February 2007

God's plan for every Christian is to use him or her to the fullest extent possible as a "vessel of honor" in His hands.*

As we grow in Christ, and as our love for Jesus blossoms, we should at some point, I believe, come to an understanding that we've been called and chosen to join and army of willing and ready soldiers. We should be a well equipped host of spiritually prepared warriors, who, with love in our hearts and kindness on our lips, can share the gospel with our non Christian neighbors so that they too might be saved.

As the Scripture says, "For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23)." Thus there is no one who has not sinned and broken at least one part of God's holy law. And since "all have sinned," all need a Savior.

With this in mind, therefore, I go forward into schools and on to streets to share the love of Jesus with people. I also walk through the corridors of this prison to tell them that Jesus saves.

I pray, too, that with strong faith my fellow Christians will seek to do the same. Yet in my flesh I am weak. Without the grace and power of God operating within my life nothing could be accomplished. I need His strength at every moment.

D.B.

*Becoming a "vessel of honor" is found in II Timothy 2:20-21.

For the most part, those of us who live in the western world, including many Christians, do not understand or recognize the great danger that certain elements of the Islamic religion pose to mankind. Few of us know it is Islam's ultimate goal to conquer the world for Allah by any means necessary. This is no small matter.

In recent days, for example, several Muslim inmates have matter-of-factly told me that the goal of Islam is to make every person a Muslim who will worship Allah. First, they will offer those who do not follow Islam the chance to passively accept Islam and to embrace its tenets. Secondly, however, if one still declines to embrace this belief system that he would be granted one last opportunity to change his mind while a sword is above his head. Then, if at this moment he has a change of heart and is wiling to call upon Allah, he will be spared. If not, he dies.

This is scary. One must either succumb and surrender, or reject Allah and be beheaded on the spot, executed as an unrepentant infidel.

As a Christian, I know the Bible speaks about the "last days" and the "end times." A period of intense tribulation mingled with satanic deceptions will exist on earth just prior to Christ's return. It will be a time, Jesus said, that men's hearts will be failing them for fear over all the terrible things that shall be occurring (Luke 21:26).

As a Christian, therefore, I believe that those who do not know Jesus as their Savior and Lord, who know nothing about His love, mercy and compassion, need to be given the good news. They need to hear that Christ died for their sins, according to the Scriptures, that He rose again, and now lives to forgive and help all who call upon Him in faith.

As Jesus said to His disciples, "I must work the works of Him that sent Me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work (John 9:4)."

A dark night is indeed on the horizon and all nations will experience it. So we who are believers in Christ must do our work of evangelism today.

D.B.

I am not exaggerating when I say that one could get seriously hurt if he doesn't dress properly when he goes to the prison's outdoor yard. The cold and brutal mountain air could cause harm to one who's unprepared for it.

On some nights I will go to the yard during the "second" recreation period which runs from approximately 8:15 to almost 10 o'clock. I could also go out for the first period which goes from 6:20 to 8 P.M. But during the first period I'm usually in the chapel attending a Bible study, or I'm in my cell writing like I am doing now.

The night yard affords me some private time, at least during the winter months when the cold keeps most of the men inside. I could walk and silently pray for 90 uninterrupted minutes. And in this sense the yard becomes my "prayer closet."

Once a prisoner goes out to the yard, however, he must stay there for the full period. There is no shelter or warm-up hut. It's just you and the cold. There's a small stinky bathroom though. And sometimes a man will try to stay inside it for a few extra minutes of warmth. But you're not allowed to loiter. So if you overstay your allotted time in the bathroom, a correctional officer would usually come and bang on the steel door and tell you to get out.

The exercise yard is where I can go to clear my mind. On most bitterly cold evenings it's just me and Jesus walking together under the always watchful eyes of surveillance cameras, and under the eyes of the guard in the gun tower.

D.B.

I have no doubt that God takes pity on those who are afflicted. He's impartial to the oppressed, and to all who are in pain, even if the latter was caused by one's foolish actions.

Time and again I have seen Christ's hands of mercy being extended to those who are in prison. As the Bible says, He doesn't always deal with us as our iniquities deserve. And sometimes our own self-inflicted suffering, brought on by an unchecked sin nature, is enough of a punishment for a man to learn his lesson.

This afternoon, as an example of the Lord's mercy, the men here at Sullivan Correctional Facility got a special treat. Approximately 25 members of the Manhattan Grace Tabernacle Church from New York City came to worship with us. Most of them are with the church's choir. All totaled, seventy-two people were present inside the chapel. It was a heart-warming time. And as I have often observed, the eyes of a large number of these men were wet with tears. Surely committing crimes and wasting much of one's life brings forth much regret. But there were tears of joy and gratitude, too, for those who already know our sins have been forgiven.

Thus I am thankful that a group of Christians from the "free world" were willing to sacrifice a Saturday to spend time with men like me.

D.B.

A huge snowstorm is rampaging through my area on this cold Valentine's Day. The winds are howling. The snow is falling quickly in what appears to be large, wet flakes. Strong gusts are causing piles of snow to settle against the sides of my building and along my window's ledge.

I love watching it snow. But it's been said, however, that no two snowflakes are identical. And in this respect snowflakes are like people. Each one of us has our own set of fingerprints and our own individual DNA.

This also reminds me that God has created each human being to be unique and different. None of us, although alike in many ways, are the same. And I'd like to think the Lord designed us this way to be a special work of creation wonderfully made in His image.

Interestingly, in the above passage from the Old Testament book of Isaiah the prophet, the Lord likens snow to purity. It is something that, barring today's levels of air pollution, is a substance that is clean. Sin, of course, is always represented in the Scriptures as bad, dirty and impure.

So as I gaze out my window at the increasing amounts of white flakes, I'm reminded of how God sees me today - as one who's sins have been washed away. god sees my soul as being pure like fresh snow. The dark stains of sin are gone. I've been made spotless by the blood of Jesus. Amen.

D.B.

In a recent letter someone asked if the prison environment sometimes gets me down. Yes, at times the prison experience becomes oppressive. There is a real and discernible pain in being locked up in a cage. After all, I miss my family. I'm getting older. The media still brings up my past and opens old wounds even after thirty years. But when these things happen I look to the Lord for my help. My trust is in god, and He is able to strengthen my heart and mind. I serve a God of hope.

In addition, I also have good friends both in prison and on the outside. Likewise I have good goals and God is using my life to bring hope, encouragement and inspiration to people from all walks of life.

So when the "down" times come, and when the walls feel like they're closing in on me, the Lord comes to my rescue. He's carried me all these years, and He will continue to do so. Best of all, the Holy Spirit lives inside of me. Christ, therefore, is really all I need.

D.B.

The morning began uneventfully. It started out as just another day in prison. But even in here the daily routine is never a certainty. So after a lunch meal of macaroni and cheese, and after we returned to our cells to await the 12:45 call to report to our respective work assignments or classes, it was announced that we were to instead remain in our cells until further notice.

It's now 8 P.M. We're on a "lockdown." Therefore, all the inmates in the entire facility are hereby confined to our cells while the guards conduct a search for weapons and other contraband.

Thus far only a small selection of cells in my housing unit were "hit (searched)" by the officers. They apparently had certain prisoners whom they wanted to check first. Then, perhaps within the next day or two, the guards will be searching through all our belongings. But at this juncture I'm not sure.

Nevertheless, a lockdown means total 24-hour confinement. And this also means no Bible study tonight at chapel, and no yard or shower.

The lockdown may last for a day, or several days. It may even be over by tomorrow. Earlier, however, when the lockdown first began, many of the men stood by the front of their cells calling to one another to relay an assortment of personal messages. Some of the men were also making guesses as to what is going on and when this will end. No one knows.

D.B.

It has been a day of pacing back and forth within the confines of my prison cell, and waiting. It's not 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Yesterday the facility went on a "lockdown" and it may remain this way for a while. There's no way of knowing for certain. But I've been through this before. Lockdowns are a part of prison life.

I did hear, however, that the entire facility is being searched for contraband. This happens periodically. Sometimes such searches occur because of a rumor about a planned escape or a big gang fight in the making. Mostly, though, lockdowns are ordered whenever prison officials feel it is time to clean house, check everyone out, and see if any weapons, maps, drugs, or other illegal items are on the grounds.

Therefore, more than likely, my cell is going to be visited by a team of correctional officers. And if it doesn't happen today, then there's tomorrow. In addition, by the time the lockdown is done every classroom, vocational shop, work station, and the kitchen will have been thoroughly searched. Likewise the visiting room, recreation yards, Infirmary, chapel and the corridors will have been examined too. No stone remains unturned.

But for now it is a matter of guessing when my area is going to searched, and of course waiting for it to happen. I've already organized my cell so that the search team could move from one clothing item to another, and then to each plastic storage container. The easier I make it for them, perhaps the less damage they will do.

D.B.

I've now gotten a taste of what the victims of a bad hurricane must feel like when it passes through their area and rips apart their homes. At approximately six o'clock this evening two members of the prison's search team entered my cell and looked through all my possessions. Nothing was missed. Every family photo was glanced at. Every letter was thumbed through. Every container was opened and one of the guards even sniffed inside my sugar bowl, I assume, to make sure it was indeed sugar and not eight ounces of pure cocaine.

In addition, the officers ran their hands across every piece of clothing. Likewise my appliances, such as a little 6-inch fan, my portable radio and even this typewriter, were carefully examined. It's all a part of the routine, and every inmate gets the same treatment.

The guards who searched my cell were big, hulking men. Yet they were polite and very professional. They'd smile and speak courteously to me as they tore through my property. They also confiscated several plastic hangers, a few empty bread bags, a small amount of disinfectant, and a few other items that in their opinion, I shouldn't have.

Fortunately, however, my property suffered no damage. But for now it's a matter of trying to get everything back into order.

For the time being, though, I've left almost all my property in piles. It's too much to try to organize things at this late hour. But what I did do is place my typewriter back on my steel table-top so that I could prepare this journal entry. I've got my toothbrush and toothpaste too. So I'm set for tonight.

D.B.

It's the first time I've been out of my cell in four days. I've already put all my property back in order. I cleaned my sink and toilet and washed my floor several times over with a wet sponge. I then took a much needed shower. The hot water seemed to be heaven-sent. It felt good to wash my body as well as shampoo my naturally oily scalp and hair.

Virtually all the sixty-seven men who live in the same housing area with me headed for the showers when our doors opened. I had some garbage to throw out first. Then it was a matter of getting on the shower line to await my turn.

But as for the contraband search, the entire facility was checked out. And in addition to all one's possession being inspected, what I've always found difficult about prison life is the "strip search." It's uncomfortable and humiliating having to take my clothes off while gloved guards check my body for hidden contraband. Yet it is a part of most lockdowns. And although a strip-search is usually over in five minutes or less, it's still a weird thing to experience. In my thirty years of incarceration I've never gotten used to it. But I'm glad the lockdown is over!

D.B.

Yesterday afternoon I had to attend an elders meeting in the chapel. My chaplain was also present. Yet it wasn't only to conduct "church business," however. It was a good time for me and the men to pray and then fellowship together. One of the guys, Julio, also treated us to an assortment of cookies he got from his mother. So it turned out to be a three hour respite from the usual prison tensions and hassles. We had a large room all to ourselves. In addition, we made special prayer concerning several future evangelistic outreaches and events that, Lord willing, we're hoping to have in the months ahead.

But for me, the best part was when I asked the elders of my congregation if I could have a one month sabbatical. Happily they all agreed. So for the entire month of March I will be taking a long overdue break.

Of course it won't be a full rest because I still have my full-time job assignments to perform. I work as a "mobility guide" for the visually impaired inmates during the mornings and as an aid to those living in the Intermediate Care Program's cell block. And I still plan to attend some of the chapel's services and Bible studies in March. But for now the guys will be sharing my regular church responsibilities. This, I believe, will help me to better focus on writing my journal, as well as having extra time to prepare several different youth related messages that I'm currently working on.

For now though I have a lot to do. I'll be spending more time reading the Bible. And I hope that by the end of March I will be re-energized and refreshed.

D.B.