I've written before about how important gratitude is, how it helps to shift our perspectives, to pull us up from depression, and to inspire us to be hopeful. I've also shared some of the things I've found to be grateful for in prison.
Recently, we had a rather persistent snow shower that lasted all day. It didn't accumulate much more than a couple of inches, but it snowed HARD most of the day.
As I walked in prison towards my job facilitating a substance abuse recovery group, the snow accumulated on my coat while my shoes sloshed through the slushy snow on the road. The persistent noise of prison cut through the blanket of sound-dampening snow, but the air was more peaceful than normal.
I awed at the beauty of the snow, slowing long enough in my walk to appreciate it. My gaze shifted from razor wire background to the semi-sheer curtains of snow attempting to erase the evidence of prison. I couldn't help but notice the imposing brick and concrete structures around me, despite the beautiful snow in the midst of it all.
"I'm living in a concrete snow globe," I thought wryly, fully aware of the existence of dichotomies all around me.
How can the worst thing that happened in my life also be one of the best things that could have happened to me? Prison might have saved my life, but it definitely gave me the space to change my heart and mind.
How can some of the most creative people I've ever met be in prison? They can't seem to create a different reality for themselves, returning time and time again to this concrete and razor wire jungle.
How come it took coming to prison to form some of the best friendships I've ever had? There's no use wearing masks anymore when this concrete snow globe is like living in a glass house. People see everything.
Why is it that some of the greatest love and grace I've ever experienced has been in prison? I thought those things were supposed to be prevalent in churches, not prisons.
Maybe I just wasn't seeing rightly. Maybe it took prison to change my perspective. I can shift my perspective from concrete and brick walls to the cascading snow around me. Likewise, I can choose to focus on the beautiful parts of broken humanity around me instead of seeing only the brokenness.
At times I only see the brokenness, the concrete and razor wire. Those are the times where my mind is burdened by disgust, regret, loss, and pain. But when I shift my perspective, even just a little, I see the beauty in the world around me, even in prison.
Israel's leader Moses challenged them: "Before you are life and death. Choose life" (Deut. 30:19) Every time I shift my perspective and choose to see with hopeful eyes the beauty around me, even in prison, I choose life.
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