A Letter to an Inmate

This is a letter Pops recently sent to an inmate we've been working with for the past year and a half.  The inmate was immediately sent to the hole when he arrived at prison for possessing a tatoo gun.

Sometimes we have to find ways to say things so they'll understand where we're coming from.  We've been using this 'game analogy' for the past few months as we teach our re-entry classes, and they seem to get it each and every time.

April 22, 2013

Hey Randy,

It’s about time you got out of going to the hole. It’s not as if you don’t know how, right?  Last Christmas, Shane bought him a new PS-3 and gave it to his 12-y.o. son, Noah, for Christmas. Sneaky, huh. Yeah, he thought so too. Anyway, he also bought Call of Duty, Black Ops II. Noah asked if he could spend all the time he needed to beat the game. Shane said okay since it was Christmas vacation. Noah beat the game, 55 levels, in 8 hours.

So then Shane gets the game and is killed at level 3 repeatedly. Noah laughs at him. See, Shane knows how not to get killed, but each time he gets to certain points, he wants to outsmart the game and take the bad guys on up close and personal. He loses each time. Noah, on the other hand knows the game is programmed to be the same every time he goes through it. Instead of trying to invent new ways of killing the bad guys, he does as it is programmed and although he kills them the same way as he did before, he advances through each level and wins – he beats the game.

“Surviving Prison to Parole” is a PS-3 game Randy. It is programmed to allow you to either beat the game or get beaten at each level. Since it is programmed, it cannot be beaten by trying to outsmart it. No matter how you try to change it, it stays programmed to react only one way. You abscond and get immediate sanctions. You break a rule and get a programmed intervention. It is no different than is Call of Duty.  Moreover, you already know how to beat each level and win the game; but for some crazy reason, continue trying to beat it your way. You were smarter than this the last time I knew you up close and personal.

I bet that if I could get you out of prison and make you a deal, you would take the deal. Just playing here, suppose this was real: I offer to assign you as mentor to a kid who is on parole for his first time. The deal is – you mentor and coach the kid for one year keeping him from any sanction, never going to TVP (Technical Violators Program) for the entire year, and I reward you by cutting your flat date time in half. Would you take it? Could you do it? Of course, you would and you could. So, why aren’t you helping yourself as much as you would help the kid?

Yeah, I know…sometimes I am a cold lick. But you see Randy, I do not think we have much time left to make amends. And I’ll be damned if I allow you to miss out on restoring your life with your daughters and living a righteous life by not saying what needs to be said at the moment you need to hear it.

I mailed your letters to your girls today.  I hope you enjoy the book enclosed. You are loved.

Mike Willbanks

Mr. Willbanks, You Are Under Arrest...

Those were the words the deputy said to me this morning at my home in the driveway.  I had gone shopping for dog food and a few other household items at the local dollar store, only to realize I had left my wallet at home.  I returned to find a deputy sitting in my driveway, with a stack of papers in his hands.

"Are you Mr. Willbanks?" he asked.
"Yes," I responded.  "What's this about?"
"Michael Shane Willbanks?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, timidly.
"I have some papers here, sir. This is a Body Attachment out of Logan County for child support," he added.

I know what a Body Attachment is, having seen many of the parolees we deal with in our ministry serve jail time for non-payment of child support over the years.  I think I gulped audibly.  "Oh," I said. "I don't understand, I've been dealing with that office for the past few months trying to get them to modify my payments. They never mentioned a Body Attachment," I told him. "I'm trying to get square with them and fulfill my obligations, I'm just struggling financially right now," I said as I realized I was telling this to the wrong person.

"Well, they've issued one, and I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to take you with me," he said.
"Are you arresting me?" I asked him, still in disbelief.
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid so. Mr. Willbanks, you are under arrest," the deputy replied. "Turn around and face the vehicle. Now place your hands behind your back, palms together," he commanded as he placed the hand cuffs around my wrists.  "You can just get in back here," he said as he opened the back passenger door of his white Dodge Durango.  I stepped inside.

We had a nice conversation about the recent snow storm and other pleasantries as we drove to Unit 2 and pulled into the back drive way in front of some garage doors.

"I've got one," he told the man's voice in the drive-through speaker. "Faulkner County."
The middle door opened and he pulled into the warehouse where detainees were dropped off and sent to booking.  A white van pulled up beside us and seven inmates in grey and white striped or orange jumpsuits were escorted inside behind me.  Each one was wearing shackles on his or her wrists and ankles.

A very nice female detention officer met me at the door and began the process of taking me in.  She removed my cuffs and asked me to remove my cap, my hoodie sweatshirt, my shoes, and the contents of my pockets.  She then placed my right wrist in a red cuff chained to the wall and began to inventory my belongings.  Once I answered her medical questions and assured her there were no drugs or drug paraphernalia or anything that might stick her on my person, she placed some latex gloves on her hands and searched me from head to toe.  She ran her hands through my hair, checked the collar of my t-shirt, then felt my armpits, my chest and waist, then my back.  Down my legs, groin and rear end she ran her gloves, then searched my socks and felt between each of my toes.  She then gave me a pair of jail-issued flip-flops and put my belongings in a bag with my name and case number printed on the side.  I was taken to the booking desk where I was allowed to make one three minute phone call to my father, who assured me that my bond had been posted with the Office of Child Support Enforcement in Logan County, and we would have to await a fax from their office to the Faulkner County Sheriff's Office before I would be released.

As I awaited her filling out some paperwork, a young woman in an orange jumpsuit was brought in wearing shackles.  She had just returned from court and she was crying.  "Where are they going to take my baby?" she asked a detention officer in a loud, crying voice.
"Calm down," he told her.  "Your child has been taken into State custody."
The young woman wailed and fell to the ground as she screamed, "NO! NO! Please! Take her to my mom! Please!"
The officers took her away to a holding cell as they attempted to calm her down.

An old, grey-haired man, probably in his seventies, looked at me through a glass window in another holding cell.  He was yelling something, but his voice was inaudible.  Seven inmates stood behind me in shackles, awaiting their turns to be taken to another van and transported to a state prison.  "I got 18 months in ADC!" a young man yelled to another young man in a holding cell.  "Eighteen f***ing months!" he yelled again.  The other six inmates looked stoically straight ahead as they awaited their destinies.  They appeared as if they had no life in their eyes.  I can only imagine what was running through their heads as they came to the realization that they were headed to prison for months or years.

I was escorted to a holding cell, issued a blanket, and was told to sit on a concrete bench.  The cell was about eight feet by eight feet, with yellow concrete cinder block walls and a grey concrete floor.  There was a stainless steel sink with a toilet attached to the left side near the floor.  The toilet was still full of the cell's last resident's bowel movement.  There was an opened and used bar of soap on the lip of a sink, and a small toothbrush wrapped in a cellophane wrapper next to it.  There was a roll of toilet paper in a small cubby hole in the front of the sink.  Overhead there was a three-foot incandescent bulb blaring its light through a steel light housing.

I stared intently through the window, which had been scratched by some sharp object and still had wet droplets of spit on it, watching the fax machine on the desk to see if it had any papers in its incoming tray.  It had a stack in it about an inch thick.  No one was paying it any attention as more papers filled the tray.

A young woman in another cell looked out her window at me.  She was chewing her lips and tongue and swaying frantically back and forth.  She was undoubtedly still "tweaking" on meth, as her stringy hair, sunken face and pock-marked skin indicated.

I stood at the door and watched as the inmates came in and out of the booking center.  There was a boy, no older than nineteen, who had been "showered in" and covered in delousing powder.  He was carrying a plastic covered mattress and a blanket into his cell.  He had no emotion whatsoever on his face.  There were several men and women--black, white, Hispanic, and oriental--moving about the detention center.  Most were covered in "prison ink or tats," which is easy to spot since it is always black and blurry.  Nearly half of them had a black tear drop tattooed near one eye or the other.  Most were smiling a devious or down-right-evil smile, holding their heads up and cocked to one side.  In all my years experience in dealing with inmates and parolees, that is their "go-to" stance when they are standing in line.  "Don't f*** with me!" their demeanor screams out to all those around them.

I thought about all the mothers and fathers, husbands and wives and children who were out there, missing their incarcerated loved one, wondering where things had gone wrong, wondering when Daddy or Mommy will be coming home, or perhaps having given up long ago any notion that their no-good child or spouse or parent would ever come home, or ever change.  I thought about the men and women I teach each week in prison, who desperately want to get out and do the right thing this time, and I thought about the ones who had no intentions of ever changing.  I thought about my own life, and the mistakes I had made.  I thought about my divorces, and how my infidelity and alcoholism drove my wives away, which resulted in this whole child support debacle.  I closed my eyes and repented again, begging God to forgive me all over again.  I thought about my children, and how they might feel when some kid at school tells them that their parents saw their dead-beat dad in the paper.  I thought about a lot in that short time, and I resolved in the end that I would not let this get me down.  I know God has blessed my efforts in the past several years and allowed me to be in this ministry, and I chose instead to look at this experience as yet another way I can relate to the inmates and parolees I minister to.

After just over two hours, an officer came to the door of my cell and unlocked it.  "Step back!" he yelled. "Sit on your hands while I open this door!" he demanded.

"Now, stand up, take your blanket over there and drop it in that grey bin," he said to me as he stood over me in the cell.  "Then go stand on the red line in front of that desk and wait for them to finish your paperwork.

As I awaited having my mug shot taken and my exiting paperwork to be completed, I smiled as I knew I would be going home today, and that I had a new reason to provide comfort and aid to the men and women incarcerated or on parole in the state of Arkansas.  There is a lot of pain out there, and I got to see first-hand today where much of it begins.

As I look down at the red marks the hand cuffs left on my wrists and type this blog, I realize that life is precious, and forgiveness and grace are divine.  The life of a felon is not a fun one, but no one ever said this life would be easy.  I vow to continue to work for something other than myself, and I thank God I have the freedom and the desire to do so.

The Bridge

A man came to a chasm in the road he traveled, and looked down into the oblivion. He knew that in order to continue his journey, he must somehow traverse the chasm and make it to the other side. He saw in the distance a bridge. The bridge was massive, and many people made their way across it to the other side. He stood in line so that he, too, could use the bridge to take him to his destination.

"Do you have your papers?" the bridge keeper asked him as he approached.

"Papers? What papers do I need?" the man asked.

"Everyone who uses this bridge must show their papers," the bridge keeper demanded. "If you do not have your papers, you cannot use the bridge."

"I have no papers," the man stated. "What must these papers prove of me?"

"These papers merely show that you have the basic requirements to use this bridge," the bridge keeper told him. "Do you have any such papers?" he asked again.

"And what are these basic requirements?" the man asked, already afraid he could not produce the proof needed to cross the bridge.

"It's very simple," the bridge keeper replied as he sighed and rolled his eyes. "You must have been born in this land to use this bridge."

"I was," the man responded.

"You must be of the correct age to use this bridge; that is you must be mature enough to understand the dangers of crossing over such a height."

"I am, and I do understand," the man responded.

"You must have the ability to cross this bridge," the bridge keeper continued.

"I have the ability," the man said.

"You must have the mental capacity to understand the benefits and risks of crossing this bridge," the bridge keeper added.

"I am mentally capable of understanding both the benefits and risks of crossing this bridge," the man again responded.

"And finally, you must pay the toll to the ones who own the bridge, and to help support those who use the bridge," the bridge keeper concluded.

"I can pay the toll," the man said, relieved that he quite possibly had passed the necessary requirements to cross the bridge. He opened his jacket to reach inside and get his wallet.

The bridge keeper noticed the man's shirt, and shifted uncomfortably as he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, you cannot cross this bridge," the bridge keeper said sternly.

"But why not, I have passed all your requirements!" the man exclaimed.

"You cannot cross the bridge because of that label you wear on your shirt," the bridge keeper explained. "You must have received that label for breaking one of the laws of this land, and despite having all the other qualifications, you are not allowed to cross this bridge because you wear that label."

The man left the bridge keeper, dejected, and somehow not surprised. He was told when he was given his label that it would be difficult to move across this great land as he was once allowed to do.

"Wait just one moment!" the bridge keeper yelled.

The man turned around, hopeful that the bridge keeper had made an exception. "You must still pay the toll, even though you cannot use this bridge!" Other people surrounded the man, as one of them stepped forward and took his wallet, emptying it of its contents and handing it back to the man.

The man stood there in utter disbelief as the people walked away from him. But instead of giving up, the man walked back to his original path, and stared across the chasm. "I will build my own bridge, one that anyone wearing my label can use, as long as they show that they are willing to step out from behind their label and once again contribute to the greater good of this land."

The man spent all his resources to build a bridge across the chasm. He faced many pitfalls and hurdles along the way. He exhausted all that he had, but he finally built his bridge.

Upon its completion, he began to let those who wore his same label on their shirts use his bridge. The people were thankful, and were able to get to the other side of the chasm and continue their journeys.

The people on the larger bridge mocked at this smaller bridge, and said that it would never last. They said it was not strong enough, and would eventually fall under the pressure placed upon it. But the man continued to fortify it, despite its many weaknesses and lack of support. Others saw the value in the man's bridge, and did what they could to help him support it as best they could.

A few years later, after hundreds of people had crossed the bridge and continued their journeys, the bridge began to falter; and despite all the man's efforts, it fell into the chasm. Just before it did, the man was able to get all those who were on it across to the other side safely, and stop those who were about to cross it before it fell.

The bridge keeper and several of the people using the larger bridge walked over to see all the commotion. "I knew it wouldn't last!" some yelled mockingly. "Such a bridge should never have been built!" they laughed.

A few others quietly consoled the man, "It was never meant to be, at least not here. We saw the value in this bridge, and we applaud you for your efforts. Perhaps someday you can build a bigger, better bridge."

The man got down on his knees and prayed. "Dear God, thank you for the strength to build that bridge, and give me the strength to build another, stronger bridge. Amen."

Then, in a loud, unified cheer from across the chasm came this: "Thank you!"

The man shed a tear as he looked upon the remains of his bridge. "This bridge served its purpose," he said quietly. Then he wandered up and down the edge of the chasm, looking for a place to begin building another, stronger bridge.

Teeth, Meet Boot

Yep, it happened, once again. The past, or at least one of its representatives, kicked me in the teeth today. I knew a long time ago that the consequences of my crime would hang around forever. Today was just another reminder of that. I'd like to go into a bit more detail about my crime than I have before, so you'll understand just how ugly it was.

I had been a high school teacher at ASMSA in Hot Springs for nearly six years when my despicable acts were discovered. I was the Science Department Chair at the time, and had taught over 1,000 students, many of whom had regarded me as their favorite teacher, their friend, their confidant, or at least a person they enjoyed talking to. I was in the perfect position to do so much good. I started there in my mid-twenties, not even a decade older than them. We listened to the same music, had the same interests, and in many respects were more like buddies than teacher/students. I could have had such a powerful ministry and impact on so many people if I had just done what I was supposed to do. Instead, I took advantage of my position and ignored my responsibilities as a teacher, father, husband, man...you name it. In February of 2002 I was arrested for having an affair with a female student. A year later I was convicted of sexual assault in the 1st degree and sentenced to 6 years probation and a $15,000 fine. You know the rest (or perhaps you don't, just go back and read any number of my ramblings on the subject).

I hurt so many people. I knew then as I do now that some of the damage I had done was irreparable. But today I was reminded that ten years later that is still true. A former student reached out on our business' Facebook page and reiterated to me the sobering truth that my actions will forever have consequences. Even if I do nothing but good things for the rest of my days, that fact will never change.

I never had the forum to offer an apology to those I hurt. And I suppose this isn't much of one, with all of my six followers and handful of readers. But it's worth a shot.

To you that I hurt: I'm so very sorry. I'm so sorry I blamed anyone but myself for what I had done. I'm so sorry I let you down. I'm so sorry I ever entered the halls of that institution. I'm so sorry for who I was, and that I will forever where his face.

I pray for your forgiveness, but don't expect it. I wish I could undo it, but I cannot. I can only promise you this: I will continue to make every effort to be a positive influence in people's lives, and try to demonstrate that someone who caused the pain I did, on such a widespread scale, can do something right.

God's grace is the only reason I'm alive today, and I'll be damned if I don't do something useful with that fact. I have, and will, make a positive difference, because God saw fit, despite my efforts to end it all, to keep me around for some reason. And I will not take that for granted.

It's About Time

That's right, it's about time. It's about time I quit hearing, seeing, and ignoring the invitations that come at me everyday. In fact, ever since I was created in my mother's womb with that Y chromosome, I was invited, invited to be a man. When I was allowed to date that girl at the age of 13, and all the ones after, I was invited to be a man. When I was offered my first beer as a teenager, unknowingly opening up 20 plus years of alcohol abuse, I was invited to be a man. When I played give and take with something too precious to ever get back, I was invited to be a man. When I said my vows two separate times, taking the wheel of two train wrecks I called marriages, I was invited to be a man. When I watched my two beautiful children being born, I was invited to be a man. When I traded doing the right thing for selfishness, I was invited, and once again ignored the opportunity to be a man.

I can count on one hand the moments in my life where I truly accepted the invitation, the invitation from God, not the one the world spits at me every second of every day, to be a man. The times I ignored that same invitation are innumerable. The times I accepted the world's invitation are immeasurable.

A dear friend of mine mentioned today that one of his biggest regrets was not finishing his Eagle Scout status in high school. Praise be to God that there are men out there whose biggest regret is that. I truly have more regrets than I have moments of which I'm proud, yet I am still invited. That same dear friend extended to me, along with fifty or so other men, God's invitation to be a man today, an authentic man. I've been invited to be a man in the lives of my children, in the lives of those around me, in my actions, my words, my thoughts, my behavior, and my life.

It's no coincidence that invitation was extended to me today. I was convicted a month ago at a discipleship conference that I had ignored it for too long. It's no coincidence I finally made it to a men's breakfast at 8:00 am on a Saturday with two children in my care and a whole list of reasons not to go. I kicked it aside and made time, instead of performing a cowardly search for time that I know I don't have. It's no coincidence, it's my duty.

I will not sit idly by and watch my duties as a father and man get handed off to others because I won't step up and take them on myself. That's right, it's about time...

...to be a man. Straining, striving, pressing towards the goal. Forgetting what is behind. Being what I was created to be.

I accept.

God's Wisdom In a Small Package

As a former science researcher and teacher and general science geek, I often find myself reviewing the latest scientific journal articles on various subjects. Although I am no longer involved in science as a career, I feel the need to keep my brain "exercised" by keeping up with the latest information, especially in the area of molecular biology, which was my area of expertise.

A while back, I read an article on how scientists at MIT and Harvard Medical School saw regression in mice tumors when they reconstituted the expression of an endogenous tumor suppressor protein called p53. In English, p53 is a protein that comes from the expression of a gene called TP53. The presence of p53 is crucial in preventing tumor development and growth in our cells. If the TP53 gene is mutated and production of p53 is altered or halted, then cells can grow out of control and become tumors. These scientists found that if they could get the tumor cells to start producing p53 again, then the tumors regressed (stopped getting bigger and began to shrink).

Now, table that information, set it aside in one of your brain compartments, or if there's no room left for it, just know that you can scroll back up to the top of this post and remind yourself of it later. I want to jump subjects and take you to a conversation I had with my son this morning on the way to school. But first, let me give you a bit of history behind today's topic of discussion.

As you may know, eight years ago I was arrested and convicted of a felony, after which I systematically lost my family, career, friends, money, home, belongings, and self-respect. At the time, my son was two years old. One of my greatest fears back then was the notion of having to explain to him what I had done, and what the consequences were. I honestly figured that conversation would occur when he was twelve or older. I certainly didn't plan on it happening when it did, which was four years ago on a ride to school (he goes to school in Little Rock, I live in Conway, with traffic it's about an hour drive) when he was the ripe old age of five.

A few days before that conversation had occurred, I was studying the book of James intensely, a study that actually transformed my life. From beginning to end, each verse of that book has meaning to me. In fact, it was as a result of reading the first few verses of the first chapter that my perspective began to change after I had lost so much and placed so much blame on others.

When I first stumbled upon James back in those dark days of searching for the rightful target of my blame and anger, I scoffed at his insolence. "How DARE you suggest that I rejoice in this crap!" I yelled. "Consider it pure joy..." I remember muttering. "How did you even let this idiot's writings IN the Bible?" I mocked at God. I was angry, blind, and incomplete. In fact, I was lost. I could not find it in me to forgive myself, much less accept the forgiveness Christ bought for me on the cross. I had wandered so far from the truth over the past decade that although I had turned back to God, I had not fat clue one what all this stuff meant. And of course, God with his completely bizarre sense of humor, had an answer for me in the very next verse. I could almost audibly hear him challenge me--"If you don't understand it, then read verse 5...NOW." So I did. James 1:5 says If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. Ohh, that's funny stuff, God. Okay, fine, give me some wisdom here! Because I don't know what the heck you want me to do with this hell you call a trial!

"Uh, uh, uhh. Read verse 6 first." He said.

Fine.

James 1:6: But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.

Oh, this is rich. Pure joy...trials...perseverance...wisdom...FAITH. Okay, God. Forgive my sarcasm. I do believe you can give me wisdom. I have faith in your wisdom, and I seek it.

I remember feeling an unusual sense of calm after having that little spat with my Maker, but no thunderbolt of wisdom hit me, so I shrugged and went on with my day, confident that I would soon begin to see things in a different perspective.

Fast forward to the ride to school that fall morning with my five year old son:

"Daddy, why did you and Mommy get a divorce?"

I knew something was different about this question than the one's he'd asked before regarding the divorce. He had a curious inflection, one that seemed to suggest deep contemplation.

"I hurt your Mommy's feelings very badly, son. I had an affair with someone I was teaching. I broke the law."

There was no turning back at that point. The questions that flowed from my little boy's mouth might as well have been crafted by an investigative reporter. They were concise, intelligent, and down right scary. The clarity with which my son articulated his thoughts and absorbed my responses was frightening, yet somehow uplifting. After I described my crime to him and the subsequent fallout, and satisfactorily answered his queries, he sat in silence for about five minutes. Finally I asked him, "Son, do you understand all that I've told you today?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand that this was my fault and that I take full responsibility for messing up our family?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand why your Mommy divorced me?"

Silence.

"Do you have any questions? Things you want to talk about?"

"No, lemme think about it. I might have some questions after school."

I dropped him off at school, hugged his neck, he reassured me that he loved me and forgave me and thanked me for being a good daddy to him.

Then it dawned on me--he goes home to his mother's today after school. He knew that. His questions won't be for me, they'll be for her.

Oh crap! I thought as I dialed her cell. When she answered I explained to her that I had just had "The Talk" with our son. She and I had discussed the prospect of having this conversation with him, but as I said before we didn't count on it coming for many, many more years. After some protests, she soon realized that one thing neither of us could do was pull the wool over our son's eyes. He was just too smart for that. Having that conversation on that morning was inevitable.

"He's going to have some questions tonight, I'm sure. Just answer them as best you can and call me later to let me know what he asked," I told her.

The next day she called me from work. I asked her if our boy had had any questions for her the night before. "Just one," she said, coldly. I asked what it was.

"These were his exact words:" she began. "'Mommy, you remember when I broke the lamp in the living room?' Yes, I said. 'You remember you told me that you forgave me because I said I was sorry?' Yes, I said. 'Then how come you won't forgive Daddy?' "

She went on to explain how she told him this kind of forgiveness was different, and how he told her it shouldn't be. She admitted she had been at a loss for words to him, and that it was true that she hadn't fully forgiven me.

As I hung up the phone, I realized that five years before I had prayed to God for wisdom in my trial, he had delivered it to me in the form of my son. I wept. My son, in his childlike innocence, had identified my biggest issue. I hadn't forgiven myself, and therefore was angry and bitter, and unwilling or unable to receive God's grace. I had hated myself because of the cancer I had become. I had choked out and damaged so many people around me, so much so that I had forgotten what it was like to be "normal," and so much so that I could not get past the damage I'd caused.

You guessed it, this is where that first bit about p53 and tumors comes in. Scientists showed that if a much needed protein could be reconstituted in cancerous cells, the tumor growth could be reversed, and normal tissue could recover.

God had shown me, through my son and His, that if a much needed sacrifice could be received, my sinful bitterness and pride could be replaced with forgiveness and love.

So here I am, eight years later, with patience and wisdom I never thought I'd possess. No, my trials aren't over, but God's wisdom is seeing me through them. And when I forget, or get side-tracked, he inspires my son to speak to me, and I smile all over again as I realize that the answer to my prayer is in the back seat, headed to school.

So what was the conversation I had with my now nine-year-old son this morning, you ask? Well, we were talking about the businesses my partners and I have started recently in conjunction with our prison ministry, when he said, "It's cool that you guys give people a second chance. Do you ever have to tell them to give themselves a second chance?"

Where he came up with that question, I have no idea (smile). But it inspired me to write this, because I had been recently wondering how to best explain to a felon how to forgive himself.

With childlike innocence...that's how.

A Felon on Fellowship

Eight years ago I made some choices that led to a felony conviction. At that point in time, society as I knew it shunned me, and I responded in kind by removing myself from it. After that, the multitude of "friends" that I once had was reduced to a number that could be counted on one hand with a few fingers to spare. Well, after this weekend at the Men's Muster sponsored by Fellowship Bible Church in Conway, I think I will have to break out the other hand, and perhaps a few toes to tally up my new friends.

For years I've avoided going to this event, because in the end I knew that it meant one thing: I would have to once again become transparent in front of a group of men whom I didn't know, who didn't know me, and would perhaps reject me as so many had done before. Oh, how wrong I was!

Let me give you a felon's perspective on what true fellowship and true friendship mean to me now.

The weekend started off with a scavenger hunt. I wasn't excited about it when I first heard "The Amazing Race" was part of the agenda. "Just another corny 'ice breaker' exercise," I said to myself. However, it immediately served its purpose: it took my mind off of all that is life, and sucked me into a game that got me focused on the weekend. Never before have my father and I actually turned our truck around, in the middle of the highway in a thunderstorm, to go back and snap a cell phone photo of a dead skunk, or a sign, or a graveyard, or a camel. When we finally arrived at the beautiful Shepherd of the Ozarks retreat, the mood was festive and the men were inviting. In a few short hours I played a game that allowed me to get to know complete strangers pretty well. I laughed a hearty, guttural laugh, along with 70 other men, when the game ended with Korey Stoner saying, "Never have I ever watched the movie Brokeback Mountain." Ken Wilson called the game and named Korey the champion by saying, "OK, I think that's gone about far enough!" You had to be there to understand the humor in that.

But it got even better. A godly man named Chris Kear, our new Executive Pastor, invited me and a few others to play "Jokers" with him, and that was after I had revealed to him and others that the reason I was in a prison ministry was because I was a felon. "Wow," I thought, "he's accepted me. He didn't walk away." Thank you, Chris. Later that evening, after it was made abundantly clear to us that we were "weenies" if we went to bed before midnight, I sat at a Black Jack table until 12:15 a.m. as John Lee proved to me that the dealer always wins. And Arnold Hameister reminded me of something I knew 20 years ago when I met him: he is truly a silly man.

Later that night I learned something about myself. I learned that as much as I wanted to justify it, suffocating a man quietly with my pillow because he snores, and saying it's for the greater good, is probably NOT OK with God. So, I possess a little restraint...no one died.

The next day brought more great things. I learned that a young man named Lee Strevig could lead me blindfolded through a mine field. I learned that seven learned men CANNOT tie a knot in a rope when they are indeed part of the rope (except for the Orange team, which I am convinced must have cheated.) I learned that a 55 year old man like Jim Merritt can make a bunch of young bucks envy his hustle on the football field. I learned that everything you've heard about Andy Chouinard's legendary prowess with a slingshot and a paintball is true. I learned that as "forgiving" as I try to be, I still want to harm members of Al Qaeda. I know this because even though Mark Hughey, Jr. was on my paintball team, I wanted to shoot him in his turban-wrapped head just to say I'm the one who finally got Ben Laden.

I stood beside myself almost as I watched a man like Lance Oden, whom I've never met prior to this weekend, put his hand on my shoulder and pat me on the back because we had endured a paintball war together. I witnessed first hand that just because the scrambled eggs are somewhat yellow, and that my fellow men had worked hard to prepare them, they still could be really awful. I learned that standing in the sun on a deck overlooking the Big Creek while drinking iced tea is just about as close to God as I've ever been.

I watched in sympathy (and laughter) as O'Neal Payne went from being convinced he could learn to see the hidden pictures in a stereograph, to being convinced that anyone who claims they could see the hidden pictures must be lying. I learned that Carey Allison grew up on the same street I live on. I reconnected with Brad White and found out how much we have in common. I was amazed, simply amazed, that with all of Kevin McKelvy's musical talents and instruments, the most excited I've ever seen him about music came after he learned that Bill Swartzwelder had the connector that would allow him to play his iPhone keyboard/organ app. on the amplifier.

I learned that Scotty Smittle truly has a kind heart; that Barry Bloomfield responded to God's call to speak, even though he didn't want to; that Jon Love overcame his past to help save our future; that Jake Melton has four chickens; that Wiley Barron wears cowboy boots 24/7; that Michael Clanton and Todd Floyd can jam; that Sam Reece is truly passionate about Jesus Christ; and that Todd Gerdes and his team put on a fine retreat--not to mention the new friendship I have with Brian Stewart, and the positive influence so many men like Chuck Martin and Matt Charton had on me.

I learned all these things and so much more. But most of all, I learned that just because you fry a piece of chicken doesn't mean it will taste good. No wait, that's not what I learned most of all. I learned that I have new friends...friends in Christ; men with whom I can be transparent, and who will accept me for who I am in Christ, and not reject me for what I've done in the past. Praise God.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17.

My Empty House

About two or three times a week, I come home from work to an empty house. Well, there's a fish, a cat, a dog, and a TV, but other than that, it's devoid of other humans. My son is at his mother's house. My daughter is with her mother, who, for the foreseeable future, is ex-wife number two (we are beginning marriage counseling this week in hopes of restoring our marriage).

I gotta tell you, an empty house, especially one that is accustomed to laughing children, a woman who holds the key to my heart, i.e., my family, is a lonely place to be. It's a place in which I can quickly become solemn. I find myself turning on the lights in the kids' rooms, or my own bedroom, and staring at the walls, hoping to hear the echoes of their recent occupants. I get depressed.

Do you know where the first stop is once you board the train of depression? Pity. I miss my wife. Pity. I wish I had her back. More pity. If nothing else, I wish my kids were here. Even more pity. Pretty soon, I'm wearing my pity like a blanket, moving from room to room, memory to memory, like someone surveying what's left of his house after it has been gutted by a fire.

Empty houses suck. Depression sucks. Pity sucks. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't go down that road at least once a week. As much happiness as I find in Christ, as much comfort as I find in God's grace, I still wrestle with my empty house and all that it brings. It is the reminder that my choices have brought about consequences, many of which I cannot change.

Since my arrest and conviction seven years ago, I have learned many things, and gained many skills that would allow a man guilty of sins such as mine to survive in a world that frankly sucks to be in sometimes. One of those gifts is that of patience. I have learned that most things God has planned for us will never occur on our time table, within our expectations. When an idea, a need, or a desire is placed on my heart, if God is in the mix I know that it is wise to sit back and wait on him to reveal it to me. Anything worth having or happening is worth waiting on.

Another skill I have begun to master is the ability to sort through the crap, the stressors, the burdens, the blessings, the trials, the gifts...all the things that ARE life, and separate them into two piles. On one side I have a very large pile of things that, despite all my efforts, I cannot change, or at least cannot change quickly. This pile includes my felony, my divorces, my debt, my position in life, people's perceptions of me, and on and on. These things are all direct results of my poor choices (which is why I can't waste time begrudging them--I invited them!).

In the other pile, which is much, much smaller, are the things I can change or affect. These things include my children, my ministry, my job, my following and submission to Christ, and the effect I have on the world around me. This is a much more manageable list, and it makes life so much simpler when I focus on this pile and leave the other one to God.

So, rather than puttering around my empty house, I am thankful I have it. Rather than fretting over my recent divorce and missing my wife, I embrace the relationship I have with her now, and pour my heart into our daughter. Rather than standing at my kids' doors and listening for laughter that isn't there, I try to be a better father everyday. And rather than listening to what the world has to say about me, I strive to go to bed each night a better man than I was when I woke up.

Thank you, God, for my small pile. You can have the other one :)

Guaranteed Method for Alleviating Stress

Being no stranger to stress in my life, I have been searching the world over for a quick and permanent way to alleviate it for good. And now that I have found it, I am ready to pass it along to all those interested. No, I am not looking to sell it in a pill form and make a million bucks. I am so generous and so sure it will work I am willing to pass it on for free.

Let me outline my qualifications for you so that you can rest assured you are getting advice from a professional. I am a felon and enjoy all the perks that come with that label. I have not one, but two failed marriages that have resulted in two beautiful children, hefty child support payments, and a one hundred and fifty mile round trip in order to see both kids at the same time. I drive a 13-year-old vehicle with well over 300 thousand miles and a transmission that promises to fail me any day now. I am a partner in a few small businesses, none of which are thriving, and find myself constantly and diligently searching for ways to make money. The amount of money that is supposed to go out each month to cover my personal bills exceeds the amount of money I bring in, so I have become the master money-juggler.

For the past twenty some-odd years I have been the proud owner of an irritable bowel that specializes in doubling me over in pain, and a migraine headache that can stop me in my tracks. As of four days ago, the Vericella Zoster virus that gave me chicken pox as a child decided that the circumstances were optimal for an encore performance, and I now sport eight patches of shingles on my face and head, and suffer from postherpetic neuralgia that typically accompanies them.

I am a stress machine, churning acid and latent worries like an active volcano spews lava. I am so busy I don't even have time to deal with stress, so I masterfully bury it in all the available spaces my body and psyche can offer.

My "stress" qualifications runneth over. I have met all the common stressors so many people encounter: parenthood, money (or lack thereof), career, loneliness, addiction, broken relationships, broken dreams, piece-of-junk vehicles, incompetent people, and a whole list of other problems, each of which send us clambering for the nearest rock under which to hide.

So, now that you know my credentials, you can find comfort in knowing that I have the formula that will help you relieve your stress.

But, before I reveal it to you, let me tell you what I found in my research about how some of my personal heroes rid their lives of stress:

King David-- David was the anointed king (1 Samuel 16), killed the giant Goliath (1 Samuel 17), was crowned king of Judah (2 Samuel 12), then king of Israel (2 Samuel 15), and God made a special covenant with him (2 Samuel 7, 8). Then he had to go and get greedy, commit adultery and murder (2 Samuel 11), have his house divided (2 Samuel 15-18), and gloat over his achievements (2 Samuel 24) before his death (1 Kings 2:10). David flourished in battle, fled from evil men, hid in caves, sat on thrones, ruled in power, and was called a man after God's own heart (1 Samuel 13:14).

Some of David's stress was brought about by the sins of others, but most of it was brought about by his own sins. Do you know what David did to alleviate his stress? He praised God. David wrote 73 Psalms, and praised God in some form or fashion in each one.

Hmmm. He did not seem to find a way to remove his stress. Moving on from David...

Okay, let's try Paul. Paul was instrumental in bringing the Gospel to the non-Jews. He wrote 13 of the 27 books of the New Testament. Paul used to be Saul, was a Pharisee (Phil. 3:4-6), a Roman citizen (Acts 22:25), persecuted Christians (Galatians 1:13-15), beat them, dragged them in chains to prisons (Acts 8:1-3, 9:1-2), and was an official witness to the stoning death of Stephen (Acts 7:58). But Saul saw the light (Acts 9:3), met Jesus (Acts 9:4-6), was blinded (Acts 9:8), healed by Ananias* (Acts 9:17-19), and changed his handle to "Paul" (Acts 13:9).

*As a side note, it utterly amazes me that when the Lord addressed people in the Bible such as Ananias, they actually argued with him! (see Acts 9:13). Any thoughts on that?

Back to Paul--he had a few physical problems, aside from the fact that he was being chased and imprisoned half the time he was preaching. He was small in stature and probably wasn't a great public speaker (2 Cor. 10:10), and he had a "thorn in his flesh" (2 Cor. 12:7). Perhaps it was a disease of the eyes (see Gal. 4:13-15) or some other malady, but it was a nuisance nevertheless.

Do you know what Paul did to remove his "stress," his thorn? Three different times he asked God to take it from him. In fact he says he begged (2 Cor. 12:8). And guess what God did. He said "Nope. My grace is enough, bro. And my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Cor. 12:9). So, instead of complaining, Paul boasts about his weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities...all in the name of Christ (2 Cor. 12:9-10).

Dang. No help there, either.

How about Peter? He denied Christ three times (Matt. 26:69-74), couldn't answer Jesus' "do you love me" questions with the same kind of love Christ referred to (see John 21:15-17; Jesus uses agapaō, which means Godly love, and Peter uses phileō, which means "fond of."), and yet Christ said it was Peter's faith upon which he would build the church. Do you know how Peter handled stress? Cut off a dude's ear (John 18:10), sank in the water when he took his eyes off of Christ (Matt. 14:28), and showed his impetuousness at times (Matt. 17:24-27). But Peter brought people the Good News (Acts 2:24), healed the sick (Acts 5:15-16), reversed his prejudice against non-Jews (Acts 9:43), but most importantly, he never failed to follow Jesus. He may have failed many times because his passion was not backed with faith, but he never failed to follow.

I'm starting to see a trend here. These guys had problems, and they couldn't get rid of them. Moreover, they praised God, claimed power through Christ, continued to follow, and went on with their suffering. Well, that's not my solution. I want to get rid of stress, not learn to live with it.

The way I see it there are only three ways to deal with a problem. You can face it head on (which is certainly NOT getting rid of it), you can remove the source, or you can ignore it. So, let's try the latter two solutions.

Can I remove the label of felony? Not easily, and certainly not quickly, if ever. And since it carries grave consequences, I cannot ignore it, either.

How about divorce? Nope. Can't undo that. Even if a marriage is restored, the pain from the divorce still exists. I could ignore it (or rather bury it), but that is what got me a gut gripe, headaches, and now shingles. No luck there.

Well, let's try some of yours: can we remove the death of a loved one or ignore it? Can we remove the heartache caused by a broken relationship? Can we remove the pain caused by the addict in our family? What about the unwanted pregnancy? Will an abortion fix it? I think not. Is there a quick fix for not being able to pay the bills? Not a viable one. What about a wayward child? Ignore them? Kick 'em to the curb? Sure, easy right?

Okay, okay. I lied. The truth is I don't have a fat clue how to remove stress or its causes. Instead, I will take heart that I am in some pretty good company with David, Paul and Peter, and all the rest of you, and I will praise God, claim power in Christ, and continue to follow him, fail as I might.

So, what glory can I bring you from all this God? I can't wait to get started.

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."