Conversations with Parolees

I started a ministry with my father two years ago. It is in affiliation with Prison Fellowship Ministries, a nationwide organization dedicated mainly to mentoring prisoners then following up with them once they are out. Our focus is a bit different. We mentor to people who are out now, trying to re-enter a society that does not want them. The experience has been amazing. They teach us more than we teach them! Our goal is to introduce them to God’s love and forgiveness through Christ’s work on the cross, while at the same time giving them practical tools to use in their everyday struggles. We are not counselors, we are coaches and mentors.

Here is a transcript of a few conversations that took place this past year (to the best of my recollection):

Something Good:

Mentor: When you die, on your tombstone will read the day you were born, a dash, and the day you died. What, if anything, do you want that dash to represent?

Parolee: I don’t know. Something good. I want to be remembered for the good things I’ve done. Not the bad. I’m tired of being remembered for the bad.

Mentor: What is “something good?”

Parolee: Staying clean. Loving my kids. Making my wife happy. Supporting my family. That’s something good. This might be the wrong reason, but I see myself walking my baby girl to school, holding her hand, and someone says, “See that beautiful girl? Too bad her dad’s a meth cooker.” I don’t want them to be able to say that.

Mentor: That is definitely not a wrong reason.

*Note: this parolee stayed clean for about six months after coming out of prison. He has since been violated (sent to Technical Violators Program or to prison for violating a condition of his probation, i.e. “peeing dirty” (failing a drug test)) three times, abandoned his wife and 6 month old daughter, moved in with another woman (also a meth addict) and has been cooking meth ever since.

I Need a Change:

Mentor (to new member): Tell us why you’ve joined us. Why are you here?

Parolee: I just turned 33. I’ve been in an out of prison since I was 14. I got five girls and a wife. My girls are 7 to 13. They’re all old enough to know what I’m doing. I just got out three weeks ago and I’m tired of being gone from them. They need me. I need a change. My way ain’t working, so I need a new way. They told me y’all might help me find it.

Mentor: We’ll certainly try. Welcome to our group.

*Note: this parolee has relapsed three times and been violated twice. He is out again, working, but still drinks, uses meth, and is physically and emotionally abusive to his wife. She chooses to stay with him. He no longer attends our group.

It's Positive in Here:

Parolee: I don’t know why I keep coming here. I feel like a hypocrite. Tomorrow night I’ll be drinkin’ or smokin’ weed with my buds. But I gotta have something good in my life. I ain’t got nothin’ else good. I can’t find a job. I got no money. I got no car. I want to just go steal again to pay the rent. But I can’t go back to jail.

Mentor: What makes you keep showing up each week?

Parolee: I don’t know. I try not to come but something tells me I need to. It’s positive in here. Today some dude was givin’ me a hard time and I wanted to smash his face in. I wanted to beat him down. But I can’t go back again. But I’m so damned mad all the time I can’t stand it. This place is, I don’t know, positive.

Mentor: Guess what? I’ll tell you in front of the group. You have a job. You report tomorrow for your interview and start Monday. I talked to _______ Co. downtown, and they said they would be willing to hire you if I would vouch for you. Full time, with benefits. Congratulations! (intermittent claps and praises from around the room)

Parolee (with mouth literally open and tears in his eyes): I don’t even know what to say.

*Note: this parolee dropped out of the group. We do not know where he lives or works.

I'll Be Here When You Come Back:

Mentor: You gave up crack and alcohol over a year ago. Do you even crave it anymore?

Parolee: No. It’s gone. I don’t even think about it.

Mentor: Why not? What changed?

Parolee: God is all I need now. I don’t need that stuff anymore.

Mentor: So, what do you tell a guy who wants to change, wants to do right, but he just can’t kick the habit? I mean, he’s begged and pleaded for help; cried and told me he wants to be different; gone to rehab; started going to church again. Then, a week later, he’s high or drunk and beating on his wife. What do you tell him?

Parolee: I’d tell him ‘How many times are you gonna go down that road? How many times are you gonna turn your back?’

Mentor: But you’ve asked him that fifty times, and he always says ‘no more.’ So what do you do now? Give up on him? Kick him to the curb? Does there come a time when you just let him go?

Parolee: (shaking his head emphatically) No. I mean you gotta let him make those choices. But you don’t ever give up on him. You never let him go. That man is where I was a few years ago. And look at me now. Y'all didn’t give up on me when I came here and was depressed and wanted to commit suicide. So don’t give up on him either. Just love him and let him know you’ll be there when he turns back around.

Mentor: Good stuff. That’s exactly what I told him. I’ll be here when you come back.

*Note: this parolee lives in his own apartment, has a full-time job with benefits, has bought a car and regained his license, acquired his GED, attends church every week, and is a positive force in all our lives.

Yes. Maybe. I Don't Know:

Mentor: Where is God in your life right now?

Parolee: He’s up there. I mean I know he’s there. But I don’t involve him too much.

Mentor: Why not? Don’t you think he could help?

Parolee: Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.

Mentor: Do you believe God loves us?

Parolee: Yes.

Mentor: Do you believe Jesus died on the cross so that God would forgive our sins?

Parolee: Yes. (head lowers and hands fidget)

Mentor: You just don’t believe God loves you or Christ died for your sins. Right?

Parolee: Nope. I don’t. I don’t see how it’s possible.

Mentor: (laughing) Don’t get the big head now. Your sins aren’t any more special than mine or anyone else’s! The difference in you and me is that I know I’m not worthy of the cross. You’re still trying to be. Just realize that none of us are, and accept it anyway. It’s a gift. Remember?

Parolee: (smiling) I’ll try.

*Note: this parolee accepted Christ as his Savior two weeks ago. He has a new job, and new perspective, and a new purpose. He still struggles and needs your prayers.

Back to Reality:

From the visitation room at the Faulkner county detention center. Parolee has been in for 6 weeks awaiting trial.

Mentor: You doing okay?

Parolee: I’m making it. It’s easy to find Jesus in here ‘cause you don’t have much else to find. We have a bible study that I attend and it helps me. I want to change my life and I know only God can do that. I hope he will. I’m tired of this circle I’ve been living.

Mentor: How do you pray?

Parolee: I pray that God will protect me. I pray he will protect my girlfriend. I pray for the others in here and the guards. I pray for the judge and attorney. I pray for you and the others, too.

Mentor: We have been praying for you, too, but now I will know how to pray better – I am going to pray that Jesus reveals himself to you in a way you have never known before. Do you understand that?

Parolee: I think so.

Mentor: I will pray that you will find a relationship with Jesus that begins with sharing in his death. You should understand that in his death you, and I, were given the only chance to really live. But when you know that the cross is his work for your salvation, then you must want to share in the cross with him. To do that you will have to ask God to reveal to you that which needs to die on that cross. And when he begins to show you, then you let it die and start to see how good life can be.

After a 30 minute visit, the parolee placed his hands in the mentor’s, and they bowed and prayed. He raised his head with a smile on his face. Then the guard opened the door and exclaimed, "Time's up! Let's go!"

Back to reality...back to the cell...back to the consequences. That's okay, though, we all have to deal with reality. But doing it with Christ as our protector is much easier.

*Note: this parolee is now in prison and is up for parole in about six months. He will get married while he’s there, and is looking forward to coming out and rejoining the group. Pray that a change occurs in him.

You Just Check Out:

Mentor: So what made you stop smoking pot this last time? Did you just have enough? Were you tired of it? Was it a moral decision, or a financial one?

Parolee: A little of both. I didn't have any more. Couldn't afford any more. Got tired of dealing with trying to get it. You know, what if you get shorted, what if you don't get what you pay for. Then you gotta go say something to the dude, then maybe you get into a fight...It's just a hassle. It's like, all that for this? It ain't even worth it sometimes.

Mentor: What about your wife and children? Did you quit for them? Would you quit for them?

Parolee: Yeah, I guess.

Mentor: Let me ask you a harsh question: what makes you think that you can just use pot to check out when the rest of us have to deal with our problems with things like prayer, or talking it out with another person, or pain and tears...Why do you get to check out when the problems remain for others to deal with?

Parolee to his wife: Do you feel that way? Like I check out?

Parolee's wife: Yeah. It's like, you're gone to work for ten hours while I'm at home all day dealing with the kids, then you come home and smoke, and then you're done. It's like you don't care about anything...You just check out. So I don't get to talk to you about my problems, and your problems are still there, too.

Mentor to parolee: How do you act when you're high?

Parolee: I'm easier to get along with, that's for sure (laughing). That's how you know it's working!

Parolee's wife: It's not funny to me.

*Note: this conversation occurred last night. This parolee has been coming with his wife for a few months, after having attended our group alone for six months then dropping out when they had a child. He is searching for new ways to handle life. He is asking hard questions, like "How can I find something in common with my wife?" or, "How do you remove yourself from a situation when you're always in it?" (this question followed a suggestion that in order to put Christ and our loved ones first we must learn to remove ourselves from the middle of our problems, not making them all about "me," but giving them away to Christ, and putting the needs of our loved ones ahead of our own.)

The thing that astonishes me each week is that there is so much pain brought into the room. Situations exist whose depths and pain I cannot even begin to fathom. Yet, each week, from the most unexpected voice or verse or prayer, hope finds its way into the room. And once it is there it permeates our very souls. We can then trudge through the problems in front of us with a strength and confidence that we could never muster alone.

I leave Monday nights deeply affected, being simultaneously drained and invigorated, simultaneously wounded and healed, simultaneously mourning and rejoicing. To me that's what life is: near impossible circumstances met with inadequately-equipped individuals who can find triumph in Christ.

John 16:33 (NLT) "I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world."

Hope Needs an Object

Dedicated to Anabelle Rose Willbanks, my beautiful Belle.

Merriam-Webster defines hope as “to cherish a desire with anticipation; to desire with expectation of confidence.” I like those. Anticipation, expectation, confidence—all words that inspire, well, hope.

The problems of the world and of this life can look like ashes rising into a bright, beautiful blue sky if you know how to look past them and into the sunlight. That's what hope allows us to do- -find a way to look past them and into the light.

About five months ago, our then 19 month-old daughter was diagnosed with osteomyelitis. Her infection began as diskitis in her lumbar spine, and then moved to the two adjacent vertebrae and the surrounding muscles. We first noticed something was wrong when she began crawling everywhere, after having been walking for over six months. We thought at first that she was playing because we had just gotten her a new puppy, so we figured she was mimicking him by crawling around. Then, when she did walk, it was somehow different. Her steps were ginger, almost tip-toed. She pushed her pelvis forward as if to alleviate some pain somewhere.

Her mother took her to the doctor after a week of this, and he diagnosed her with constipation and put her on a stool softener. She was indeed constipated, but after that cleared up her walking did not improve. We just knew something was not right. Hip dysplasia? Bones spurs? Crippled? My mind spewed out questions as I tried to avoid the concerned look of family members when we pointed out what was going on. This went on for a few days, then one day she grabbed the side rails of her changing table, arched her back and whimpered in pain when I changed her diaper. Her mother and I took her back to see her family doctor; this time they did x-rays and immediately got her an appointment at the state children’s hospital the following Monday. After ten minutes with the orthopedist, we were checking her into the hospital for treatment. It all happened so fast our heads were spinning.

What is the first thing you do nowadays when you get a new diagnosis or need to know something medical? That’s right—WebMD, Google, CDC.gov, and on and on. After reading up on diskitis and osteomyelitis, we were terrified.

Debilitating effects…, …cancer is a common comorbidity…, …1 in 250,000…, …morbidity exacerbated by delayed diagnosis…, …mortality 2-12%..., …possibly caused by direct trauma…, …Staphylococcus aureus…, …possible MRSA…

These phrases were spinning through our brains. I began to wonder if we had watched her take her last steps a few weeks before. I saw children being pulled through the hallways by parents, loved ones, nurses and orderlies; children who were bald from chemotherapy and radiation. I wondered if our daughter would join them. I played the tape out too far…what if she dies? What if, at the very least, she’s crippled and in a wheel chair for life? How did this happen? Did she have a UTI and we missed it? Did someone at daycare hurt her? When was she sick? How could this be happening?

I snapped out of one of these query-filled assaults and realized I was staring at my daughter, strapped to a table, an I.V in her foot, being sucked into an MRI machine. Her mother and I were almost in shock. “This is surreal,” Jen whispered to me as she held on to my arm with her head on my shoulder. “Our baby’s sick!”

So was my stomach. I couldn’t believe we were there. Twenty month-old children who are all of 30 inches tall and 26 pounds just do not look right on an MRI bed with tubes coming out of them, wearing bright colored hospital pajamas and Velcro straps across their forehead and wrists.

We stayed in the hospital with our daughter for three days. Friends and family members visited. Hugs, kisses, and prayers were offered and readily accepted. Our daughter had a team of infectious disease specialists attending to her needs around the clock.

On the fourth day they inserted a p.i.c.c. (peripherally inserted central catheter) line into her right bicep, fed it through her brachial vein and into her superior vena cava. They then stitched a clamp to her arm to hold it in place and affixed a syringe attachment to the end so that we could administer I.V. antibiotics three times a day. That afternoon we went home and began our battle with whatever damned bug had invaded our daughter’s body. For the first two days a home health nurse came over and showed us how to administer the antibiotics—saline flush, heparin block, automated pump, and all.

Thirty-seven days later, after watching her blood test results (sedimentation rate and C-reactive protein levels, both of which are used to monitor inflammation) improve, worsen, and then eventually reach normal, her p.i.c.c. line was removed and she was then on oral antibiotics for the next two to three weeks. Prognosis: the two vertebrae that were attacked were partially eaten away and will probably fuse together as they heal, limiting her mobility but decreasing the pain. She will probably suffer from lower back pain in her twenties. “She won’t be an Olympic gymnast, but she can do other things,” the infectious disease specialist told us. “She will be an Olympic gymnast if she wants to be,” I thought silently to myself.

You cannot blame the specialist for his comments. He has seen this many times before and knows what he is talking about. But I know my daughter. She is strong. She did the splits over the ottoman a few weeks later…WITH her back pain. I am grinning from ear to ear as I type this. She will be an Olympic gymnast if she wants to be.

Five months ago we envisioned horrible things as a result of all that we saw, read, and heard. A battery-operated wheel chair, braces, crutches, back surgery, biopsies, transplants, chemotherapy and even death entered our minds as we tried to predict the future. Now, having witnessed her swift recovery and almost willful defiance of her own prognosis, I am filled with hope that my daughter will heal. It is not just a desire for healing, but an anticipation with confidence. I have seen the evidence. I have endured the fear. And now I look past the ashes once again into the sunlight. My daughter has proven to me that my desires are not misplaced. Therein resides the hope.

If you have placed hope in something that is inherently flawed, you can bet it will be dashed. People make mistakes. Money runs out. Jobs are never guaranteed to last. Our bodies fail us. Natural disasters await us around the next bend. Nasty bacteria make their way into children's spines. Nothing on this planet is infallible or completely predictable. Therefore nothing on this planet should be the object of our hope, our anticipation with confidence. A man once told me that when you find hope in Christ your expectations of people are lowered tremendously. And as pessimistic as that sounds, it actually takes a lot of pressure off of the people in our lives and the circumstance in which we live. Now that my hope is in Christ, if my fellow man fails me, I may feel disappointment, but I am not crushed. I look to the end game, offer the same forgiveness God gave me, and move on.

Hope needs an object. If you do not want to see that hope destroyed, be sure that its object is steadfast, eternal, and true to its word.

When He's Done, He's Done

He had a job. He had a family. He had pride. He was one of those guys who walked down the street and people were just drawn to his energy, his smile, and his confidence. He made minimum wage (this was 20 years ago) and yet he was still able to give a handout to a friend in need. He was one happy cat. Christ was his Savior. God was his Maker. All was well with Nate.

Then…

Nate, come have a beer here. Nate, come have a smoke there. Nate, turn your back on what you know is best for you.

Drug charge. Jail. Jobless. Penniless. Hopeless.

Nate was sent to our group a year and a half ago. He has one of those personalities that immediately draws you in. You yearn for a bit more detail even when he has finished his story. He is a Southern black man; proud, yet retiring. According to my son he looks just like Mace Windu from Star Wars (that would be Samuel L. Jackson to the rest of us.) When we met Nate he could not write much more than his name. He had no job. No money. No pride. His family looked at him as an opportunity for groceries because he was eligible for Medicaid money and food stamps. But he was strong in his commitment to reconnect with God and get his life on track again.

He came to one meeting, then two, then three. Our relationship grew with Nate, but unbeknownst to us, so did his depression. Week four he called to say he could not make it because of a tooth ache. Sometime later that week my father got a call from Nate’s sister saying he told her he wanted to end it all and had taken off. They eventually found him wandering the streets and got him back home. He fooled everyone into letting him go to bed, then he opened the bottle. Over the counter sleeping pills. He ate them all.

He told us that after he took the pills he knew he had made a mistake. He called 911 and told them what he had done. They rescued him, made him drink the charcoal milkshake, and sent him home.

After several more weeks of ups and downs, Nate emerged a new man. He returned to our group, and with our help has now earned his GED. He has not one but two bank accounts. He has a full-time job with benefits. He is living in his own apartment now, after living for a year in a place that was provided for through donations. He has that pep in his step again. He has his pride back.

“Nate, what is your routine nowadays?” I asked several months ago in one of our weekly meetings.

“I wake up, thank the Lord for allowing me to wake (like I do everyday), then I get up, shower, and go to school ’til 12. Then I walk to work at the college where I do my custodian job. I get off at six, walk home, shower, then maybe catch some TV, read my Bible, then get ready for bed. I pray to God and tell him thank you for letting me get through this day, and ask that if it is in his will I wake up tomorrow.” He tells it with such pride. It makes you smile. You find yourself bobbing your head to the rhythm of Nate's words when he speaks.

A while back, one of our parolees was struggling with a problem he was having with his family. It is a common problem among our group members. Either they have been outcast and ridiculed by their family, or they are constantly bombarded for money, mostly because their family has had to support their addictions, fines, jail or prison stays, back child support, and so on.

Nate was there, and when he felt the need to speak up, man, did he ever. "Family? You wanna know about problems with family? Lemme tell you about family!"

He needed a pulpit and a robe on. He was about to deliver a sermon...

"For years since I been out, all my brothers and sisters, and even my Momma look at me like I'm some kinda paycheck. They want me around so they can use my food stamps and collect my unemployment check. Always taking from me! Never giving me nothin'! Then, I go and get in some trouble. I get depressed and try to take my life. And where are they then? Where is my family? Nowhere!

Tears fill Nate's eyes. His voice begins to falter as he looks down at the table. "And guess who God sends to me to help me out. A sixty year-old, white haired, white man who I ain't known for nothin' but a few months! That's my family now." (Nate is referring to my father, Mike.)

"Family ain't who you're kin to, family is who is there for you. If your sister is trying to use you or take advantage of you or put you in harm's way, then forget her! She ain't no family!"

I wanted to slap the table and holler "Amen!"

When Nate finishes a sermon, he clamps his lips together, nods a few times, and looks down at the table. You know it's over, and you want more, but you know not to ask. When he's done, he's done. I wish you could hear his voice. He tells the story as if you should already know it, and more importantly, you should be doing the same.

There was another incident in which one of our parolees was having trouble getting along with his Parole Officer (P.O.). Again, Nate went to preachin':

"My P.O. ain't no nice person. But I will NOT let her steal my joy! I go in there, sit down, listen to what she has to say, answer her questions, say 'Yes ma'am,' and I'm out the door. And when I leave I'm just as happy with my Lord as I was when I got there. She will NOT steal my joy! You've got to do the same. You let these people get under your skin and steal your joy. It's yours to give away! So don't let 'em have it!"

Amen, Nate. Amen.

Nate is a new man, in more ways than one. He once kidded with us that he was going to be a preacher some day. Well, Brother Nate, you already are.

We have mentored to theives, drug addicts, dealers, drug manufacturers, murderers, batterers, and those who are “completely innocent of their charges.” We have seen a former meth. cooker and user who attempted suicide step up and become an accountability partner to an alcoholic. We have seen grown men and women weep because they have to take care of their children now that they are out of prison and have no idea how. We have seen a husband and wife cry out for help when all hope is lost, then find that hope all over again. We have seen a lot in this group. But most of all we have seen God in the mix. I personally cannot wait until the next meeting.

Join us in Life After Prison Ministries' meetings, Mondays at 6:30pm at the Faulkner County Public Library on Tyler St. Or, keep us and all of our members in your prayers.

Why Would God Kill Himself?

This night was a learning experience, for all involved. This night we watched the pressures of life take a man to the end of himself. And this night we watched God bring him into His family.

Michael is a young man in our "aftercare" group. The group is called C4ward (Christian Coalition for Community Change), and the meetings are called Going for the Gold, a paraphrase of Philippians 3:12-15. "Aftercare" is the term for mentoring groups that help men and women on parole or probation make the difficult transition from prison back into society. "Difficult" is a severe understatement..."Down right impossible" seems more fitting most of the time.

Allow me to set the stage for our meeting two Monday nights ago: Eight mentors arrived, each with various levels of experience in mentoring, each with differing ideas on how to best approach life's problems, and each with one very important characteristic in common: We know that nothing is impossible with Christ. Two parolees showed up on this particular night; not uncommon lately. At one point in time we had 10-15 attendees on any given Monday, but "life" has happened to many of them, and our numbers have dwindled to five, with two to three regular attendees. By "life" I mean relapse, prison, or pride have taken these members away from us. But if two years of history have taught us anything, it is that most of them will be back. Our group has become a respite for some, a beacon for others, and a reminder to all that somebody loves them. When they decide it is time to take on life alone and it comes slamming down on them, they show back up at our doorstep, weak and weary, looking for something positive.

For thirty minutes we eight mentors met with one parolee named Jake. Jake is an interesting character, to say the least. He is off paper now (has finished his time on parole), but chooses to come to the meetings anyway. I suspect he still craves the love we offer him, a love he does not feel much of outside our doors, and he enjoys the message of hope we try to convey each week. Jake was a meth. cooker, a skill that landed him in prison more than once. Jake has a child he never sees, an estranged relationship with his parents, and not a nickle to his name. Jake is also one of the smartest people I have ever met. He can disband, repair, and rebuild anything electronic. He is a licensed welder, is great with tools and carpentry, mechanics, and a plethora of other skills. Jake is also a victim of "the label." When a man is sent to prison, whether he is rehabilitated or not, one thing is for sure upon his release: he will forever be labeled a felon. And this label is a heavy one. It reduces one's chances to find work, it sends friends running in the opposite direction, and it takes self-esteem to its lowest level. Therefore Jake, like so many felons, hides behind his label with his lack of self-esteem and continues to struggle to make ends meet.

Our meeting with Jake that night was positive. We talked about new opportunities that had arisen for him, and old problems that continued to resurface. Then, in walks Michael, fresh from his mechanic job, still smelling of oil, sweat and the cigarette he must have just finished as he approached the church building in which we meet.

Michael came in with an agenda. He needed to vent, and he needed us to shut up and listen. Being the astute mentors that we are, we missed all three of those points. As soon as Michael began to tell us about his problems at work (no respect from boss or co-workers, inconsistent policies and practices, no rewards or recognition for hard work or working beyond his job description), we began to give him solutions. "What you need to do is this..." one mentor said. "Here's your problem..." another chimed in. Next thing you know we had handily solved all of Michael's problems, and even read some scripture to him (Ephesians 6:5-8) to bring the point home. At the time, our suggestions and the scripture passage seemed appropriate and helpful. Each person was drawing on God's word or their own life experiences, and genuinely intended to help Michael through his problems.

At one point I asked Michael who he was doing all this good work for. "Myself." he replied. "Well, you're doing it for the wrong person." I retorted.

We were on a roll that night, making a difference, changing a life, getting our mentoring-groove on. That is until Michael got up and stormed out of the room. As he walked out, he took all of the air with him. Our eyes darted from face to face, each one searching for an answer to the same question: "Did I say something wrong?"

We sat there in silence for a minute or so, then I decided to go after him. I went to the parking lot and thankfully his car was still there. I eventually found him in the church atrium, leaned against a window with his back to me, sobbing. When I reached him I asked him if I had upset him with my question. His answer was emphatic. "I'm sick of all of this, Shane. I'm sick of everybody giving me the answers to everything when they don't realize that I've tried all that stuff. Everybody acts like I'm being selfish!" He went on to explain that when he said he did his work for himself, he meant that to be a perfectionist at work is the only way he knows how to be and that he takes great pride in that. He wants to be the best employee he can be, but does not know how to handle the fact that everyone else at the shop in which he works has a different method, and makes sure that they tell him his is wrong. He is tired of not getting recognized for extra effort. He hates working there but cannot leave because of the bills and child support he must continue to pay. He makes $420 a week but brings home less than $200 after child support. Yet his ex-wife won't let him see his children and the system won't help him change that.

I told Michael he is looking for approval from a place that cannot and will not give it to him. I told him he seeks approval and acceptance from everyone in his life, and unfortunately, aside from the members of our group, none of them will give him what he needs. I told him that there are no guarantees that our group will be there forever or that its members won't move on to something else in the future. In other words, I told him that he placed all his hopes in mankind, and because of that he has set himself up for failure.

As he listened I explained to him that the only time I ever felt real approval is when I realized that Christ died for me on the cross. I went on to explain how my life has changed in the past few years because I turned back to God. Michael was receptive to what I had to say, and his anger began to subside.

I then asked him if he had a bright spot in his week at all. He answered, "Church." He told me that two weeks before, he had nearly broken his neck trying to get down front for an alter call at his church, but froze up when it came time to pray. He talked with his preacher about it that day and several times since. "So you were saved two weeks ago?" I asked with excitement. "No," he said with a scoff through his tears, "my thinking is way too messed up for that."

"You feel unworthy?" I asked.

"Shane, I get so angry when I think about my kids. I get so angry when I think about work, and my girlfriend, and everything else in my life! How can I possibly be a Christian with all this anger?!"

I don't recall if it was at this moment or sometime prior that I began to pray that God send someone else out here to take over for me. I told Him I couldn't do it, that I didn't have the words. "This is too great a responsibility for me, God. What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing?" As I stared down the hallway, no one came, and Michael was still there, still upset, still needing Christ. "Okay, here we go!" I thought.

"Do you know why Christ came down here and died for us? Has anyone ever explained that to you?"

"Man I don't understand any of that crap! Why would God become a man? Why would he come live down here? And why would God kill himself?! It just doesn't make any sense!"

"Okay, I'm going to try to make this as simple as possible for you." I explained that thousands of years ago God was fed up with us all. Every time we sinned he required a blood sacrifice for atonement. At one point, the blood was not enough so he wiped us all out and let Noah and his clan start it all over. But we weren't any better the second time. We still were full of greed, lust, deceit, anger, and so on. We still worshiped other gods and took God's name in vain all the time. We still got angry when we thought of not seeing our kids, or troubles at work, or with the girlfriend, or whatever else was bothering us. We still sinned all the time. But God loved us so much that he wanted to spend eternity with us. The problem is that He is perfect and we are full of sin and could never shed enough blood to be pure and enter into His presence.

A light bulb went off. "Is this where Jesus comes in?" With the innocence of a child Michael began to understand.

"Yes." I smiled. I continued to explain that God decided to take care of the problem once and for all. He sent His Son Jesus down here to become our sin in human form. He took on all your anger, all my lust, all of our perverted needs to be accepted, He took all of our sins and carried them on His back. Then He let us put Him up on a cross and kill Him. And when He died, so did our sins. But then He rose again, and went back up to be with His Father.

"He gave us a gift, Michael. And now He's just waiting for you to accept it. I'm not saying you'll stop sinning and things will magically get better tomorrow. What I'm saying is that you'll finally understand who you really are, who God thinks you are, not what these idiots down here think you are."

He cried softly. "Do you want that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Do you want that now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then I'm going to pray, and if you can, repeat what I say." My heart was in my throat. "What the heck am I supposed to say now?!" my brain screamed.

"God, you got two guys down here, neither of whom deserve your Grace. The only difference in us is that one of us has accepted your gift, unworthy as he is, and the other has yet to. Jesus..."

I waited for Michael to repeat. He could only sob.

"Jesus, I accept your gift. I thank you for what you did for me on the cross. I ask you into my heart and into my life. I need you to be my Savior because I can't do this alone anymore."

"I...need...you." Michael cried softly. I smiled and shed a tear. "He heard you, brother. That's about as good a prayer as you can pray."

We hugged, he bawled, and we walked back to the meeting room. The group had left 15 minutes prior, but a few members were waiting on us. I told them of his decision and they applauded with joy. My father, Mike, who started this group with me two years ago, told Michael that on behalf of the mentors he wanted to apologize. He told him that on a night when he needed an ear he got a bunch of mouths. He told him that we had learned a valuable lesson from Michael. That sometimes mentoring is just shutting up and listening. Amen to that.

It's been a week and a half since that night. We have a lot of discipling to do, and a lot of problems to sort through. But in this short time Michael has found joy. He was fired from the job he hated and was immediately hired at a big name service center who will pay for his schooling, licensing, and give him the opportunity to move up the ranks. God closed one door and opened another for Michael.

"And you want to know the best part?" Michael asked with a smile as he told us about his new job. "The best part is that they have a policy manual that everybody follows!"

Mentoring is hard. Life is hard. But God is good. Join us on Monday nights at Fellowship Bible Church in Conway and be a part of something bigger than yourself. Join us and make a difference in one of God's children's lives.