It's Sunday today. Not just any Sunday though. It's chicken Sunday. That "special" day every two weeks we inmates are served a chicken leg at either the lunch or dinner meal. It's really the only meal with real, unprocessed meat we get and most inmates look forward to it. Some indigent inmates look forward to it because they can sell their chicken for two ramen noodles to other prisoners.
These prisoners will bring the extra chicken back to the unit from the chow hall to use in a cookup. It's a win-win for both sides. One gets noodles to trade for coffee shots (the new prison crack) while the other gets a protein for his cookup that is much less expensive than the overpriced meatsticks available on the commissary list.
Fifteen to twenty minutes before our unit is called to chow, prisoners begin gathering in anticipation. If the unit officer allows it many of us gather in the lobby of our unit, the cacophony of voices like the hum of bees from a recently disturbed hive. Unlike a hive of bees though, the banal conversations here have no meaning and serve only to wile away the time.
"Chow time!!", the unit officer announces loudly, setting off a semi-organized stampede for the door. Decorum mostly prevails as we move out like a herd of cattle for the walk/fast-walk to the chow hall. Those prisoners who have spent time in higher security levels, and who haven't become complacent to the inherent dangers of being caught in the middle of a crowd of prisoners, hang back for the rush to settle down before heading to chow.
Today I'm lucky. Another inmate wants to trade me his chicken for my almost equally coveted chocolate chip cookie. I jump at the opportunity, eager to make a chicken soup tonight; something special to eat while watching the season finale of one of my favorite tv shows, whose title is an ironic metaphor for the life of many Michigan prisoners: The Walking Dead.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Another typical morning in a Michigan Prison
I'm awakened by the sound of a locker shutting or perhaps the rattling of a bag of instant coffee as another inmate in my cube is up at 5 am getting ready to work his shift in the kitchen serving breakfast. After straining to see the time on the clock in the hallway outside my cube. I sink back into my pillow for a few more minutes of rest on my lumpy mat that rests on a steel plate.
My internal clock wakes me again a few minutes before the alarm on my wristwatch goes off at 6 am and wakes me and any other light sleepers in my cube. I debate laying in my bed a few minutes longer, but my commitments win out and I get up to prepare for the day. Before leaving my bed, I drink heavily from the cup of water I filled the night before, satiating the deep thirst the dry, warm air from overnight has caused my parched throat.
After carefully slipping off my top bunk so as to not wake my sleeping bunkie, I dress quietly and put my shoes on. Now it's my turn to make some noise, no matter how hard I try to unlock my locker quietly. I grab my toiletry bag and my face towel and head to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. As I walk quietly down the hallway some other inmates are already up watching music videos on BET, MTV, CMT, or Centric, while others are catching the early morning news. A few other inmates are likewise getting up and preparing for the day. Every morning, at least one inmate shuffles his feet down the entire length of the hallway, too lazy to actually pick up his feet while he walks, oblivious (or perhaps intentionally thoughtless) to the noise he's making. As I make my way down the hallway, I pay attention to the empty beds to see if anyone was snatched up and transferred during the night.
I enter the saloon-style doors of the bathroom and try to find a sink that looks somewhat clean - a difficult task in a unit of 160 men. After I wash my hands and face and brush my teeth before breakfast. Not all other inmates are courteous enough to eliminate their morning breath before sitting around a table for four talking as if their breath isn't ruining my already bland breakfast.
As I wash my face, my nose begins to bleed from the dry, hot night air. Healthcare refuses to prescribe the allergy medication I need telling me instead that I'll have to "suffer through it."
At the sink next to me a Sunni muslim performs his ritual washing while other inmates wash their faces and brush their teeth. Each man is polite and conscious of the fact that everyone is still half asleep. After stashing my toiletry bag in my locker I grab my English Composition book and notes and head to the quiet room to study with a couple of other inmates before breakfast. Breakfast is called between 6:45 am and 7:30 am so there's not much time to study.
After breakfast a busy schedule of studying, tutoring, and working out will quickly fill the morning. As the hive of men awakens, the peace and quiet of the morning will give way to loud, banal conversations.
Before this happens though, I enjoy the peace for a few minutes, setting my mind right with time in God's Word and preparing to meet the stresses of the day.
It's just another typical morning in a Michigan Prison.
My internal clock wakes me again a few minutes before the alarm on my wristwatch goes off at 6 am and wakes me and any other light sleepers in my cube. I debate laying in my bed a few minutes longer, but my commitments win out and I get up to prepare for the day. Before leaving my bed, I drink heavily from the cup of water I filled the night before, satiating the deep thirst the dry, warm air from overnight has caused my parched throat.
After carefully slipping off my top bunk so as to not wake my sleeping bunkie, I dress quietly and put my shoes on. Now it's my turn to make some noise, no matter how hard I try to unlock my locker quietly. I grab my toiletry bag and my face towel and head to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. As I walk quietly down the hallway some other inmates are already up watching music videos on BET, MTV, CMT, or Centric, while others are catching the early morning news. A few other inmates are likewise getting up and preparing for the day. Every morning, at least one inmate shuffles his feet down the entire length of the hallway, too lazy to actually pick up his feet while he walks, oblivious (or perhaps intentionally thoughtless) to the noise he's making. As I make my way down the hallway, I pay attention to the empty beds to see if anyone was snatched up and transferred during the night.
I enter the saloon-style doors of the bathroom and try to find a sink that looks somewhat clean - a difficult task in a unit of 160 men. After I wash my hands and face and brush my teeth before breakfast. Not all other inmates are courteous enough to eliminate their morning breath before sitting around a table for four talking as if their breath isn't ruining my already bland breakfast.
As I wash my face, my nose begins to bleed from the dry, hot night air. Healthcare refuses to prescribe the allergy medication I need telling me instead that I'll have to "suffer through it."
At the sink next to me a Sunni muslim performs his ritual washing while other inmates wash their faces and brush their teeth. Each man is polite and conscious of the fact that everyone is still half asleep. After stashing my toiletry bag in my locker I grab my English Composition book and notes and head to the quiet room to study with a couple of other inmates before breakfast. Breakfast is called between 6:45 am and 7:30 am so there's not much time to study.
After breakfast a busy schedule of studying, tutoring, and working out will quickly fill the morning. As the hive of men awakens, the peace and quiet of the morning will give way to loud, banal conversations.
Before this happens though, I enjoy the peace for a few minutes, setting my mind right with time in God's Word and preparing to meet the stresses of the day.
It's just another typical morning in a Michigan Prison.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Have you had your ears tickled lately?
I had a conversation recently with a guy here in prison about how many inmates hear something relevant to their lives, nod their head in affirmation, verbally agree, and then go their way making absolutely no changes in their behaviors. He was frustrated by the complacency around us. Here we are, broken people we are sometimes taught what needs to change in our lives, and for many those changes never happen.
The ironic thing is that this phenomenon is not isolated to criminal populations. How many people attend seminars, or retreats and get excited about what they hear, but never apply it to their lives? How many people sit in church every week silencing, for a moment, their guilty consciences, but fail to apply the truths they hear to their lives? How many millions of people pay money to have a professional tell them what they need to change (doctors, counselors, life coaches, etc.) only to never make the changes?
Why are so many people content to have their ears tickled for a time without yielding any lasting effect on their lives? Whether in prison or out, we are at a point in our lives that is a result of a collection of choices in our past and so, we often can't make the positive changes in our lives immediately. We can only make these positive changes slowly as an accumulation of small positive choices. Maybe for some if it can't be done overnight it's not worth the effort. And so they continue to behave badly, make more poor choices, and bear the fruit that comes with these decisions.
I'm tired of bearing bad fruit in my life. I refuse to stay stuck in the rut of poor choices. Yeah, it takes work, but I want my choices to bear good fruit. I want my children to be proud of me, my parents to be proud of me, and most of all I want my choices to finally reflect my identity as a child of God. It's time to put truth to work in our lives. Are you up for it?
The ironic thing is that this phenomenon is not isolated to criminal populations. How many people attend seminars, or retreats and get excited about what they hear, but never apply it to their lives? How many people sit in church every week silencing, for a moment, their guilty consciences, but fail to apply the truths they hear to their lives? How many millions of people pay money to have a professional tell them what they need to change (doctors, counselors, life coaches, etc.) only to never make the changes?
Why are so many people content to have their ears tickled for a time without yielding any lasting effect on their lives? Whether in prison or out, we are at a point in our lives that is a result of a collection of choices in our past and so, we often can't make the positive changes in our lives immediately. We can only make these positive changes slowly as an accumulation of small positive choices. Maybe for some if it can't be done overnight it's not worth the effort. And so they continue to behave badly, make more poor choices, and bear the fruit that comes with these decisions.
I'm tired of bearing bad fruit in my life. I refuse to stay stuck in the rut of poor choices. Yeah, it takes work, but I want my choices to bear good fruit. I want my children to be proud of me, my parents to be proud of me, and most of all I want my choices to finally reflect my identity as a child of God. It's time to put truth to work in our lives. Are you up for it?
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