July 2007

Day after day, as I go about my business, there remains an ever-present longing deep within my soul for the Messiah of Hope to come and take me to heaven to be with Him, forever.

I would assume this to be the desire of every Christian. That we would see Jesus, whether at death, or, if it so happens that I am alive when He comes, at the "rapture." The "rapture," as it is commonly called, is and event in which the Lord Jesus, in a split second of time, instantly takes all true believers out of the world. This, indeed, is my "blessed hope."

So with this in mind, I live each day doing the best I can to help others, yet with the desire in my heart to depart this world with its cruelty, unforgiveness and prejudice, and go to a place that is far more beautiful than I could ever imagine.

To many, however, this is foolish thinking. But there is nothing strange or outlandish about it. The Word of God makes it clear that Christ will come again. First He will come for His church. This will happen suddenly and without any prior notice. Then, after a period of seven long years of troubles and misery for those left behind, He will come again to save Israel from annihilation, and the world from self-destruction.

Therefore, the cry of my heart is, "Even so, Come, Lord Jesus (Revelation 22:20)."

D.B.

Having a tender heart of compassion is a good and precious thing. The Lord Jesus Christ has such a heart. As a High Priest who sits on His heavenly throne, He understands fully what human beings go through, for He himself was tempted. He, too, got thirsty, weary and weak because for a time He lived in a human body, yet while being fully God.

And, little by little, as the Lord continues to change my heart from that of a murderous psychopath and a once deranged man into that of a lamb of love and a jewel for His kingdom, I am learning this compassion the Bible speaks of. It is a compassion which comes from the heart of God.

In addition, I have seen this same heart of God in operation within the lives of my fellow prisoners who are, like me, born again Christians. I see them helping their neighbors, some who are also believers in Christ, but many who are not. For it makes no difference to them, nor to me, if a person in need is a Christian or not. If I could help him, I will.

The Lord Jesus, as my example, never turned away a sincere seeker nor a person with a legitimate need. If someone needed help from the Lord, he got it. And I want to be the same way. I want to be just like Jesus.

D.B.

This morning, while fourteen men including myself were in a classroom in the North Complex area of the prison, the God of Israel came to visit us. This is only an expression, of course. The Lord is everywhere. He cannot be confined to just one small area. God is omnipresent and He exists throughout the universe. Nevertheless the sense of His presence was noticeable.

As we do every Sunday morning, the men who belong to our church's choir, as well as the ushers, elders and myself, all gather for approximately 90 minutes before the actual service starts, to pray and seek direction and help from the Lord for the day ahead. The choir also gets the opportunity to rehearse their songs. While I have the chance to go over whatever message I may be planning to share with the congregation. It's an intimate and casual time for us, and I like to join in on some of the singing, too.

Yet today was different. I've written about experiences like this before in which a particular area, be it inside the chapel or in a classroom, would appear to come alive with the energy of God. This time it happened once more. After the last man entered the room we formed a circle, as is our custom, and joined hands to pray. Then when our prayer was finished, the fourteen of us began to praise the Lord in unison. It is our way of expressing our love and gratitude for Jesus Christ.

However, as we began to do this, the room, I'm convinced, became charged with power. And as the choir took their respective positions in order to practice their songs, my heart began to fill with joy and contentment. It was as if the Lord had joined us.

Meanwhile, a prison guard, who happened to be patrolling the corridor outside the classroom, found herself drawn to the music. She came inside the room and stood by the door smiling widely and watching us. But within a few minutes I noticed tears in her eyes. The Spirit of the Lord was touching her heart.

Finally, when the choir finished their songs, the officer began to speak. She told the choir how much she appreciated the music, and said she was amazed to feel so much peace in such a place. I politely told her that it was the goodness of God, and it was His presence she was sensing.

Then, at 9:45, it was time for us to move our music equipment and other gear into the main chapel area to set up for the ten o'clock worship service. Everything in a correctional facility runs on a strict schedule, often to the minute. For me, however, I did not want our praise and fellowship period to end. I didn't want to leave the room because it had become, at least for today, and oasis of peace and praise from the prison's harsh environment.

D.B.

It's blazing hot. I'm sitting on a steel stool here in a prison cell as I try to write this journal entry while big droplets of salty sweat drip from my forehead onto my lap. The heat is also taking its toll on the electricity because the overhead fluorescent light keeps flickering on and off. This is most likely due to the increased demand for power in the local area. I hope, however, that there won't be a power failure. I've had to sit in the dark on occasion when, either during storms or in excessively hot weather, the system failed. But when this happens the prison's self-contained emergency generators will eventually kick in.

And while it is too hot to write a lot, earlier today I'd been pondering how that at some future time, Satan, whom the Bible says is an "accuser of the brethren," will no longer be able to throw the painful past in my face. Even now, in God's eyes, I am a new creation in Christ. So while I cannot change the past, by the grace of God, I can continue going forward as I focus on the wonderful plans Jesus has for me. Amen!

D.B.

In prison one hears many stories of personal heartache, mostly of the self-inflicted kind. When sin runs its course what is usually left of a man's life is regret, and a tremendous sense of failure and loss. In addition, many of these men have often experienced damaged relationships. There are ruined dreams, too. Prison is a world of broken hearts. Yet in the midst of all this negativity stands the Lord. He walks through the corridors and cell blocks touching lives and giving hope. Jesus touches these men through His servants, who themselves have been recipients of His mercy and grace.

And I am one of those who've tasted God's goodness. In times passed I did bad things to people and caused them much pain. Likewise I too have experienced pain and sorrow. However, the One who delights in mercy can heal. He knows how to mend broken hearts and how to rebuild ruined lives. He restores damaged souls. The Lord takes broken people and lovingly and skillfully puts them back together. He then infuses these lives with huge doses of hope. But this is also a process which takes time. It doesn't happen overnight.

Nevertheless, I believe with absolute certainty that the Almighty is fully capable of helping men and women who've known much suffering because of their own sinful deeds. He not only forgives them, but He causes each of His children to sing with joy forevermore.

D.B.

Today I witnessed a handful of miracles. This morning we had our regularly weekly worship service in the chapel. It went well and God touched hearts through the words which were spoken by the visiting minister, my chaplain, and by one of the elder brothers. They each had a message for us from the Bible.

This afternoon, however, there was a baptismal service for those men who are new Christians. Approximately twice per year my chaplain, along with the inmates who work in the chapel, would bring out of storage a large baptismal tank. They would then push it into the chapel where it would get filled with water. From here my chaplain would conduct a special service for those wishing to be baptized, as well as for those from the congregation, such as myself, who wanted to attend.

To me, baptism by complete immersion in water is a beautiful sight to behold. It is a sacred moment in which those who have professed faith in Christ now get to make a public confession of it.

Therefore, at 12:45 this afternoon, after the lunch meal was finished, those members of my congregation who were on a pre-approved "callout" list were permitted to leave our respective cell blocks and return to the chapel for the baptism. There were five men scheduled to be baptized. And so, one by one, each man took his turn to walk up the portable wooden steps and climb into the tank where the chaplain would guide each one in and out of the water. Meanwhile those of us in attendance applauded vigorously.

Thus in obedience to the Lord's scriptural command, five men from different backgrounds took their stand for Christ through the public confession of baptism. Afterwards, each gave his testimony when it was his turn to speak. There was Eugene, a big boned black man who said his age was forty-nine. Eugene was a drug dealer who's doing a fifteen year sentence for Manslaughter in the First Degree. He hails from New York City. Next was Anthony, a 35 year old black man with an afro hair style now doing twenty-five years to life for murder. Anthony's from the city of Albany. Then there was Rowland, a 27 year old ex-gang member from the "streets" of Brooklyn, who's doing 20 years to life for 2nd degree murder. And Melvin, age 48, who pled guilty to a string of crimes he said he committed while he was "strung-out" on drugs. Melvin got twenty-four years. And finally, there was Martin, a baby-faced man of only nineteen, and white, who lived with his parents in a little town in upstate New York. Fortunately for Martin his sentence is only five years.

But whatever crimes brought these men to prison, and no matter how much time they must do, they're now members of God's family. In the Lord's eyes they're sitting in "heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6)." The world is no longer their home. Like me, they're just passing through.

D.B.

I was just informed by the correction officer on duty in my housing unit that I have to move to another cell block. This is because tomorrow morning a construction crew will be coming to do some work in my cell. The prison is currently going through a radiator maintenance project and the heating system throughout the facility is being upgraded. Every radiator has to be removed and altered to accommodate the new system.

The construction workers, who are from a private contracting company, are going to pull my steel bed from its metal mounts and from out of the wall. Every man's bunk, in addition to being welded onto mounts, is also embedded into cinder block at both the head and the foot of each bunk. Hence my having to move to another location. The work is very involved.

So in the midst of a horrendous season of heat and humidity, I must now gather my belongings for a temporary move. And I'm not looking forward to it. I'll be living out of bags and boxes until the construction is finished. Then, hopefully, I will be back in D-North #148.

D.B.

As of this moment I'm living in a little mission field with dozens of spiritually destitute men who need a touch from Jesus. As I'd written in yesterday's journal entry, I had to move to a different housing area because the cell I was living in is scheduled to undergo some construction. Therefore, albeit temporarily, I am now in E-South.

E-South is the prison's Special Needs Unit that's commonly referred to by staff and inmates as "SNU." I am in cell #ES-120, and I may be here for up to a week. Then I'll be sent back to my former cell in the general population.

It's a joy, however, to be in E-South. If it were not for the fact that about ninety percent of the men smoke, I'd want to stay here. This is because SNU is a much more open mission field then where I lived in D-North. For in the Special Needs Unit are men who suffer from varying degrees of learning disabilities, and who lack adult level coping skills. And their disabilities are exacerbated by whatever mental problems each man has.

Many of the residents at SNU operate at childlike or adolescent emotional levels. They'd have trouble functioning in the general population. In SNU there are additional correction officers assigned to the housing area, and the facility's Mental Health staff are more accessible, too.

Furthermore, because the educational levels of the SNU inmates are low, very few of them have sufficient reading and writing skills. Sadly they're a tragic mix of mental illness combined with varying levels of illiteracy.

The Special Needs Unit is a melting pot of messed up lives who need individual care and attention along with large doses of encouragement. For me it's a privilege to be here if only for a handful of days.

D.B.

I am now fully settled back in my old cell. And even though I had only been living at the Special Needs Unit (SNU) for five days, moving to E-South only because there happened to be a vacant cell available until the construction work was finished, my days in SNU were very rewarding.

While these men are officially labeled as having an assortment of disabilities, to me these are decent guys who've gotten bad breaks in life. Some, I'm sure, were born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Their mothers were abusers of alcohol. And others had mothers who were on drugs. These men came into the world damaged and addicted with underdeveloped brains.

Over the years, as I'd gotten to know many of them, they'd share their histories with me. They've come from an array of backgrounds, too, while a number confessed to being homeless even as teenagers. The Special Needs Unit has a litany of sad tales.

Yet there are also men in E-South who are my brothers in Christ. In spite of their individual learning disabilities and mental problems, they're some of the most avid attenders of the prison's chapel services and Bible studies. Their low reading levels may slow them down, but they're quite enthusiastic when it comes to studying the Bible and learning about Jesus Christ.

One man I was able to sit down at a table in the E-South dayroom and talk at length with was Rick. He's from the island of Jamaica in the Caribbean Ocean. Now about thirty years old, when he was a child, he told me, his mother used to take him to church. "All the kids in my family went," Rick said, "With no exceptions." But Rick told me he liked going. Church was a way of life for his family on that tropical island. Yet as he got older, however, the gangs lured him away. When he was still a young boy, Rick said he'd escaped death when a terrible explosion occurred inside the home of another family member. Something had gone awry with the propane tank that was being used for cooking and heating. Rick's convinced that God protected him. No one died. But his body is badly scarred as a result.

As he and I were sitting at the table, Rick got up, lifted his shirt, and showed me a big burn mark across his stomach and along much of his left side. His hands and face have scarring too.

Rick told me that he prays a lot and often read his Bible. He's been to the prison's chapel a few times, but Rick is very shy and reserved and he doesn't want to make a commitment. I told Rick that I will be praying for him. He's one of many spiritually needy men inside the SNU.

D.B.

On Monday afternoon, shortly after the lunch meal was completed and I returned to my temporary cell, the E-South housing officer came over to tell me to gather my property because I would be moving back to D-North. My stay in E-South was a short one. So I said my goodbyes and, when a delivery wagon became available I piled my possessions onto the wagon for the return trip. An inmate by the name of Dean helped me to load the vehicle. We both then pushed it down the corridor into the D-North building. Dean also helped me to unload it as well. And when we were done I gave him a generous tip of six Hershey bars. In prison this is considered a fair payment for work rendered, especially since he volunteered to assist me on such a hot day. We were dripping with sweat.

Thus by three o'clock I was back in my old living quarters. In my absence, however, one of the civilian construction workers had apparently shut off my electricity. So the D-North officer had to call for the prison's maintenance crew to send someone over to restore the power. I then spent the remainder of Monday and much of Tuesday cleaning and unpacking.

After being gone for five days I found the floor covered with soot from the welder's torch. There was cinder dust and dozens of cinder block chips scattered about my room, and someone used the toilet and hadn't flushed it. I, therefore, when through all my old rags and used up a few of my own sponges to get the place clean again. This was an ordeal that I'm happy to be done with.

D.B.

One many think that a maximum security prison would not be a place where there can be expressions of genuine love, kindness and compassion among the inmates, but they'd be wrong. Yes, prisons can be places of horrific violence and high levels of hate. But where the Spirit of the Lord is, there will exist the liberty for charitable love to be demonstrated.

Yesterday I saw an example of this. It was during the Wednesday evening Bible study in the chapel. I happened to sit next to Salas, a man of 29; he's illiterate. Yet he's determined to learn how to read. Actually his reading level may be at only a first or second grade range, which is tragic. Salas has a severe learning disability.

Nevertheless, as we sat next to each other I noticed that Salas seemed overly happy. So I asked him what was up. He abruptly turned to me and, grinning from ear to ear, held up a beautiful hardcover children's Bible. Then before I could utter a word, Salas quickly blurted out that "brother Phillip," one of the inmates in our fellowship group, purchased the Bible for him as a gift. I noticed, too, that it said it's for ages 4 to 7 on the cover. I was happy for him.

It touched me how that Phillip, of his own volition and because he cares about Salas, would spend his own funds by ordering the book from a Christian book catalog so that Salas could perhaps now get a better understanding of the Scriptures.

I was inspired when I observed this example of how one prisoner showed kindness to another man, and to a man who could not repay him. Christ, I believe, has indeed made the little church fellowship here at Sullivan Correctional Facility into a closely knit body. He has made us into a diverse yet united family who lived by faith while walking in brotherly love.

D.B.

Note: Salas is not his real name, but Phillip's name is not fictitious.

Having spent time this morning in prayer, I wish to share some thoughts...

In spite of the hardships and difficulties I face each day, I've chosen to live my life by what the Bible says. That this is a day for me to be glad about and rejoice in because God has made it (Psalm 118:24)

As the beloved King David wrote in his psalms, the Lord is my Rock. He is a Shield and a Fortress for those who trust in Him. God is my Deliverer, Protector, and my Redeemer. He is all these things to me, and more.

Therefore, knowing this, my hope and confidence is in Him. And while my life is far from being pain and problem free, Jesus is with me. Knowing this is enough.

D.B.

I am writing about myself today. Looking back, my life had once been a big mess. I committed terrible crimes and I've done irreversible damage to many lives. I know, too, of the stronghold Satan had had upon me in the past. Nevertheless, I have no one to blame but myself. I won't deny it. I did wrong. I feel ashamed. I'm sorry, and I wish I could undo the cruel acts of violence I perpetrated upon those who'd done me no wrong. And I've had to live with the guilt.

Furthermore, in the process of all this I also damaged my own life having now spent almost thirty years in prison. I've caused shame, embarrassment and pain to my own family as well. Even after all these years I remain estranged from most of them. They left on the day of my arrest, and I've never heard from any of them again with the exception of a very few who've, thankfully, stuck with me. But the loss has been difficult because I still love and miss them.

Yet God, in His mercy, has since picked up all the pieces of my life that I'd shattered in my self-destructiveness. Beginning with the day that I told the Lord how sorry I was for what I'd done and asked for His forgiveness, from this moment onward God has begun to restore me.

It has been a slow process, however, with many ups and downs on my part. But God has been faithful. He has picked me up and placed me back on the path. In addition, my mind has long since been healed. My life has been spared. I am no longer under a dark cloud of condemnation, but I have been "saved by grace" instead. His blood has washed away all my sins. The Lord has made all things new in my life.

Today I have hope. I have usefulness and purpose. I've got precious friends both inside and outside of prison. And there are many who've received encouragement and inspiration knowing what God has done for me. My story provides hope for them, too.

So as the Lord had rebuilt and restored King David's life, He has done the same for me. King David was a man who had committed very serious sins. He even took a man's life in order to get his wife. God punished David. But when King David asked for mercy, he got it.

I destroyed my life and ruined it. However, Jesus, in His mercy and compassion, took pity upon me. He has been rebuilding and restoring my life ever since. I don't deserve it, and I could never repay Him. But as long as I have breath I will worship His wonderful name. And as long as I have hands and fingers, I will glorify and honor the Lord by writing about Him.

The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. Amen!

D.B.