Your Inner Self

It’s hard to imagine a world where you have to ask if someone cares for you and if that care is sincere.  I take for granted that my family and friends care of me is not dependent on what I have or what I can do for them.  Their love and affection have little to do with my bank account or prestige in what I do.  They love and care for me- though I myself sometimes wonder why!- for reasons completely separated from my financial standing.

This isn’t quite the case for Mark.  When he was sent to federal prison nearly 6 years ago and his homes, property and money were seized, friends and family somehow started falling by the wayside, too.  True, a few remained faithful to him, but the vast majority no longer saw what they could get from him and decided, no doubt, to look elsewhere.  Some still call, but it’s usually to ask “what’s good” or to convince him to get back into the game.  Hardly any form of true care or concern.

I imagine this loss of friends and family has made it desperately hard for Mark to trust much of anyone.  And why should he?  These friends and family don’t love him- they’re simply using him for what they can selfishly gain.  What does it do to a man to be abandoned- at your darkest hour, no less- by those you believed cared for you most?  What does it do to a man’s sense of self-worth?

Sometimes I really do wonder if I am one of the few people (besides his mother and sister, who I believe love him deeply, and hopefully a few friends) who care about Mark, about the future ahead of him, the possibilities that await.  Will all these so-called friends and family suddenly appear again come January when he walks out these doors?  Will he know who to trust?  Will there be anyone that he can?  How does a mid-30s man build new friendships, based on the mutual admiration of the inside of the person?  Is it even possible?

I wish I knew the answers to these questions.  I wish I could hold his hand- and the hands of so many others in this same predicament- as they make this transition home.  But then, that’s not the real world, and would hardly be helpful in the long run.  I can’t walk this path of reentering a family and a community for Mark or others.  But I can help Mark learn that there are people in this world who will and do have genuine concern and care for him and certainly don’t want him doing anything that risks his life again, whether that be by death or imprisonment.  There are people out there who won’t like you because you have money, or cars, or status. 

And maybe, the truth is, it has to start inside Mark.  Sometimes I wonder, on his darker days, if Mark truly knows that he is a person to be valued outside of his illegal activity.  If he really believes that people will love and care for him for reasons other than what they can get from him.  Maybe the best thing I can do is affirm Mark for being who he is- a child of God, a man with a past but who is no longer held captive by his previous way of living.  Maybe then Mark will see that he can trust others who genuinely care- and trust himself.

Life

Last Thursday, I spent the day with 200 men who have been sentenced to a lifetime of incarceration.  Their lifetime.

I'll let that sink in for a second.

Driving up to the Maryland state prison in Hagerstown, I didn't really know what to expect.  I had been told that I would be attending a "Lifer's Conference" which in my mind meant either 1) an anti-abortion conference, or 2) an old people conference.  Both relatively harmless.

Instead, I was greeted by- and shook hands with- man after man who had spent the last 10, 20, 30, 40 years in the prison.  There was the man who had been incarcerated after being convicted of murder in 1967, when he was just 16 years old.  There was another man who, in a burst of passion, had killed someone he loved only a few years ago and spoke of the horrible regret of his actions.  I was struck that nearly all of the crimes had been committed when the prisoner was under the age of 25.  Some seemed broken down, wearing what I can only imagine is the weight of the consequences of their actions on their shoulders.  In others, I saw a deep stillness, a peace.  In still others, the glazed over eyes of addiction or mental illness, statistically so prevalent in this population.  It was both heart-warming and heart-wrenching.

Man after man spoke of the healing power of forgiveness of self and of victim's families, and recounted the education, training and certifications, the personal development they've received while in prison.  Others shared their faith conversion stories.  Still more asked for mercy from the governor, who must sign off on any "life with the possibility of parole" parole decisions made in the state of Maryland (one of only 3 states where this is still the case).  Others sat quietly, saying nothing.

Having read and heard stories similar to the horrific accounts of what many of these men did regularly brings out a feeling of "lock them up and throw away the key."  When I say horrific, I mean horrific.  No one should die at the hands of another person, no one should fear their fellow man in that way.  No one should experience such tremendous violence.

But.

In meeting these men face to face, I was also reminded of their humanity.  Of their fallen-ness, of their need for grace and mercy, just like me.  I was reminded of the Apostle Paul, who- as Saul- murdered the Lord's people.  I thought of King David who, because of lust, had an honorable man killed.  Of Moses.  Of so many others.

I believe in law and consequences of breaking that law, and believe every single one of these men who are of their right mind and guilty of the charge brought against them should serve a significant amount of time behind bars, hopefully receiving the rehabilitation that they need.***  But I also believe in redemption.  In second chances.  Maybe this is ultimately why I do what I do; because I know that, though I've never been convicted of any crime, I too am in need of redemption.






***I will not go into the politics of conviction and sentencing, though I will point out that the recidivism rate amongst those convicted of homicide is the lowest of all crimes.  Not zero, but extremely, extremely low.  That said, I have not been a victim and cannot imagine what I would feel like should someone I love be a victim.         

Where We've Been

It's hard to believe that it's been over five months since I blogged last.  So much has happened that I don't really know how to sum up: we've experienced great excitement, grief, frustration and joy, celebrated another year of marriage (unfortunately in the emergency room) and flourished in our work and lives. I hope to write more about some of the particulars soon.

But one thing I continue to know and believe for certain: we have seen and know the goodness of the Lord.  He continues to remain faithful to us and good to us.  He has placed people in our lives, in our personal friendships and professional experiences, who challenge us, spur us on and challenge us to think deeply about who we are and what we are made for.  Even as there have been some supremely hard moments, it has been a time of great flourishing.  It seems fitting that today, in this month of November, I am thankful.