Awakenings

My father was a soldier in WW2. He was Polish, fought the Nazis when they invaded his country, spent a year in a prison camp, escaped to England then fought in Africa, Italy and Central Europe. The interesting thing about that is we could never get a war story from him, and most vets that I know rarely if ever tell stories. Why? Because war is not a book or movie. War is brutal, scary, ugly. You see and do things no human should have to and when over all most want to do is thank God they survived and get on with their lives.

Prison is similar. And no, I am not comparing prisoners to solidiers, merely comparing the feelings involved. In prison ones sees and sometimes does things no human should have to see and do. When released most want to forget the whole ordeal, thank God they survived and get on with their lives. I almost never tell prison stories. First, I am not proud that I was in prison so I don't want to glorify the experience. Secondly, for my own sanity I need to let go of most of those experiences.

That being said I will relate one story because it was a turning point in my life and is connected to what happened yesterday.

When I went to Prison in 1993 I was a mess. I did not care about myself or anyone else and really never expected to ever be released. I truly thought that I would spend the rest of my life in jail. So, I went to prison with the "I just don't care" attitude. For the first 7 years I isolated myself from the outside world, fought constantly, did drugs and was disrespectful to the staff and the officers. During those 7 years I spent about half of it in Solitary, or "the box".

Prison is a place where they put people who for whatever reason fail to abide by the laws of the land. Solitary is where they put prisoners who for whatever reason fail to abide by corrections law and that's how far down the scale I had fallen. I couldn't even follow the rules in prison.

In July of 2000 I tested positive for opiates and was once again sitting shackled in the disciplinary office in front of the Captain. He was reading my file and my prison record. Finally he put it all down and looked at me. He said "i just don't understand you. You have a file full of letters from family and friends, good people, attesting to your fine character. If you stayed out of trouble you could be out in 5 years. You are smart, educated, have your health... you have more going for you than most but at the rate you are going we will one day find you stabbed in the yard or dead from an overdose in your cell. If you don't care about yourself at least care about the people who love you".

The Captain finished the hearing and gave me 100 day in the box. 90 days for drug use and 10 days for "being a jerk off". Seriously. After the hearing they usually lead you through the yard to the segragated housing unit and the convict does the "perp walk" where he holds his head up and smiles like it's no big deal only this time I couldn't. The Captains words had stung my like a whip and it to my all not to start crying as I walked across the yard.

They brought me in, stripped me, hosed me down, gave me a jumpsuit and led me to my home for the next 100 days. They shut the door and left. The cell was in the basement so there were no windows, no vents, no outside noise at all. I felt like I was in a tupperware container and might as well have been on Mars, that's how removed from society I was. I started thinking about what the Captain had said and for the first time in 7 years started thinking about my family, my friends, my children. I thought about the fun we used to have, thought about all the special days I missed in the last 7 years and then started thinking about all the things I would never see.... the graduations, weddings, births, parties, holidays, vacations..... and it was too much for me to bear. My legs buckled and I fell to the floor.

I thought about who I was and how I came to be here. I thought about my life and realized that I only had one in body for I was emotionally and spiritually bankrupt. I did not know how to live and just couldn't die. And so I started crying. I didn't want to die in this dungeon. I wanted to see my family and friends again. I wanted to one day be free. Iwanted to live.... so I did the only thing I could think of. I got on my knees and prayed. I believe in God but had never really been a religious person since childhood but for some reason I knew what to say. I did not ask God to transport me to Canada, did not ask for a pardon, didn't even ask to go back in time. All I asked for was the strength to get through this and to teach me how to live.

Almost immediately I felt better, lighter.... like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders so I did the next thing I could think of and started confessing every wrong I had ever committed right down to wrong thinking. With each admission I felt more weight coming off and hours later when I was done I did not feel tired, I felt alive.

The next day when the officer came around I asked for paper and pencil. I sat down and wrote all the people I had cut out of my life. When the Chaplain came around I asked for a bible and started reading. Over the next 98 days I recieved letters from almost everyone I wrote, all with a similiar message.... Thank God you are alright and when can we visit.

The remaining time breezed by and when I was released from solitary I did not go to the gym to play ball, I did not go to my cell to sleep and I did not go to the yard for drugs. I went to the chapel where I spent the next 5 years until released and in that time I did not get one single infraction.

Why the prison story? Beacause when I was released I slowly drifted away from God, from the church, from what saved me. The last 3+ years of my life I thrashed about looking for something, anything. I went to school, worked, moved, fell in and out of two realtionships but still there was something missing in my life..... until yesterday.

Yesterday I went with my ex to a new church in Albuquerque, 70 miles away. Why? Because we both have been looking for a place where we and all peoples would be welcome. An unpretentious church with a good message and we almost didn't make it. I had the wrong directions and we stopped along the way to look at a shiny glass church. Funny, it was almost like a test to see if we could make it.

When we got to this church services were being held in a school gymnasium. The minute we walked in we were greeted and felt welcomed. The crowd was a mixture of young and older with lots of babies. The pastor was in jeans and a sweater. They played music and did skits. It was great and when a friend of the pastors gave his sermon it felt like every word was directed at me. I sat and stood, sang and prayed with tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't feel kike I had to hide them , didn't feel embarassed, didn't feel judged, only loved and at the end of the service we knew where we would be next Sunday.

The connection? The feelings I had yesterday in church were the same feelings I had in the box 8+ years ago. I felt that once again the weight on my shoulders had been lifted, that I was free and that I now had direction. I don't know what direction that is only that it is the right direction. I know that I need God in my life. I know that now. I think I have always known that just never really admitted. it. Today I have. Today I have hope. Today I feel alive and awake and it is a wonderful feeling.

Be well and have a great day,

Mark