Prayers for a Prisoner
I was posted as sally port officer, which meant that anything and everything that came in or out of the institution had to go through me.
It was toward the end of the shift when the transportation team arrived at my gates with five new inmates. I secured the weapons, locked down the yard and cleaned the sally port for their entrance. The transporting officers brought them out one by one, in leg irons and belly chains with precise verbal instructions. They lined them up as the lieutenant, sergeant and I supervised the movement.
The fourth inmate was a tall, 6-foot-2-inch, stocky boy, and today was his 18th birthday. As he walked to get in line, tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them off with his hands, but they didn't get far because the chains kept them close to his body. So he stared down at the ground to hide them, because in this place, tears are the most dangerous things to have.
I walked beside them, hoping my words were calm and gentle, as I tried to ease them from the fear in their minds at the same time as I introduced them to the reality of their confinement. I could hear my voice as I spoke the processing instructions, but my eyes wandered back to the boy who was trembling with fear. He would join others who cried all night and no one would hear him.
Everything was taken away. Now he would be told what to do, when he could do it and exactly how it was to be done. He would be forced to stay here. Losing his freedom, wasting his time and given no choices.
I wondered what terrible crime he could have committed to deserve such punishment. So, before I left work, I checked his escape flier. He had been sentenced to two years for aggravated assault. Two years would be taken from his life for losing control. Two years to be corrected. Soon I would hear all the details of his story and, in time, I would get to know him. It was the usual beginning of an unusual relationship.
The next day I was posted in his unit as dorm officer. I received shift briefing and went to work. Little did I know that the five beds I had chosen placed the boy right in front of the control room. I thanked God for hearing my prayers. The boy would be safe there, at least while he slept. I slipped into a chair behind the desk and pretended to read, to write a report, a journal--anything. I had to look away; I was crying.
The week slowly turned into months and the months into a year. I watched him 10 hours a day, six days a week; and he watched me.
A young man of extraordinary character
He was quiet, gentle, kind, giving and forgiving. Since he was physically stronger, the other inmates were at a disadvantage and left him alone. Yet, he was meek and humble. He spoke softly, worked hard at whatever task he was given to do, and late at night, when everyone was asleep, he knelt down between his locker and his bunk and prayed. My heart was filled with sadness, knowing he was someone's son. But no mother or father came to visit him on the weekends, to share a story or to offer a few words of encouragement and strength. There was no brother or sister to call, to remind him of their childhood and the lessons they had learned.
At noon, when the mail was called out, he listened from a distance and hoped--as they all hoped--but none of the few letters that came was for him. The innocence of his youth had been thrown away and nobody cared. He was lost and alone, never hearing the messages and promises from God, never learning how to overcome the deceptions of Satan.
During the last six months of the sentence, a prisoner is referred to as a "short timer," implying a foreseeable end is drawing near--both to the sentence and to the inevitable hardships he has had to endure. His character's true colors emerge as freedom becomes a reality. Fear of harm from others diminishes.
The inmate who has not learned from his mistakes becomes his own worst enemy, and we will meet again in these familiar surroundings. But for the courageous one willing to confront his mistakes squarely and admit he was wrong, the gate will be opened and he will be set free with a better understanding of his purpose in life.
Has he learned his lesson?
Whether he has learned his lesson the hard way and takes advantage of his bitter experience to turn from the behavior that landed him in jail, diligently seeking a different course for his life, only time will tell. Hard times can motivate him to make lasting changes, and it's important that he does. I'm reminded of Paul's encouragement to take advantage of opportunities God provides us to be rescued from our destructive deeds. "Or do you despise the riches of His goodness, forbearance, and longsuffering, not knowing that the goodness of God leads you to repentance? But in accordance with your hardness and your impenitent heart you are treasuring up for yourself wrath in the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God" (Romans 2:4-5).
I met this young man in one of the most negative environments, locked inside physical prison walls, and even time was against him. He was tried and tested, and he was triumphant over adversity. I can only hope I had as much positive influence on his life as he had on mine. It's an old custom for a prisoner to take a piece of clothing with him, when he is released from prison, to remind himself of what he went through--so that he will never return. On the day this young man was released, he carried out with him a small box containing his possessions. In it I placed a pair of white socks on top of an old manila envelope in which he kept a few copies of The Good News, a magazine of hope and understanding published by the United Church of God.
I keep this young man in my prayers, and I long for the day when we will have no more tears to wipe away. For now, the hug I wanted to give him that day in the sally port will have to wait--hopefully, only for a short time, when God's promised Kingdom will bring peace to this earth.
This article was written by a corrections officer in Arizona who wishes to remain anonymous.