Couldn't Keep It To Myself

Mid April. Spring is sprung in Southwest Louisiana. Socked in with rain. The river runs brown with mud, but the azalea's persist; puddles of color blossom beneath mammoth bushes.

It's been a few months since my last post, and I apologize. Time restraints, plus my inner writer's voice, "Who wants to read what I have to say?" have kept me away. But this past weekend, invigorated by the Jambalaya Writer's Conference in Houma, Louisiana, I have found my voice anew. I want to thank the keynote speaker, Wally Lamb, for part of my recovery, and my good friends of the Bayou Writers Group from Lake Charles, LA who never cease to "Encourage, Educate, and Inspire" me whenever we get together. bayouwritersgroup.com

A fan of faith not fate, I feel it is no accident; I signed up in February for the Jambalaya conference completely oblivious that Wally Lamb, too, shares my passion for women's prison ministry.

A privilege to talk with him, I purchased two anthologies he has edited from the women at York Correctional Institute (Connecticut), where Wally has co-facilitated a writing workshop for the past sixteen years. 

In the book, Can't Keep It to Myself, Wally Lamb's acknowledgement, filled with insight and grace, accompanies the true stories of incarcerated women who, as Dr. Lamb states, "are 'tough cookies' not because of their crimes but because they will neither be defeated nor silenced." 

Honest with the reader and themselves, the women pour out their private and painful experiences and the poor choices they've made. In this process of healing, they give us the opportunity not to fear the incarcerated, but see them as human beings on a common journey with the rest of us. 

Still searching for my place in the universe jigsaw, I just can't keep this book to myself. I will continue to read and share my musings about prison ministry and Wally Lamb, author, educator, and volunteer.  wallylamb.net

Enlarging Our Vision

Along with my family and writing, prison ministry is my passion. In January I was elected President of the Board for The Open Door Women’s Prison and Re-Entry Ministry. I am honored, as I serve alongside some amazing women. Masters in their faith, I have grown to realize the meaning of the church. From differing denominations and faith backgrounds we come together in holy service. Christ’s hands and feet on the ground, working with the least of these who made choices that landed them in jail. 

The scope of what’s about to happen within the Re-Entry mission field is exciting, but frustrating as well. Within days of accepting my present position, the Board was told the building where we've had our offices since 2006 is being sold. We have to the end of February to relocate. Meeting on a weekly basis for the past month, the volunteers who serve The Open Door have worked enthusiastically as we see God’s vision unfold in dynamic ways. Enlarging our vision to meet God’s has been the challenge. 

At church yesterday and repeated again in my morning Upper Room devotional was the theme to show God's awesome grace and love to everyone we come into contact: the surly checker at the grocery store, the man who cut me off in traffic, those who have hurt me. Sometimes, I have to be reminded the point of my existence and my passion. I must go, now, one of TOD's Re-entered Citizens is waiting for the Spirit of Christ to drive up with skin on.  

A Good Marriage

My passion for prison ministry is officially married with my writing. A column I call, Beyond the Wire, is now a feature in a local magazine, The Voice of Southwest Louisiana. A brainchild of my early morning muse, writing journal articles is a stretch from my comfortable fiction where I’m allowed to wax poetic and lie.

I chose The Voice because it focuses on positive aspects of the region and people from the southwest area of the state. That seemed a good marriage for my column, concerning The Open Door Prison and Re-Entry Ministry. This monthly column features volunteers and a few of the clients, whom The Open Door helped find new beginnings. 

Visit The Voice of SWLA, www.thevoiceofsouthwestla.com 

and see my January article, “Crime Fighters” under Favorite Columns. Let me know your opinion. 

Justice For All

I sit on the Board for The Open Door Prison and Re-Entry Ministry, a non-profit, faith-based organization. The Open Door’s purpose is to help incarcerated women find hope through classes and mentoring. Upon release from jail, we continue the bond of trust and offer guidance through the difficult period of transition into the community. I volunteer, going into the local jail weekly to help with the Literacy program.

Yesterday, I visited our offices and had an opportunity to reconnect with a client from Literacy who was recently released. Her family had finally scraped together her bond. She had been jailed and held for the past six months without formal charges and without legal counsel. Just prior to release, she was given a court appointed attorney who was a civil lawyer, unversed in criminal law. Unfortunately, this isn’t a unique situation. Louisiana’s legal and penal systems are broken.

I’d like to state: not everyone in jail is guilty no matter what the news reports. If you don’t have the cash to hire a lawyer, it’s a maze of injustice. The system is set up for the poor to fail and be jailed on technicalities.

Failure to appear - but the court date was changed and you weren't contacted.

No excuse, show up to court or you’re in violation.

A bench warrant is issued for your arrest.

Can’t afford $75 per month Probation costs because you can’t get a job.

No excuse, write a warrant.

No wonder Louisiana has the HIGHEST rate of incarceration in the world.

If you're fortunate enough to have money – It’s a good-ol’-boy system with plenty of hoops that only a speaker of legalese can maneuver. There’s no such thing as innocent until proven guilty.

I’ve mentored women who sat on the inside for months even years, worrying about their parent’s health or children’s welfare with no solid legal information coming from their appointed attorneys until just days before trial. The court system is out of step with the twenty-first century and unwilling or able to spend revenue to update and link computer systems. The misspelling of a name can leave someone in jail until a family member straightens out the error.

Public defenders are assigned hundreds of cases each. They end up working with the D.A. in order to push cases through the courts. To save political face the system offers the jail-weary a plea bargain for time served. Men and women reach for the straw that’s offered desperate to get out, leaving the guilty as well as the innocent a record that haunts them, a ghost on every job and apartment application.

Society has turned a blind eye. Few will hire someone with a record. Gripped by media driven fear, we pass mileage for more deputies, more equipment, and more jail space, when we need justice with grace. Precious dollars spent on education and public programs to enrich life would offer encouragement, rather than a slap at every right turn. We need change. I don’t know the answers, but I know God is just.

What’s your experience? 

Tuesday Afternoons

The room is empty, devoid of students. Chow in 100 comes early and always during literacy class. Through the door I watch two female deputies work the tower, a raised area in the center quad of three large dorms that house thirty women each, and my classroom. Food carts squeak. Trustees push plastic trays through portals in locked massive, metal doors. Women wave and mouth verboten greetings through heavy windows laced with wire mesh. Phones ring. Walkie-talkies squawk. Voices loud – laughing, scolding, praising, joking.

Fifteen minutes – “Teacher’s waiting. Hurry-up.”

A wave of women shuffle in, then another, back to their pencils and pages. Greetings and gossip, all ages, races, average, normal – dressed in orange, INMATE stamped on their backs. Each has a story, choices and circumstance – tragic or luck. Lives pulled from poverty and privilege, sit side-by-side in search of change. I listen and pray, glad I’m the volunteer and not the judge.