Longing for the Gift of Healing and Restoration

 I find myself trying to write a Christmas-themed post, but my mind keeps wandering towards how chaotic and isolating this year has been. Usually, right after Thanksgiving I begin to feel the Christmas spirit, even in prison. I begin listening to Christmas music, and reminiscing privately on good holiday memories with those I've loved. That hasn't been the case this year. Other than playing a few Christmas songs on my guitar, I've thought very little about the holidays. 

Many people outside of prison are scrambling to purchase gifts online and figure out what sort of Christmas gatherings they are allowed to have. Surely, Christmas will look different for many people this year. But frankly, it's not really that different than most years in prison. Sure, we're not allowed face-to-face visits this year, and that'll be hard for those of us who may have loved ones normally visit around or on Christmas. For most prisoners, though, Christmas in 2020 is as isolating as any other year. 

To be sure, there's a lot about the holiday season I don't miss. I don't miss the obsessive consumerism, economic stress, family drama, holiday work rush, crazy store crowds, and holiday traffic. What I do miss, though, are the little things. I miss family tree decorating, baking cookies, drinking hot cider, driving around looking at Christmas lights with the family, caroling to hospital patients, and watching my children's faces light up with surprise and joy. 

Mostly, I miss the spirit of togetherness the holidays bring. Prison has a way of shedding light on what is most important, and I've discovered how much I value family togetherness and unity. Maybe these have become so important to me because I no longer have them. Relationships have taken on a significance that no Christmas lights, tree surrounded by gifts, or any other holiday trapping can ever replace. 

It's depressing to think about the relationships I no longer have because of the damage I caused with my crime. Repairing those relationships from within prison has proven to be a nearly impossible task. I guess if I were to wish for one thing this Christmas, it'd be for the chance to make things right with those whom I care about the most. Repairing relationships is hard, for sure, but it's worth the effort. At least, it's worth the effort to me. 

Memories of past holidays are worth cherishing. Although they are tinged with regret for the damage I've caused, I hold those memories in my heart. But I hope to create new memories someday, too. The hope that Christmas brings, hope of a future time when God will free this world from its current chaos, is the same hope that fills my heart with longing for restoration and healing in my relationships. That gift would truly be the best I could ever have. 

Now, may the peace, joy, and love of Christ fill each of you this Christmas season and in the coming year.

Prison Workout Routine or Comedy Routine?

 It's Sunday afternoon, and after a lunch meal of hotdogs, beans, corn, and cake, it's time for a workout. It's upper back day, so my workout partner, Kevin, and I plan on doing pull-ups, upside down rows, and some core exercises. 

The weight pit and gym have been closed for months due to Covid-19, so our prison workout routines have consisted of callisthenic and body weight exercises. It's not bad, actually. I enjoy the routines. Push-ups, dips, pull-ups, squats, lunges, and quite a few very creative exercises have served quite well to keep me relatively in shape. 

After changing into our workout clothes, including gloves to protect against the cold, we head out to small yard. We walk a couple of laps to warm up, and then we head over to the pull-up bars. There are only two, and the bars are surrounded by a group of eight other guys. Fortunately, Kevin and I are both over six feet tall, and the other guys are only using the shorter of the two bars, so we start our pull-ups on the taller bar. 

On my first set, I make the mistake of facing the group of guys standing off to the side. It feels awkward, them staring at me while I grunt my way through my set. So, I make light of it when I get down.

"Hey guys!" I call out. "Rather than awkwardly watching me do my pull-ups, how about some motivational encouragement!"

"Oh, sorry," one guy responds good naturedly. "I did notice your form. It was pretty good. Inspirational." He picks up on my joke and humorously lobs one back at me, even if it is a stretched truth. 

Kevin and I make a lap between sets. It's too short of a break, but we head for another set. I'm already feeling sore from the last few days' workouts, but I push on. In the background, I hear the other group laughing and joking as they each take a turn on the bars. Occasionally, one of the men needs assistance, so another guy provides a spot for his pull-up. Basically, the second guy assists the first guy to take a little of the weight. It's how I had to start, too, when I first came to prison and couldn't do a single pull-up. 

I remember being embarrassed the first time I tried a pull-up. The guys doing them made it look so easy. I quickly discovered, then, just how out of shape I was in. Grateful to have those days behind me, I settle in for another set. Four sets of pull-ups, two sets of chin-ups, and two sets of parallel pull-ups. There was a time when I'd do more, but my school schedule over the lasts few years has me in maintenance mode. I just want to stay healthy, that's all. 

The good-natured ribbing happening in the other group interrupts my reverie. 

"That's not really a kip," one guy says. "We'll call it a half-kip." 

"Yeah it is!" the target of the criticism responds in a whiney voice. "That was a full kip!" Even though it's not a competition, he wants the validation of having successfully completed the challenge. Then he says something that makes me smile and draws a laugh from Kevin. 

"Wait. What's a kip again?" His timing, though unintentional, was perfect. It couldn't have been funnier in a comedy club. A kip is a swinging motion-assisted pull-up made popular by Ironman competitions. It's apparent that he's been claiming to successfully complete an exercise with which he is unfamiliar. 

Kevin and I glance at each other smiling. We wish everyone on small yard provided a humorous break from prison's drudgery. We move on to our next exercise, upside down rows, and then on to core. The cold doesn't feel so cold anymore, and what could be better than working out with a little comedy to lighten the mood?

More than Coronavirus Sweeps through Prisons

 The coronavirus pandemic has had many unforeseen consequences, including crashing job markets, increased social anxieties, and skyrocketing usage of home gyms and homeschooling. Perhaps due to increases in anxiety, access to government rescue money, increased generalized stress, or some combination of these causes, drug usage has also skyrocketed during the pandemic. 

This same phenomenon has also occurred in prison. When family and friend visits and normal activities were stopped in prison due to the virus, drug usage increased. It is unclear whether this increase is due to added stress, reduced structure and activities, or some other reason. What is clear, though, is that while the Michigan Department of Corrections (MDOC) has blamed much of the prevalence of drugs in prison on visitor and mail smuggling, even after these are no longer options, drug use remains high. 

In another useless attempt to stop the inflow of drugs into prison, the MDOC recently made significant changes to its mail policy. All incoming mail, including envelopes, are photocopied, and only the photocopies are delivered to prisoners. This means Christmas, birthday, and other holiday cards are delivered as black and white photocopies. It also means prisoners lose the vibrancy of drawings created by children for their fathers, and other mail, likewise, has a more impersonal feel to it. 

Changing the mail policy has not helped to stop the influx of drugs into prison. Access to Narcotics Anonymous and Celebrate Recovery groups, and peer-to-peer addiction mentoring also did little to stem these destructive choices before these options were shut down by the pandemic. Those prisoners who actually want to change (normally) have support from these programs, and that is a good thing, but if someone does not want to change, they'll find a way to continue destructive habits. 

Almost daily, it seems, ambulances enter this prison to take another prisoner who overdosed to the hospital. Watching another prisoner act crazy or have a medical emergency because of using a toxic chemical does not deter those who are chasing a high or seeking relief from their mental or emotional pain. Some of the same prisoners who leave in an ambulance are back to their same destructive patterns within a day or two. 

Clearly, the MDOC has to do something. They need to at least appear proactive at stemming the problem, but punishing all prisoners with overreaching mail policies is not solving the problem. It is unclear if the problem is being addressed at staff levels, but this ought to be done, and it ought to be a high priority. Positive peer pressure among prisoners has not proven very effective, but a few trained peer mentors continue to work with other prisoners who express a desire for change. For the rest, well, you can't force someone to change. 

Once the pandemic is behind us, corrections staff will likely resume regular shakedowns, and fear of consequences will deter a few prisoners from breaking the rules. Others, those committed to their addictions, those who are easily swayed by peer pressure, and those for whom addiction has a stranglehold, will continue to find ways to avoid facing trauma from their past, including trauma for which they are responsible. They'll continue to self-medicate to relieve boredom and stress, and as has already been shown, greater restrictions on prisoner rights and privileges will not make an ounce of difference to their access.

Keeping Your Head Down Leads to Life-Changing Lessons

 Entering prison for the first time (and hopefully last!) is a confusing time. This is especially true for those not raised in a culture where incarceration is the norm. Whatever one's personality, no matter how outgoing, the best policy is to "keep your head down." Of course, keeping one's head down does not mean literally looking at the ground. It refers to the virtues of restraint, caution, and prudence. Keeping one's head down means to lay low and not attract attention. It means observing and learning from one's surroundings. Caution is especially useful in prison, but so are prudence and restraint. Many "fish" (those new to prison), and frankly many who have served years in prison, haven't learned to use restraint or prudence. They are reactive to perceived disrespect, and they are slow to recognize manipulative behaviors of other prisoners. These are the ones who look for opportunities to be seen and heard, the ones who want to make a name for themselves. 

Prisoners who keep their heads down are more likely to quickly learn useful lessons. They are more likely to not only survive but thrive in an often chaotic and violent culture that wants to consume everyone in it. It is far too easy to lose one's identity, relax one's morals, and pick up or reinforce bad habits in such a toxic environment. Keeping one's head down, conversely, helps one hold onto important values and behaviors and discard or avoid those that are undesireable. 

The coronavirus pandemic has made everyday citizens similar to "fish." Our world is a different place than it was a year ago. People are more distrustful of others (partisan politics might also have something to do with that), hold vastly different opinions about masks and social distancing, and live with a generalized fear about getting sick or dying, about jobs and the economy, and about what's next after the vaccine comes. 

Some people have chosen to respond to this pandemic by keeping their heads down. This looks different for everyone. Some choose near total isolation. Some choose the middle ground by exercising caution and prudence in their potential exposure. Others, heads up, choose to ignore the warnings entirely. 

The key to living successfully with your head down is that you do not make such a posture your identity. In prison, that means speaking up when it is appropriate. It means handling conflict responsibly, not running from it. It mean consciously choosing to hang out with positive-minded people who contribute to your growth, and you to theirs, not with those who seek your corruption or destruction. 

Yes, keeping one's head down in prison can serve one well. It's easier to be introspective when you are in an evaluative mindset. Rather than simply observing others, you learn to observe yourself. You learn to ask questions about your own beliefs, values, and behaviors. And in that observation and evaluation, you learn to discard values and behaviors that have been destructive. 

Similarly, the coronavirus pandemic has afforded many people the opportunity to keep their heads down, to evaluate their lives, and to make changes if they don't like what they see. Many people have learned to appreciate their spouses and children again. They have come to discover that the rat race they have been in has lied to them about what is important in life. Some have chosen to reset or recommit to their values. They have truly set a "new normal" in their lives.

Prison, too, affords an opportunity for a reset. It provides the time to keep your head down, to evaluate your life, and to refocus on what is truly important. Nobody would choose prison for this purpose, just like nobody would choose a pandemic for this purpose, but why not use what may be the worst year of your life to reset your direction? Why not use this year's suffering to change the focus of your life and to make the years ahead better than they would have been otherwise? Prison or pandemic, they can make you suspicious and anxious or they can give you the opportunity to choose differently, to live a life that matters.