On Monday, May 20, I had the privilege of receiving my Associate's degree in Ministry Leadership from Calvin College through the Calvin Prison Initiative. I was one of 19 students to graduate, one of whom had recently been released from prison and received his degree the Saturday before in the commencement ceremony at the Calvin College campus .
Receiving my degree was a proud moment for me, not so much because of the degree itself, but because it represents something incredibly positive in a negative situation (prison). I was proud to stand with the brothers I've gained through this program, and even prouder as I listened to the youngest member of our cohort give a speech that rivaled that of Heidi Washington, Michigan Department of Corrections Director, Warden Burton, and Calvin's special guest speaker, Dr. Kahn Nedd. Celebrating this momentous occasion was even more special because my mother, brother, and a friend were inside the prison in the audience cheering me on.
Five years ago, I would have bet money that would never happen--but it did.
The prison system in America is changing. The change is frustratingly slow, but it is changing. Much still needs to be done on sentencing reforms and even on corrections philosophy in general, but having a front-row seat to hear the MDOC director express her sentiments gives me hope that the opportunities I have had will expand more and more.
When I started this blog, I had no idea I would be privileged to be a part of the Calvin Prison Initiative. It wasn't even a program yet. But I named this blog "Hope on the Inside" because I believe that I hold power to choose how I respond to my prison experience. Prison sucks--let's be honest. But I can make choices within my power that support my hope for a better future. I'm extremely fortunate to have people who have helped me with those choices, both before joining CPI and even now. Other prisoners are not so fortunate, and that needs to change.
I'm also fortunate that I will leave prison one day, a privilege close to two-thirds of the other men in the CPI program do not have. They'll move on to other prisons to use their education to influence positive changes in the prison system, at least that's the hope. Others, like me, will leave prison better prepared to find jobs and positively affect the communities to which we parole. It's a privilege that comes with great responsibility, but many of us are just itching for that chance.
Calvin College (soon to be Calvin University) did not have to come into prison to educate prisoners. They did so because they believe that all people, even convicted criminals, deserve to be treated with dignity and as God's valued creation. We certainly don't deserve what they've given us, but I hope to exemplify the same grace they've shown to us prisoner students.
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Saturday, May 11, 2019
Listen to Your Mother--She's Probably Right
"Be sure your sins will always find you out!" My mother used to frequently caution my brothers and me with this dire warning as we were growing up. And I hated it every time she did. As a teenager, I felt like she tried to use this warning as a behavioral control to make us follow the rules. Since I disagreed with many of the rules in our house, and didn't consider breaking them a "sin," it was an easy warning to discount. As an adult, I simply believed my mother was being melodramatic.
Now, I wish I had paid a little closer attention.
I'm sure my experience isn't that much different than many other people who had a mother who cared about them but who still made tragic choices that violated everything they'd been taught. I guess some of us are just hard-headed and have to learn the hard way. Unfortunately, when we made those tragic choices, our mothers who had tried to warn us ended up suffering the consequences of our decisions too.
My mother is not to blame for the choices I made--I am. But she still suffers the indignity of people thinking she wasn't an effective parent and the shame of knowing she has a son who chose to ignore her many warnings and careful instructions. And yet, she still visits me, writes me, and even manages this blog for me--which probably all earn her nothing but more criticism from people who believe she should cut me out of her life like they did.
I can't imagine how difficult it must be to hold the contradictory feelings of shame and deep disappointment at the same time as the unconditional love of a mother. Yet, I know many mothers do just that. They don't deserve criticism or judgmental thoughts and whisperings. They deserve to be learned from, for they teach us how to love radically. They teach us how to love the unlovable, even our enemies as Jesus taught in the sermon on the mount: "Love your enemies...for if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?" (Matt. 5:44ff, 46 ESV).
I might have thought my mother's warnings were melodramatic, but she was right. In fact, she was only trying to teach me what Jesus also taught in Luke 12:2-3: "Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. Therefore, whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light, and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed on the housetops" (ESV). Trust me, this is not melodramatic; it's the truth--take it from someone who has had his dark secrets brought to light and his private whisperings shouted from the rooftops.
Mom, I wish I had listened to you. Thank you for trying to teach me, and for loving me through even the darkest, most shameful parts of my life.
Happy Mother's Day! I love you.
Now, I wish I had paid a little closer attention.
I'm sure my experience isn't that much different than many other people who had a mother who cared about them but who still made tragic choices that violated everything they'd been taught. I guess some of us are just hard-headed and have to learn the hard way. Unfortunately, when we made those tragic choices, our mothers who had tried to warn us ended up suffering the consequences of our decisions too.
My mother is not to blame for the choices I made--I am. But she still suffers the indignity of people thinking she wasn't an effective parent and the shame of knowing she has a son who chose to ignore her many warnings and careful instructions. And yet, she still visits me, writes me, and even manages this blog for me--which probably all earn her nothing but more criticism from people who believe she should cut me out of her life like they did.
I can't imagine how difficult it must be to hold the contradictory feelings of shame and deep disappointment at the same time as the unconditional love of a mother. Yet, I know many mothers do just that. They don't deserve criticism or judgmental thoughts and whisperings. They deserve to be learned from, for they teach us how to love radically. They teach us how to love the unlovable, even our enemies as Jesus taught in the sermon on the mount: "Love your enemies...for if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?" (Matt. 5:44ff, 46 ESV).
I might have thought my mother's warnings were melodramatic, but she was right. In fact, she was only trying to teach me what Jesus also taught in Luke 12:2-3: "Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. Therefore, whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light, and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed on the housetops" (ESV). Trust me, this is not melodramatic; it's the truth--take it from someone who has had his dark secrets brought to light and his private whisperings shouted from the rooftops.
Mom, I wish I had listened to you. Thank you for trying to teach me, and for loving me through even the darkest, most shameful parts of my life.
Happy Mother's Day! I love you.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Which Would You Choose: Familiar Failure or Facing Fear with Courage?
The other day as I walked to chow and waited in line to get my tray of food, moving slowly up the line with the rest of the herd, I overheard the conversation of the two young men behind me. They were discussing their prowess and expertise as the "best" dope cooks in Detroit. They regaled each other with a ping-pong of one-upsmanship about whose recipe was better.
"I'm tellin' you," one claimed, "when you add [ingredient], your crack is so hard it'll ping off the wall like a baseball!"
"Yeah," the other retorted, "but mines is so hard you can't even cut it. You gotta break it with a hammer!"
I just dropped my head in disgust. These two young men were being trained by the Department of Corrections in a vocational trade so they could leave prison highly employable. But here they were, planning their next trip to prison. I even heard one tell the other that getting caught isn't so bad, since crack and powder have the same sentence now. Apparently one of his friends back home only got a year-long sentence in jail for a kilo of cocaine.
As I listened, no longer able to just ignore the conversation, I wondered what would make these men believe that giving up even a year of their lives to jail or prison was worth returning to the dope game. I wondered what sort of hopelessness they must feel to risk more prison time, just to cook and sell drugs. Or is it hopelessness at all? Perhaps it's just fear. Fear can be a powerful motivator. Sure, these guys are being trained in a new vocation, but they've never worked in the real world--except for selling drugs. Drugs are all they know.
Fear of change paralyzes a lot of people, not just prisoners. In fact, fear is often the reason the public and the legislature refuses to support changes to criminal justice laws. After all, even though the current system is a miserable failure, it is familiar. Perhaps that's why these two prisoners, and so many others like them, return to their same criminal patterns of behavior. Those patterns are familiar. They're comfortable, even if they have proven to be a miserable failure. Yes, they have consequences too, but those consequences are also known. Trying something new, even something positive, is unknown. What if they fail? What happens then? And just as scary, what if they succeed? Will their friends still like them? Will their family respect them? Will they like the changes in themselves?
Making changes, big changes, from everything you've known to something new is not easy. We should not expect it to be easy for prisoners either. They have to want to change before they will. But in the process, we also can provide encouragement and, if necessary, counseling on having courage to change. Change requires courage, especially when it turns your world upside down (or right side up!). Courage is not the absence of fear, but knowing what to fear and then acting with proper judgment.
I don't know if these two young men have anyone in their lives teaching them what to fear or helping them to learn proper judgment. I would guess not. This doesn't mean that we should stop training them. It simply means that we need to understand the problem of recidivism as more than simply an education problem. Many other factors, not the least of which is a moral foundation, are critical to true and lasting change.
"I'm tellin' you," one claimed, "when you add [ingredient], your crack is so hard it'll ping off the wall like a baseball!"
"Yeah," the other retorted, "but mines is so hard you can't even cut it. You gotta break it with a hammer!"
I just dropped my head in disgust. These two young men were being trained by the Department of Corrections in a vocational trade so they could leave prison highly employable. But here they were, planning their next trip to prison. I even heard one tell the other that getting caught isn't so bad, since crack and powder have the same sentence now. Apparently one of his friends back home only got a year-long sentence in jail for a kilo of cocaine.
As I listened, no longer able to just ignore the conversation, I wondered what would make these men believe that giving up even a year of their lives to jail or prison was worth returning to the dope game. I wondered what sort of hopelessness they must feel to risk more prison time, just to cook and sell drugs. Or is it hopelessness at all? Perhaps it's just fear. Fear can be a powerful motivator. Sure, these guys are being trained in a new vocation, but they've never worked in the real world--except for selling drugs. Drugs are all they know.
Fear of change paralyzes a lot of people, not just prisoners. In fact, fear is often the reason the public and the legislature refuses to support changes to criminal justice laws. After all, even though the current system is a miserable failure, it is familiar. Perhaps that's why these two prisoners, and so many others like them, return to their same criminal patterns of behavior. Those patterns are familiar. They're comfortable, even if they have proven to be a miserable failure. Yes, they have consequences too, but those consequences are also known. Trying something new, even something positive, is unknown. What if they fail? What happens then? And just as scary, what if they succeed? Will their friends still like them? Will their family respect them? Will they like the changes in themselves?
Making changes, big changes, from everything you've known to something new is not easy. We should not expect it to be easy for prisoners either. They have to want to change before they will. But in the process, we also can provide encouragement and, if necessary, counseling on having courage to change. Change requires courage, especially when it turns your world upside down (or right side up!). Courage is not the absence of fear, but knowing what to fear and then acting with proper judgment.
I don't know if these two young men have anyone in their lives teaching them what to fear or helping them to learn proper judgment. I would guess not. This doesn't mean that we should stop training them. It simply means that we need to understand the problem of recidivism as more than simply an education problem. Many other factors, not the least of which is a moral foundation, are critical to true and lasting change.
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