A DAY IN MAXIMUM SECURITY

Several years ago a letter arrived with a return address that immediately caught my attention.  It was from a prisoner in Maximum Security at the Utah State Prison.  My interest was immediately piqued and I tore open the envelope and began to read.  It was from Doug, a prisoner on death row.  His story caught me completely by surprise:

 Several years ago PBS had featured a one-hour documentary on the work we do in India with the leprosy-affected called Breaking the Curse.  It proved to be wildly popular, eventually gaining over 1,000 showings on PBS.  It even won the Gracie Award that year!  But the greatest impact it had on me personally arrived in this letter from Maximum Security.     

Doug had seen the documentary in his cell and had been profoundly touched.  He decided to send $5 a month to support our work in India. He said he could do this because the state allotted him  $30/month to purchase necessities such as shaving cream, deodorant, etc.  He normally managed to save enough money to buy himself one Coca-Cola a week.  By giving up his Coke, he figured he could manage this donation.  I wondered how long his resolve might hold.

His checks began arriving each month like clockwork.  After several months, I wrote him a thank you note.  He responded immediately and thus an interesting relationship of pen pals was born.    

 I have now been corresponding with him for more than ten years.  I have visited him in prison (yes, in Maximum Security!) on a number of occasions.  He has also become incredibly dedicated to our work in India.  His donations quickly increased to $10/month—a third of his income!  He took a job at the prison delivering meals to newly arrived inmates to earn more money to donate.  That has had a tsunami affect!

Picture from internet

As he meets new prisoners, they are generally very depressed and hopeless.  They are overcome with feelings of self-recrimination and worthlessness.  Doug understands where they are coming from.  He is in prison for a hideous crime of rape and murder and for many years figured there was no salvation or forgiveness possible for him.  But he was eventually converted back to God and wishes now to do all in his power to help others who are struggling.

Picture from internet

He quietly encourages these discouraged men with downcast eyes and heavy hearts that no matter what they have done, they can still reach out to God—that He is in fact, waiting to hear from them with open arms.  If they don’t believe it, he tells them, “they should write to Becky”.

As a result I am now writing to nearly 30 men in prison! My husband teases me that I have more pen pals who are incarcerated than who walk free!  They are desperate to know that God still loves them; that they still have worth.  Their crimes run the gamut; from a father who got involved in white-collar crime--to a man in prison for abusing multiple children.

Picture from internet

Doug also convinced prison authorities that he should invite me to speak to the prisoners, so I received an invitation to address men from the general prison population at the weekly Church Service at the prison.  I decided to speak on, “Our Eternal Worth”.  I was the only speaker and given forty minutes.

 I stood at the entrance to the prison chapel as the men filed in.  Each one introduced himself by name.  I smiled, looked in their eyes, and repeated their names as I shook their hands.  The chapel was filled.

As I looked out over the men I was struck by their expressions.  Some seemed a bit defiant or even ashamed, but for the most part there was humility and suffering in their faces.  I prayed for guidance to say what would be needed.

Picture from internet

As I talked, I watched expressions changing.  I saw a glimmer of hope on some faces.  One man was teary.   Others remained expressionless.  I had been warned that at ten minutes to the hour the lights would flicker and a large number would walk out to attend their other elective activity.  Sure enough when the lights flickered about 30 men got up and walked out.  Then unbelievably a minute later, most of them walked back in again!  They had convinced their guards to let them return.  They clearly hungered to hear that they still had worth to God, that He could be forgiving and that He loved them regardless of their choices.

Afterwards a number of men crowded around wanting to thank me for the message.  Some choked up as they spoke, some were clearly embarrassed by their situation, but quietly told me that they felt my words were meant for them, and were what they needed to hear.

The entire event was incredibly humbling. 

A few days later I received a note from a leader from another ward at the prison—this one in Maximum Security.  He wondered if I could return the following Sunday and share the same message with prisoners in Maximum Security.  Returning the following Sunday I had another remarkable experience.

Picture from internet

This time there was no general worship meeting.  Instead we had to meet the prisoners either individually or two by two.  They were shackled at the waist to their chairs.  Their feet were shackled, as were their hands.  It felt a bit awkward.  But once again I was struck by how hungry they were to find their way back to God.

One man in particular, impressed me.  He was a tall, striking African American.  He spoke of how he wanted to know if there was a way back for him.  He said he had begun reading the New Testament.  When I asked him about his family he told me that his father was a Protestant Minister in South Carolina.

Picture from internet

“My father, Reverend Jesse, is a good man.  My whole family are good people, except for me.”  With the last three words his eyes shifted downward with shame.  As I prodded him to tell me more he continued hesitantly, “My father is ashamed of me.”  I asked him if he had tried to contact his father?  He replied that he had written him many times asking for money, but had never received an answer.

I asked him if he would like me to try to contact his father.  “Oh yes”, he nodded.   He gave me his father’s phone number.  What is your message for your father?  He replied, “Tell him how much I respect him and mom and my brothers and sisters.  Tell him how sorry I am and that I’m ready to change.  Tell him that more than anything I want to make my father proud one day.”

“Okay” I said. “But I’m not going to ask your father for money and neither are you if he responds—until you can first repair your relationship.”  He seemed surprised, but then agreed.

I thought of how our Heavenly parents might react to this child desperately wanting to come back not only to his earthly father, but to God as well.  His earthly father may well reject him, but his Heavenly Parents never will.

I’ve been trying to reach his father for the last two weeks.   I wish I had his mother’s number, because I suspect she might be more accepting.  I’m hoping that his dad will be accepting and open and forgiving.  I’m hoping that his brothers and sisters can be welcoming.  And I’m hoping that his community can be forgiving.

I would hope that if he came to my church or community he would be welcomed and encouraged, rather than judged.   It’s easy to fear even a repentant sinner.  It’s easy to judge and condemn those who have struggled with any issues that we don’t have trouble with.   As Dieter Uchtdorf once said, “Don’t judge me because I sin differently than you!”  I’m not advocating that offenders don’t need to pay their debt to society.  They definitely do!  I believe that it’s all part of the repentance process.  But I’m advocating that we leave judgment to God, and personally forgive.

  

 I wish everyone could have the experience of sitting on the stand at the worship service at the prison and watching the faces of 150-200 men who had chosen to spend their free hour on Sunday trying to reconnect with God, instead of in a sports activity or other activity they could have chosen instead.  The hunger was palpable.  May we always be found on the side of those who lift and encourage, rather than on the side of those who judge, reject and condemn.

  

THE GREATEST POVERTY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MONEY

THE GREATEST POVERTY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MONEY

A Woman hoping to join the Women's Self-Help Group
and get a loan to create her own small business 

When my friend, Padma, first visited a leprosy colony deep in the South of Tamilnadu, she had high hopes of being able to encourage the colony members to stop begging and begin small businesses by pooling their savings and then providing each other small loans, one by one.

She met with a few women who seemed to be interested, but Padma wanted to involve every woman.   She began to go door to door.  There were a few men who were interested and so Padma included them, as well.  But she was particularly interested in the women,

The “homes” in this colony were really more like “apartments”.  They had been built of cement by the government.  The only difference is that these apartments had only one room.  All four walls, floor and ceiling were formed by cement.  There were no bathrooms, kitchens, or bedrooms.  Cooking was done outside over open fires.  Bathrooms were wherever you could find a private spot.  The residents of the colony either slept outside or on a mat in their one room—often shoulder to shoulder.

Sitting inside her one-room cement home, this woman
hungers for a way to earn her living honorably

These rooms, about six Feet Square, generally were not burdened by furniture, with an occasional exception of a bed.  The corners of the rooms held plastic or tin pots to collect water, a tin pan or two to cook food, and perhaps a couple of tin plates for eating.  Some of the homes had a rope strung overhead to dry the ragged clothes owned by the family.  Other than that, the homes were barren.

Padma entered one of these “homes”.  It was poorly lit but Padma could make out a lumpy shape in the corner.  Intrigued, Padma looked closer and noticed that there were feet visible under the cloth.  Could this be a hunched woman covered by a threadbare sari, as if someone had thrown a blanket over a piece of old furniture?

Padma gently addressed the “lump.”  There was no response.  She tried again without any more success, except that the protruding feet disappeared into the lump.  At this point a man entered the room from the outside.  He seemed surprised to see Padma in his cramped little room.  “What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously.  Padma told him she had come to speak to his wife.

“Humpff”, he grunted.  “Don’t waste your time.  She’s mental!  She can’t answer you.”  He was clearly ready for Padma to depart.  Reluctantly Padma turned away. 

Padma was haunted by the mental image of the woman hunched down in the corner of a dark room, with a piece of material thrown over her.  She tried to think of a way she could get a response from the woman and perhaps break through the silence.

A week later Padma was back in the colony to help people with their new businesses.  When she finished with the Women’s Self-help Group she had started the week before, Padma made her way to the home with the woman sunk into the corner.

Being able to become productive citizens gave these women an inner dignity
in spite of their circumstances.

The husband glanced up as Padma entered.  He was not pleased to see Padma back in his home.  She quickly spoke up and said, “I have a gift for your wife.”  She pulled a baby turkey out of the large bag that she had brought with her.  The husband laughed and said, “She can’t have it—I told you—she’s mental. 

Refusing to be deterred, Padma set the turkey on the floor in front of the hidden wife.  She gave the turkey a little nudge toward the woman.  The man glowered at Padma, irritated that she wouldn’t go away.  He prepared to order her out of the house.

But the baby turkey had walked up to the woman and begun pecking at her covering.  Both Padma and the husband were surprised to see the figure in the corner lift up the edge of her covering, push the turkey away, and pull the cover back down over her head.

“See, I told you so”, the man said triumphantly.  “She can’t have your gift, because she’s mental.”  While Padma and the husband talked, the baby turkey had walked back to the hump in the corner and began pecking at her sari.  This time the woman lifted up the covering, reached out, grabbed the baby turkey, brought it into her bosom and then immediately closed the covering back down to the ground.  This time it was Padma who smiled!  Nothing more happened, so Padma left.

The next time Padma came to the colony an amazing sight awaited her.  When Padma entered the woman’s home, she was amazed to see the woman sitting in the corner with her head uncovered, playing with the little turkey.  She had apparently bonded with the little bird!

Padma was so excited with this progress that the next week when she came to the colony, she brought the woman ten baby turkeys to raise as the beginnings of a micro-business.

I later had the opportunity of visiting this woman.  What a transformation had taken place.  When Padma and I approached the colony we saw this woman confidently stride by, followed by a gaggle of turkeys.  She looked like the Pied Piper of turkeys!  Padma called out to her, “Madam, what are you doing?”  She responded cheerily, “I’m walking my turkeys.  I walk them for 45 minutes every morning and every night.”  She confided, “They are like my children!”

As I met with her I was struck by how confident she sounded.  Her turkey business had been a phenomenal success.  She was now the wealthiest woman in the colony.  In fact, the month previously she had been voted the colony leader!  What a contrast!

It turns out that she was not “mental” at all.  She had been so terribly depressed that she had just pulled the hood over her head and waited in the corner to die.  Now she was a happy, confident woman.  

Padma had told me that the woman now had several hundred dollars in the bank.  When I asked her about it, she said, “Not any more. . .”  With a huge smile spreading over her face she announced to us that she had spent the money on gold earrings.

I was appalled.  This woman who needed so many things so desperately, had spent hundreds of dollars on gold earrings?  “W-w-why on earth did you do that?” I stammered.  Padma explained to me that people in India wear their gold.  The amount of gold a woman is wearing determines how everyone else reacts to her.   A woman with real gold earrings will be waited on first in a store.  She will be spoken to respectfully.  So this woman who had no running water, no electricity—basically nothing that we would consider necessities of life—had spent her money on respect.

Proudly wearing her gold earrings!

This lovely woman went on to tell us that she had bought her husband a sliver belt.  (This could be a great story on forgiveness!)  He glowed with pride as he showed us his belt.  He told us how proud he was of his wife and what a joy it was to see her happy and successful.

Mother Teresa once said, “Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty.  Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat."

We all need to feel that we are needed, that we have valuable talents to offer the world.  We want to feel loved and appreciated.  These things are all free.  These are gifts that every one of us can give to another.  We don’t need to have a lot of money or influence.  We only need to have love.  These gifts have much more power to transform another person than just money.  I don’t recall a single story from the scriptures of Jesus giving money to a person.  Yet there are numerous stories of him transforming lives as He offered love and respect.

We are all surrounded by people young and old, who crave affirmation.  Sometimes one sentence is enough to awaken a sense of personal dignity.  Other times we have to continue to encourage and affirm.  As we freely give love and respect to others, we can often witness as great a transformation as occurred in a dinghy leprosy home in Southern India.