June 2005

God is full of surprises. Lately I have been weary because of the various difficulties I’ve had to encounter, as well as by my concerns for the church. Yet in the midst of these challenging situations the members of my congregation’s choir decided to throw a surprise birthday party for me.

As a rule we prisoners do not celebrate birthdays. But earlier today I was asked by the choir’s director to please come to the area where the choir conducts its practice. So at 6:20 this evening I secured permission and I made my way to the opposite end of the prison to attend their session. They meet every Friday in an unoccupied classroom in the school area.

As I was walking to the school area, however, I was thinking that they probably had some kind of problem that needed to be addressed.

Not so. When I entered the room I was met by the eight members of the group who promptly began to sing happy birthday. I was red-faced. I turned fifty-two a few days ago.

We then ate a small but simple meal they had prepared in advance, and we drank bottled water.

I had no idea the choir was going to do this. They were showing me their brotherly love and gratitude, and I am so grateful.

Tonight’s little party was a wonderful respite from the storms that are going on in my life at present. This to me was yet another token of God’s goodness to His children. I am blessed!

D.B.

Yesterday I was happy. Today I am sad. Yesterday my heart was filled with joy because of the surprise birthday party that was held for me. Today, however, my heart has been ripped into shreds by a vicious diabolical lie that has just been told.

This morning, as is my custom, I awoke around 5 o’clock. I quietly said my prayers and then read the Bible. I’ve always been an early riser. To me these hours are the best part of the day. Being in prison where noise is a way of life, one learns to cherish the brief times of peace and quiet.

At 6:30 every morning the wake-up bells sound. A loud continuous clanging reverberates throughout the cell blocks. Every prisoner is required to get out of his bunk and stand for the "morning count."

Anyhow, around seven o’clock I decided to turn on my portable AM/FM radio and listen to the news. For a man in confinement a radio is one of his main contacts with the outside world, so most of the men have one.

I turned to 1010 Wins, an "all news" station which comes out of New York City.

Then, as the top of the hour lead stories began, I heard something that shook me to the core. The announcer said that a homicide detective from upstate New York was claiming to have found evidence linking me to a homosexual relationship with a former inmate. My head was spinning. I felt like throwing up.

This person, Gary Evans, did get out of prison many years ago. The last time I saw him was in 1987. I had forgotten all about Gary when, years later, his name appeared in my local newspaper. He had been arrested for killing five men over a period of time, apparently over some kind of dispute or vendetta. I believe these guys were part of a coterie of local thieves and low-level criminals.

Gary himself was a career criminal. He already had a number of run-ins with the law long before I met him at the Clinton Correctional Facility that’s situated in the remote town of Dannemora, New York.

Dannemora is located north of the Adirondack Mountains, and near the Canadian border. It has three seasons: fall, winter, and spring. It has no summer, or at least it seemed this way to me. I spent seven years there in this tundra-like region of the state.

Anyhow, I had known Gary for a period of about one year before I was transferred to where I am at present. He was from Troy, New York; I’ve never been to this city.

At the time we met, Gary was doing a light sentence of 2 to 4 years which, by the mindset of most inmates, is not much of a prison sentence at all. In jail house parlance it’s called a "skid bid." You’re in and out of prison quickly as opposed to the men whose sentences may range from five hundred or more years.

Gary, as I remember him, worked out hard. He had his best friend with him, Wayne Warrington, who was from his hometown. The three of us, plus a few other men, spend most of our limited recreation time lifting weights.

Gary Evans was in good shape. Many of the men would often ask him for advice about building-up a certain body part, or how to train. To me he became a good mentor and instructor.

Gary was also an avid reader. So was I. Back in the 1980s the inmates at Clinton Correctional Facility had no portable television sets in their cells. Reading and writing, therefore, were my favorite past times.

Ironically, Gary and I were also interested in some of the same reading material. The exception, however, was his interest in novels like the King Arthur and medieval gladiator stories.

And while I almost never read novels, we were both fascinated with people like Genghis Khan and the Mongolian swordsmen. The ruggedness and strength of these Mongol warriors was something I think we were both trying to achieve because we were living in an extremely violent and exceedingly negative environment.

At the time, of course, I had yet to become a Christian. But I do recall my interest in various New Age ideas, to include meditation, Martial Arts, and Zen Buddhism.

I was seeking mental strength more than anything because Clinton was such a depressing place, and I was still learning how to cope with my long prison sentence.

So while prisoners are not permitted to practice any form of Martial Arts, nor are we allowed to read books which demonstrate various Martial Arts techniques, one is allowed to read about current or historical Martial Arts figures, or read about their philosophies and concepts.

I was especially interested in a Japanese Martial Artist by the name of Yamaoka Tesshu. He lived during the previous century and he was a man of great renown and respect.

Tesshu was known in his native Japan where he ran his own dojo. Students came from all over the country to study his successful sword fighting techniques.

Of course while Tesshu competed with other swordsmen, no one got hurt. This was not about harming anyone or doing violence. He was a professional, and as with all forms of competitive Martial Arts, it is about outmaneuvering one’s opponent.

I had come upon the story of Yamaoka Tesshu in an article which appeared in East/West Journal. I then ordered a biography about Tesshu that had recently come out at the time titled The Sword of No Sword, by John Stevens.

I don’t even remember the name of the publisher, and I have log since discarded the book. But it did have many of Tesshu’s sayings and teachings. He believed that the real sword is not the piece of steel that one holds in his hands. Instead it is the invisible sword of mental sharpness and extreme concentration, and the inner power that supposedly comes from these, that determines who wins the match.

For me, then, this was mentally fortifying. I worked hard at trying to concentrate on ways to swing this invisible sword so as to overcome the negativity that was around me.

Nowadays, as a practicing Christian, I no longer feel any need to develop what some call "mental powers." And I no longer see the need to rely on the saying of Yamaoka Tesshu for strength and peace. I now have a relationship with Jesus Christ, and this has shown itself to be more than enough.

Nevertheless, those many years ago when I was at Clinton, Gary and I, as well as a man by the name of John S., would often spend a little time after our workouts to discuss our beliefs. Gary’s friend Wayne, however, had no interest in our conversations. So he’d walk off and go across the yard to smoke his cigarettes.

In an environment where you thought that your life was always in potential danger, it was easy to get drawn into the mentality of being a soldier and a warrior.

But hanging out with Gray Evans wasn’t all I did. I had other friends, too, like my best friend John "Jake" Jacobi, whom I would often jog with. We’d run in the endless circles around the recreation yard, even in the middle of the winter.

I hung out with Jake for approximately six years before he was transferred to Auburn Prison, and then eventually to a medium security facility, where he died. Shortly after Jake arrived at Auburn he began to get sick. It was discovered that he had leukemia.

Jake passed away a short time later. And when he died he already had twenty-four years in prison for his sentence of 25-years to life. He had only one year left to do before he was eligible for parole.

And for a handful of years after Jake’s death I stayed in touch with his mother. Each Christmas and Mother’s Day I would send her a card along with a short letter. She would always write back until one day when her letters stopped coming, and one of my greeting cards came back to me stamped on the envelope, "Moved with No Forwarding Address."

Jake’s mother was an elderly woman who lived by herself in a small town in upstate New York. His father had passed away only a few years before Jake did. Now all alone in a house with empty rooms, the hope she had that one day her son would get out of prison and return home, was gone forever.

Gary Evans, however, I was later to learn, was paroled in 1988. He finished his sentence and apparently returned to the Albany/Troy area.

But during the time I knew Gary, I do not recall him ever being violent or even getting into a fistfight. At times he was moody, and there were days when he made it clear by his facial expressions that he wanted to be left alone. But when Gary felt like this he simply stayed in his cell during the recreation period to leave Wayne and I to work our by ourselves, or with a few other guys who would occasionally join us.

There was nothing crazy or evil about Gary Evans that I could see. He had his prejudices and his peculiar views about life. Yet I never saw him as especially dangerous. Likewise he never went into any details about what brought him to prison, nor did he talk with me about his criminal past.

And I knew nothing about his friends or family, and I never asked.

I also never observed Gary to be homosexual or bisexual, as the media now claims. To me he seemed totally straight, and he gave me no reason to think otherwise.

Many years later, in the late 1990s, and long since I had left Clinton Correctional Facility, I happened to read a local newspaper and there inside it was a lengthy article about Gary Evans being arrested for several murders.

I was stunned. It was surprising to me to see Gary capable of such violence. I was to learn, too, that Gary was not only a low-level career criminal and burglar, but he was also a forger. In addition, he had been working as a police informant. Obviously, Gary had many faces, of which I had only seen one.

But aside from seeing this article, I did not follow his case. I figured he would eventually get sentenced, and that would be the end of it.

To my surprise, however, in 1998, while he was still going to trial, Gary Evans made a desperate escape attempt from a moving police vehicle. While still in handcuffs, if the media reports are correct, he jumped off a bridge spanning the Hudson River, where he plummeted onto the rocks below and died instantly.

Recently, some letters I had allegedly written to Gary, when he and I were confined at Clinton Prison surfaced. Someone claims to have found them in a storage box that supposedly contained his remaining possessions. But I think these were only notes and not letters.

The media also reported that a stack of "Gay Magazines" were also found in Gary’s box. I am skeptical about this. And even if these were indeed among his small amount of remaining possessions, I believe they were placed there by someone who hated Gary Evans. He was an embarrassment to the law enforcement agencies that were using him as an informant, when all the while he was committing crimes, to include homicide. My theory is that someone wanted to disgrace this man.

My gut feeling, even though I had known Mr. Evans for only a year, is that he was not gay. But who knows?

Nevertheless, the media had to throw me into this. And to my horror, every half hour, again and again for the entire day, radio stations like 1010 WINS and WABC yapped about my having Gary Evans as a lover. Plus each time these announcers told the story, it got more bizarre.

By evening, for example, the announcer for 1010 WINS was saying that I had just filed a lawsuit against my former lawyer because I wanted to get back the "love letters" and "missives" that he had in his possession.

Throughout the day, however, many of the men in my cell block were stopping by to ask if I was okay. They heard the news reports on their radios. Within a few hours the entire prison was abuzz with this ridiculous tale.

Then the 10:00 PM television news stations out of New York City started on their kick. The men who were in the dayrooms in all the cell blocks heard this story. I was in torment.

Yet, as things turned out, all these guys were very supportive. Both the men from my fellowship, and many who were not, rallied around me. I got so much encouragement. And while my pain was very great at being so disgraced, none of these prisoners believed what they were being told by the media. For if they did, then I surely would have been spit upon and punched in the face for being a "homo" and "sissy." I would have ended up in Protective Custody.

Today was a nightmare. It was like an attack from Hell. I am sure, too, that millions of people have now heard this story in all its twisted versions.

While I probably wrote at least a dozen or so short letters and notes to Gary Evans while he and I were confined, these were the kind of communications that prisoners send to each other all the time. For in maximum security prisons where a man is locked up in his cell for much of the day, and the only time you could have contact with your friends is during the recreation periods, sending "kites (which is the jailhouse term for these little notes and letters)," is as common as people who nowadays send daily E-mails to one another.

The only other alternative to sending kites, however, would be to yell as loud as possible and shout your messages to friends who are down the tier. So I opted to stay in touch via notes. And these were not "love letters," as the media is implying.

Sometimes my correspondence to Gary would be humorous. I would try to make him laugh. While at other times I would try to encourage him by reminding Gary of Tesshu’s words to his students to swing their "royal" swords, which was Master Tesshu’s mental weapon of the mind to use in order to overcome all negativity.

Years later, therefore, it was a shock to me to learn that Gary would be arrested for a string of murders.

Gary was intelligent. He could have re-entered society and done good. Instead he made bad choices, and he died young.

Gary Evans chose to self-destruct.

D.B.

This morning I stood before my congregation and loudly proclaimed the goodness, mercy and faithfulness of the Lord. I am not ashamed to call Jesus my Messiah and the King of my life.

I know the men were watching me closely ever since yesterday’s media attack. I must admit that I am in great inner anguish at the lies and disgusting things that have been said. Nevertheless I live by God’s strength and by faith in His word. His precious promises are true, and they cannot fail.

Furthermore, a number of the men in my fellowship have told me that they’ve been praying for me. The fact that I continue to press on gives them the strength and encouragement to do likewise.

These brothers know at least some of what I have to endure beaus of the periodic media attacks that come my way. So they reason within their own minds that if David could endure his trials, and if he could remain faithful to God, then so could we.

Because I am a living spectacle and an open book before the church and the world, I cannot afford to lose faith or quit.

For the Christian there is no reverse gear built inside us. We have been made to go forward.

D.B.

The Lord is merciful. His ear is attentive to may cries and pleadings. He knows my steps, and He knows my pain. The Lord even collects my tears.

I am fully confident, therefore, that God hears when I call. But for prolonged seasons no answers come. He remains willfully silent. I assume, however, that this happens so my faith can grow and I could learn to trust Him more.

And oftentimes the Lord allows me to experience weakness. My body and spirit become weary and drained. Yet somehow He gives me enough strength to make it through another day.

Then there are those periods when my heart groans within. Nevertheless I still manage to smile.

Moreover, waves of afflictions pass over me regularly. Yet I have never drowned. My hope, it seems, is always being renewed.

For I know with a certainty that a day is coming when I shall be home. I will stand before my Creator. Like Job has said, "I shall see Him face to face." And I’ll be in His presence forever, my sojourn on earth done.

D.B.

Earlier this month I wrote how that I had been falsely accused of engaging in a homosexual relationship with another prisoner. And I said how this came as a terrible blow, taking me by surprise and leaving me depressed and devastated. My pain has been enormous, and it still hurts.

Yet something wonderful has now begun to take place. My joy is now returning.

Only yesterday I found myself focusing on my troubles. Yes, they can appear to be overwhelming at times. But this morning, while I was reading the Bible, I came across a passage I’m very familiar with. It was a portion of Jesus’ "Sermon on the Mount."

And when I read the Lord’s words, I was reminded that I am "blessed" when others speak badly about me, and especially when they say things that are false. I am not to weep. I am to rejoice instead.

I am to be happy when people, whether out of ignorance or meanness, lie about me. They did the same to the Lord Jesus. And they did the same to the apostles and many other Christians.

Even Stephen, the first official martyr of the church, was put to death because of falsehoods that were spread about him (Acts 6:8-15).

Here in is my victory. It is not in concerning myself with my own reputation, rather it is by trusting in Christ and knowing that , even when lies seem to advance farther than truth, this will only be for a season. In the end, truth will triumph.

In addition, my reward for enduring such grief will be much greater than had I never experienced such an ordeal. I am indeed a blessed man!

D.B.

Throughout the centuries many Christians have experienced ridicule and beatings. They’ve had to face brutal treatment at the hands of Christ-haters, as well as by ignorant individuals who have been used by Satan unwittingly. And this also happens today.

Frankly, not everyone who believes in Jesus is delivered from their enemies. God, for His own reasons, does permit some of us to experience martyrdom.

Unfortunately multitudes of hearts are very hard. As the Bible reveals, the world will become even more cruel and wicked towards those in the true church, especially as this age draws to its close.

I, of course, have experienced some of society’s ridicule. First, because of the crimes I committed in the past, second, because of the gospel message of hope that I now preach.

I’m sorry to say that the world is not worthy of the testimonies of those who have been redeemed by the blood of Jesus. Nevertheless, because God loves people I can therefore never stop talking and writing and proclaiming His love.

Woe to me if I should ever back down from what I believe to be a mandate from heaven. Like every Christian, whether the world hates me or not, I am to shine as a light in the darkness.

D.B.

In the United States of America as well as in many places throughout the world, tens of thousands of our youth are joining gangs. Peer pressure and fear, or the hunger for meaning and purpose, or the desire to belong to something are irresistible forces that can, if misdirected, pull young persons in the wrong direction. They could venture into a lifestyle they will later regret.

How I wish I could take these wannabes, gangbangers and role players on a tour of my prison. They would see men who’ve been sitting in steel and cinder block cells year and year, many never knowing if they’re ever going to get out.

I would show them the before and after affects of the criminal lifestyle. They will find men who have come to prison facing lengthy sentences. They will observe how the years have taken their toll upon each inmate. Youthful looks have eroded. Black hairs turned to gray. Strong bodies have bowed to weakness and old age. And the dreams and hopes these men had in their youth have long since shriveled and faded.

Sadly the guys in gangs and adolescents who’ve joined crime crews think they’re so cool. But they don’t realize the danger they’re in.

Getting busted or getting killed seems so remote, as if it could only happen to other individuals and not to them.

How powerfully the devil traps naïve and malleable minds with this falsehood: "It can’t happen to me!" Prisons and graveyards are filled with young persons who believed this lie.

D.B.

Recently my friend Lorenzo, a Native American who grew up on a reservation and has seen much suffering in the lives of his family members from alcohol and other drugs, told me about the gang activity in his area. He’s now living in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Lorenzo is a devout Christian. Like me he sees the world from a spiritual vantage point. And he grieves over all the gang-related madness and crime that’s going on, even on his reservation.

One particular group in his neighborhood is called the "Triple Six Gang." In the Bible 666 is considered to be the number for the name of the antichrist who is yet to come. Thus the three sixes represent evil.

As with virtually all gangs, the Triple Six uses graffiti to mark their territories so as to warn other gangs to keep out, as well as instill fear in the local community.

Many such gangs - and I am referring to the genuine ones and not the juvenile wannabes - are run like a cult. There are oaths and blood pacts, and one is threatened with harm if he should decide to leave the gang.

Furthermore, and probably without fully understanding the real meanings behind the satanic markings and symbols each gang uses, they ultimately attract dark spirits to themselves. Such satanic graffiti is exceedingly potent, and it invites and draws demons from the underworld. This, I believe, is probably the most dangerous aspect of being in a gang.

My belief is that many gang members, more because of each one’s choice to consistently do bad things rather than actually participating in any kind of occultic ritual, end up getting deeply oppressed or even possessed by demons.

This dark spiritual element may be one reason why gang members often commit extremely brutal and vicious crimes that defy the imaginations of criminal investigators.

And if I am correct that in many cases there is a demonic element (though certainly not always), then the solution is a spiritual one.

While most gang members are not practitioners of the occult, nor are they outright Satan worshippers (but no doubt some are), because of the very nature of the gang with their evildoing and the ignorant use of satanic symbols, any Christian seeking to minister to members of these gangs must be filled with the Holy Spirit. He should be bathed in prayer both for himself and for those whom he wants to reach with the love of God.

Churches should be making purposeful prayers concerning the gangs in their respective communities. This is part of the spiritual warfare we have all been called to do.

As the Bible says, we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against demonic powers and spiritual wickedness at high levels (Ephesians 6:10-18).

Such talk is of course foolishness to those who do not know Jesus Christ. But those who know the Lord realize that prayer is a powerful weapon against these gangs and the villainous spirits that are behind them.

These wicked spirits work to encourage and energize men to do evil. They compel gang members to go forth and hurt others as well as steal and destroy. This has always been the devil’s agenda, and gang members are but mere pawns in Satan’s cruel game.

God, however, is still able to deliver even the most oppressed of individuals. In His eyes there are no hopeless cases.

Yet more gangs are in operation today than ever before. They are swallowing up multitudes of young persons and placing them in terrible states of bondage. Eventually, and unless each one repents, these precious souls will be lost to a flaming hell.

Who but the church has the message of salvation and hope? How could we sit on the sidelines at such a time as this?

D.B.

If we truly want to follow Jesus Christ, then I assure you, the devil will test us to see if our faith is genuine, and if our love for God is real.

Jesus warned Simon Peter that Satan was watching him closely. He was looking over Simon for any little flaw, something that old devil could use against Simon to cause him to mess up and ultimately fall away from his faith in the Lord.

And Satan is still doing the same today. He’s watching me. He is watching you. He’s waiting for the day when he could launch his attack and make an attempt to shipwreck our faith.

Really I could just as well put my name in place of Simon Peter’s. "David, David, the devil desires to trick, trap and crush you."

Indeed I do know about Satan’s diabolical attacks. His cruelty and cunning are unprecedented.

As I wrote earlier this month, Satan will stop at nothing in his attempts to discredit and destroy a man. Likewise he will find plenty of unwitting (and witting) human beings to assist him in such endeavors. For there are many who would love nothing better than to smash my spirit and silence my lips.

Nevertheless, as Jesus prayed for Peter, He does the same for me and for every Christian. And when our particular testings are finished, we are to encourage and strengthen our brethren while they endure what we had already gone through.

D.B.

This morning the prison’s chapel was full. We had an unusually large turnout for the service, including some new men who recently transferred here from other facilities.

Anyhow, as I took my place behind the pulpit in order to open the service and begin our time of worship, I reminded the congregation that Jesus’ desire is to "save sinners," and how that for the past two thousand years His mission has not changed. He has come to "seek" and to "save" those who are lost.

The religious rulers of His day, however, could not understand why such a person who claimed to be the Messiah would brother to eat with, and in their eyes, defile Himself with the outcasts of society.

These self-righteous leaders and "model citizens," I told the men, were obviously blind to God’s love and mercy, because, according to the Bible, Jesus came to die for those who have sinned. He came to earth and lived a sinless life, and He willingly paid for our sins with His own blood.

May I say, therefore, that throughout the centuries since the Lord Jesus walked this earth, not much has changed in the way of attitudes. While Christ still seeks for the lost, the self-righteous continue to point their fingers and criticize.

They cannot comprehend what God sees in criminals, homeless people, prostitutes, or the poor.

But God sees the bigger picture, I explained. He sees the results of a cleansed, forgiven and changed life.

Unfortunately many of the so called "good people" of society are living a lie.

I said this because, as the Scriptures state, there are really none who are good. "All have sinned and come short of God’s perfect standard (Romans 3:23)."

So if there is someone who thinks he has his life all together, I told the men, and if he looks down on those whose bad deeds are in the open, he is in the worst predicament of all. Why? Because he is proud and self-deceived. He thinks he’s done nothing seriously wrong and he does not grieve over his sins.

Meanwhile, in prison cells across the world, or on street corners where prostitutes gather, the gospel is being preached and these "outcasts" are repenting and believing.

Those who are in such a wretched condition are eager for help, hope and mercy. While those who are prosperous and successful in life often see little need for God or to seek forgiveness.

Plus, like the proud religious leaders during the days of Christ, they looked down on everyone else. Such people are spiritually blind, and this is sad.

But if we understand the gospel, we can know that God loves us. He has redeemed all who have placed their faith in Jesus, whether they have criminal records or not. What an amazing God!

D.B.

A short while ago I returned to my cell after attending this evening’s Bible study in our chapel. The teacher talked about love and he used I John 4:7-21 as his text.

My heart is always convicted when I receive a teaching about loving others because, like most people, I fall short in this area.

Some of the men get on my nerves so much with their treacherous ways that is it only by the grace of God that I do not lose my temper and end up saying and doing things that I would immediately regret.

Nevertheless, as I continue on this spiritual journey I could see how much I’ve grown. I still have a long way to go as I press on to Christian maturity, however. But I remember the way I lived before I was a believer in Christ. My life was empty. My emotions would quickly get out of control at any little provocation. And I had my share of fights and cussing matches with other prisoners.

Nowadays, though, I bow my hart with thanksgiving because I know that I don’t have to live this way any more. I am a new creation in Christ. I don’t need fists or harsh words to fix situations. Instead I simply pray and trust the Lord to handle my problems. I try to allow His peace to rule in my heart.

I know I have come far, and this is good.

D.B.

Mike’s Sister Dee* is dying. She’s forty-five years old, living in an apartment in New York City, and has AIDS. Several weeks ago he had asked me to write his sister to try to encourage her.

So I sent a letter o Dee urging her to continue to trust in Christ, and that no matter how sick she feels, to never lose faith in the Lord.

Back in the late 1990s some of Mile’s family members rescued Dee from a crack house. She had been missing for a few days and they were finally able to track her down.

When they found her Dee was semiconscious and sprawled on a tenement floor. They had to carry her back home. But the years of being and addict and using intravenous drugs in addition to sniffing crack, all came crashing down on her life when she began to get sick. Then came the doctor’s diagnosis.

Dee’s tragic story is typical. Succumbing to the temptations of the streets while growing up in Harlem, she’s now on her way to an early grave. A life once full of hope is eternally detoured.

Mike told me that his sister may not have much longer. She’s gravely ill and, most of the time, too weak to attend church.

But it is in reading out to people like Dee, however, that God has been showing me that value of simple things. There is everlasting worth in acts of kindness.

It’s the small things we can do that will make a big difference in someone else’s life.

And as I travel on this spiritual journey with its many times of trials, tests and temptations, I rejoice at the opportunities to touch needy lives in the same way that God has so often touched and helped me.

I am thankful, too, for the occasions when I could help another man by writing a letter for him, or by getting him an item from the prison’s commissary because he’s broke and he cannot afford anything.

Then there are the times when I am able to pray for a man who’s sick or feeling stressed out.

It is a joy doing what I believe Jesus Himself would do. I am certain that God takes notice of these simple things, as well as of every kind deed.

D.B.

*Dee is not her real name.