our rules, there was an altercation and he left.  After a week, we found where he was staying and arranged to get him in a drug treatment facility. 

I look back and see all the times God had His hand on my family and me.  Many times God let me know where to look or who to call.  I once found myself right behind my son at an intersection during school hours, so I knew he was skipping school. God knew I needed to know.   He heard the heartfelt cries from a helpless mother and protected her wayward son. Through 4 car wrecks, 7 arrests, at least 5 suicide attempts, and a point blank gunshot wound to the shoulder from an AK47 assault rifle, God was always there providing and protecting.

I look back with amazement at the events of this journey.   Divine intercession is the only reason my son is living today.  I do not believe in coincidences, I believe in God’s purpose.  There is a reason my son’s life was spared.  I think that is why I feel compelled to tell my story. Through all the pain and heartache, I choose to see God’s Glory in each action and incident.  That’s not to say I didn’t lose sleep over it.  If God numbers the hairs on my head, I’m sure He knows the stress has cost me at least a thousand strands.

We are all alike

If you have ever had a late night phone call, you know the angst it produces the moment you hear the first ring. My grandmother used to tell me that no good happens after midnight, and I believer her. The first time I remember being awakened by a ring, my dad had passed away, but it’s those that involved the law that I remember the most. One late night call came from the Police Department of Argo. My son had been arrested and they requested that we come get him from the municipal jail. He was charged with possession of a controlled substance and drug paraphernalia along with two of his friends. His actions would bring us to court in Pell City. I thought that coming before a judge would be incentive enough to change his life, but I was mistaken. Only now am I beginning to understand the irrational thoughts and actions of a drug addict. There is no reasoning or logic in their behavior. They are consumed with only one thought and that need for self-gratification does not leave room for any compassion or consideration of others. The judge even had the boys sit in on a murder case and see the man shackled and handcuffed. I can still remember the feeling I had as we entered the courtroom. I felt dirty, like I needed to go home and take a long bath. I think I had an attitude at the time that I might be better than those around me. I had been taught to honor the law and getting arrested had been my one greatest fear in my teenage years and on into my twenties. I was embarrassed, humiliated and basically disappointed. I was angry at my son as well. How could he do this to me! I am his Mother! God has really opened my eyes to the Truth during these twenty years. He has reminded me many times of the passage in Romans 8:23. “For we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” I could just as easily be the one on the other side of the chain link fence. The people in jail, court, prison and anywhere else are no different than I am. We are all Children of God. We may be sinners, but if we choose to believe in Jesus Christ we can be forgiven for all that we have done. I see others differently now. I see them through the light of God’s Grace.

When was my first visit?

I am a mother with a son in prison. I often wonder how I got in this place in my life. Did I do something wrong as a parent? Am I being punished for something I did or did not do? Why do I deserve this plight? It has taken me a lifetime to realize that I am not in charge of what happens to me in my life, nor do I have to know why. We are all part of a much bigger picture - one that none of us can truly understand. The only reassurance I have is that I am a Christian and I believe what the Bible says in Romans 8:28 that "all thing work for the good of those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose." I decided to begin writing about my journey because I think there just might be another mom or dad out there who needs some encouragement. It is no an easy task to face each day with a child whom you truly love in a distant, unfamiliar place. It is embarrassing, humiliating, and scary to imagine what dangers might be surrounding your precious loved one. I have to remind myself each day that there will be an end to this part of my journey. My son will be released one day and I will be able to hug him and kiss him whenever I want. Some mothers are not so lucky. The first time I had to bail my son out of jail was on a youth trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. I had gone as a volunteer chaperone for the group since I had a large van that could carry several students. He had been arrested for shoplifting a small sticker and a picture. The value of the items were less that $5, but the store had a zero tolerance policy for shoplifting. Another mom and I had to pool our money to come up with the $85 to post his bail. We managed to scrape enough together, but it took all of our food money so were hungry the rest of the trip. That doesn't really qualify as a visit, but I had to start at the beginning. I wanted you to know that it has not been an easy journey, nor a short one. My son was 14 at the time and he had his 34th birthday last August. That is twenty years of sleepless nights, counseling, drug tests, court dates, bail bonds, and lawyers. In an odd way, I have a peace in knowing where he is at night. It was not always that way. When he was first sentenced, his dad and I felt sure he would be sent to a medium security prison. Imagine our shock when we found out he had been sent to a maximum security prison some 530 miles away. My story is too long for one blog, but if you choose to follow me I intend on writing my story from beginning to end. For now I will just say that God let me know that He would protect my son in ways that I could not even imagine.