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.
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.
"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.
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