June 2006

Yesterday was my birthday. It was also the day that I moved to a different cell block. Although, in a way, one could say that the move was merely coincidental, I saw it as a gift from God. I needed a change of environment, and I had been praying for it. And after several months of quiet waiting, yesterday afternoon an officer informed me that I was being ordered to go to the D-North housing unit. At the time I had been living in D-South.

D-North and D-South are both a part of the prison’s "general population." But because I have returned to working as a "mobility guide" for the sight-impaired men, by relocating to D-North I can now be with these psychically handicapped men all the time. In addition, I could continue to work during the afternoons as a "Program Assistant" at the facility’s Intermediate Care Program (E-North).

As of this moment, however, most of my belongings are still in boxes and bags. I have a lot more cleaning to do before I finish unpacking.

And having to pack, move, and then unpack is exhausting. Nevertheless, I rejoice because my prayers were answered, and on my birthday too. In addition, a second prayer was also answered. For when I got the notice that I was going to a new location, I asked the Lord for the miracle of "paint." But this is another story which I plan to write about tomorrow.

D.B.

One of the hard things in prison is to find paint. Oftentimes it's in short supply. When something needs painting a "work order" from has to be filled out by and employee, usually a guard or a sergeant. The form then goes to the office of the prison's maintenance department where it gets reviewed and processed. After this, however, it becomes a matter of waiting.

First, you have to wait for someone in the maintenance department to see if there's any paint in stock. Second, you have to wait for the facility's sole painter, a husky Hispanic man in his early 30's, to go through his stack of work orders until he gets to yours.

Whenever I have to move into a different cell I like to clean it and, if possible, paint it. But because paint is scarce, as I began to gather my belongings in preparation to move to my new location, I said a short prayer that I'd be able to get a hold of some paint.

Then, low and behold, as I pushed a moving cart which contained my property through the entryway of the building I was relocating to; it so happened that the painter was there. Usually he's very difficult to find. And without neglecting the opportunity, I politely asked him what the chance was for my new cell to get a fresh coat of paint. He, in turn, told me to go and ask the correction officer who was in charge. I did. And the officer shrugged his shoulders. He then quickly turned to the inmate painter and said, "If you have enough paint, then take care of Berkowitz's cell." He did.

I then helped the painter lay down his protective tarp and waited until he was done. To be able to move into a freshly painted cell is a miracle!

D.B.

The sight-impaired and legally blind Native American prisoner whom I had been assigned to help and guide was transferred to another prison. He left more than a week ago, and now I've been assigned to two different men. I have an alternating schedule which means that on some days of each week I am assigned to one particular inmate, while on other days I'm assigned to someone else.

I miss my Indian friend. I wrote about him in my journal for May 5th in a piece called "Bitterness." He's been incarcerated for many years, and he is a Vietnam veteran, too. My friend also suffers from Agent Orange poisoning because of his exposure to this chemical defoliant during his military tour in Vietnam. As a result of the exposure he developed a serious skin problem, and I often had to take him to the prison's Infirmary for treatments.

His bitterness, however, drove him to continuous complaining. When he was here he battled the facility's administration by filing all kinds of grievances, and he would often threaten to sue the Superintendent. I believe he already has a big lawsuit that he filed against the officials in the last facility he was in. This time, though, the staff had enough. So he was transferred.

In a way I'm feeling relieved that he's gone because it is stressful enough doing time in a maximum security lockup, let alone having to spend several hours per day with a chronically grumpy person.

D.B.

I've been up since 5:30 this morning. In a short while I'll be going to the utility sink to finish washing my white "church" shirt. Right now it's soaking in a bucket of Tide detergent. Then after I'm done with this I will take a shower and get ready for bed.

Sunday is usually the busiest day of the week for me. I got up early to say my prayers. I then went to the chapel for much of the morning, and I returned to the chapel for a second service that's held in the afternoon. This is always followed by an evening fellowship.

But aside from all this, I received another "confirmation" that I moved into a different cell at the right time, for I ran into the man who went into my former room. He was in the chapel this morning when he told me that a few days after he got there the hot water pipe broke causing his cell to receive water damage. He said that there were books and letters on his floor when the water came in, and it took him "more than an hour" to mop up.

I kindly told the guy how sorry I was to hear this. I had been in that cell for approximately eighteen months and never had a problem with the plumbing.

Wow! This may be another example of God's divine providence. Like I wrote in my journal entry for June 2nd, the Lord allowed me to move right on my birthday. Furthermore, I was able to get my cell painted immediately before I moved in. Amen!

D.B.

There is a concept in the Scriptures that's called the "fullness of time." According to the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes, God has a time for every period in our lives. These periods and seasons span from birth to death. "There is a time to be born, and a time to die (Ecclesiastes 3:2)."

In my life, therefore, come these seasons. And they consist of seasons for making preparations, for waiting, for moving forward and, finally, for entering into all that I have been waiting and preparing for. But the keys to all this are trust and patience.

The Lord, I believe, is never in a hurry. God is never late nor early; He's always on time. Yet my problem is with waiting. When the Lord seems to be taking too long to do something, I tend to become impatient. I then end up moving ahead and I get out of God's will. Ultimately this results in my making wrong decisions that eventually cause me grief.

Even after all these years of being a Christian, I still have to learn to wait upon the Lord. Recently, for instance, I made a serious mistake. I am not going to say what it was, but I am troubled by what I did. I allowed a well-meaning friend to talk me into something that I now regret. It's not a matter that's going to cause me tremendous harm, but I did need to seek more godly counsel, and I neglected to do this.

I realize that I need to be more discerning and sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit. I need the patience to wait.

Frankly I believe that I have a long way to go before I am the mature Christian God wants me to be. And while I may be excelling in some areas in my spiritual life, in other areas I could be doing much better. But God is a patient teacher.

D.B.

Today I attended a spiritually uplifting and refreshing event in the chapel. A ministry group from New Jersey which consisted of four people (three women and a man) spent ten hours with my chaplain and about 50-55 inmates for a time of Christian fellowship, prayer, Bible reading, singing, and encouragement. Officially this event was called a "retreat."

Our time together went from 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. I had to go to the chapel about an hour before the event started, to help six other men set up extra chairs and our equipment. We have our own electronic sound system that the prisoners purchased with our own money, and we use it for all our worship services. And then I volunteered to stay for an hour after the event was over to help clean the chapel and put our equipment away.

While this was a physically tiring day, it was worth the extra effort. God used our guests to help empower our lives for greater degrees of Christian service.

Right now, however, it is a little past 10 o'clock in the evening. I've already taken my shower and I'm going to get ready for bed. Because tomorrow is Sunday, I'll be getting up around 5:30 in order to prepare for the worship service as well as for the additional chapel activities that are scheduled.

The name our guests titled the retreat, was "No Longer Bound." Today God reminded me that I am indeed "free" in Christ, and I am no longer bound by Satan, nor by the chains of sin.

D.B.

Larry is a man who is very special to me. One cannot help but like him. He is schizophrenic and mentally challenged. Although he's in his 50s there's a childlike demeanor to him.

Larry would often be seen waddling along the prison's corridors in a penguin-like manner as he goes back and forth to an area of the facility near the Infirmary where the psychotropic medications are administered. And he always has a disheveled appearance even when he puts on clean clothes.

Larry has been in prison for almost twenty-five years. During a time when he was strung-out on cocaine he committed a brutal senseless crime. Somehow a 5'6'' Larry with a medium build and stooping shoulders that cause his head to tilt slightly forward like that of an old man, managed to wrestle a police officer's service revolver away from him, and then used it to take the officer's life.

The judge who presided Larry's criminal case obviously took pity on Larry because he received a sentence of twenty five years to life, as opposed to the maximum sentence which could have been handed out: 25-years to life for murder in the 2nd degree.

The parole board, however, has taken no pity on Larry. He's already made two appearances before them, and each time he was given the standard two year "hit." Although many of the prison's staff think Larry should be paroled to a psychiatric facility, there's little chance of this happening.

On some days the ICP Unit inmates are allowed to go to the recreation yard for an hour to ninety minutes, if the weather permits it. Since I worked with these men as a caregiver and "program aid," I too must go along with them when they go outdoors.

And today was such a day. The sun was brightly shining. So when the ICP Unit men and I entered the yard it felt as if we were stepping into a hot oven. As for Larry, to everyone's amazement, he came outdoors dressed in winter gear. He was wearing a woolen watch cap and his prison issued coat. As expected, several of the guys teased him about it.

Sadly, Larry is out of sync with everything, even with the seasons. His illness seems to have put him in another world. Oftentimes, as I'd walk by his cell, I'd see him talking to himself. He has a tendency to misplace his belongings, too. And Larry needs frequent supervision to make sure he leaves his cell during mealtimes, and that he takes daily showers.

I've known Larry for many years. Awhile back he was able to go to church with me. Over time, however, his condition worsened to where he cannot attend the worship services or Bible studies. But he will allow me to read the bible to him. On occasion, when Larry wants me to pray for him, he would tap his forehead gently as a signal for me to place a hand on the spot and say a prayer.

Fortunately, Larry still has a few family members who've remained in touch with him even though he's too ill to compose a letter. He has his mother and a sister. Yet I do believe that God has His hands upon Larry's life. I am confident that whatever Larry may face in the future, Jesus will put caring people in his path. They'll be there to help him.

And when today's recreation period came to and end and we began to line up by the yard door in order to go back to the ICP cell block, Larry noticed that his coat was missing. Then someone spotted it lying on a bench at the far end of the ball field. I therefore asked the officer who was in charge of us if I could retrieve it, and he said yes. So I ran across the yard, picked up Larry's moldy old coat, and ran back to the door. He was glad to see it, and he was relieved that no one stole it.

I doubt if anyone would want to steal Larry's smelly coat. Apparently he had simply taken it off at some point, and then forgot where he left it. This is typical of Larry. He's very disorganized. After all, a man who dresses for winter in the middle of the summer is man who's lost his mind.

D.B.

This morning I felt God's presence. Even before the worship service began, when the congregation's leaders and choir members gathered together in a nearby classroom as we do every Sunday morning before church to pray and call upon the Lord, we sensed that a powerful force was with us. The room felt energized. Even our individual prayers and our heartfelt pleadings to the Lord sounded louder than usual, as if we were a bunch of hungry baby birds crying for our parents to come and drop food into our mouths.

And shortly after this, when we left the classroom and as we entered the chapel as the place was filling with men, this same presence seemed to follow us. It stayed throughout the service too.

As for myself, even though I've been going through a period of physical and emotional exhaustion, today I was uplifted. I still feel tired and drained of energy, of course. But I know that deep within my soul something has changed for the better.

Actually every part of our service appeared to come alive. From the congregational prayer at the beginning of our meeting, to the Scripture readings, and on to the choir's singing and the preacher's sermon, everything seemed organized and anointed. It was a blessed time.

D.B.

Recently I received a letter from a friend who told me that he's troubled because those who attend the church he belongs to don't seem to display genuine love and concern. He lamented that many in his congregation seem remote and unfriendly.

So when I answered his letter, I told my friend that it's too bad he cannot attend the fellowship I belong to, which consists of a chaplain and several dozen prisoners. For if he could attend, I told him, he'd be pleasantly surprised to find a lot of love here.

We're always embracing one another with hugs and handshakes. We likewise try to look out for and help each other, within the limitations of the correctional setting, of course.

Nevertheless, if I could boast about the men in my congregation, these guys are doing what every church member is supposed to do; they're showing Christian love.

And as for why the prison's chapel is a place where love and compassion abound, it is simply because, as Jesus said, "He who has been forgiven of much, loves much. While he to whom little is forgiven, loves little (Luke 7:36-50)."

Most probably, therefore, we who are incarcerated for crimes, after having experienced God's forgiveness, are perhaps better able not only to love the Lord, but to love our neighbors too.

D.B.

It's happened before, and it has happened again. People with their own plans and agendas have somehow gotten close to me, posting as caring "Christians," only to eventually show themselves as having additional motives other than friendship.

As I've said many times, we who believe that Jesus is Lord, and who serve Him with hearts of love, will on occasion be accosted by "false" brethren, those proverbial "wolves in sheep's clothing."

This, unfortunately, is part of the Christian's walk. And it is only by the grace of God, the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and by a knowledge of what the Bible says, that will help a Christian to avoid the pitfalls and traps Satan has set for him.

The Bible says that the devil is a destroyer. He will kill me if he could, and he's always seeking for ways to neutralize my testimony. Sadly, he will even use other Christians.

And with this in mind, I now have to deal with an "enemy in the camp." Several close friends I have, it appears, allowed and unbeliever, a media person, to enter the fold. Now, as a result of this, trouble may be developing for me in the near future.

I am, of course, very disappointed by what these supposed friends have done. I forgive them, yet I've also had to ask the Lord to remove some bitterness which crept into my heart as a result of their actions. But this is a potentially bad situation. They had no right to share my private life with a stranger who only sought to develop a relationship with them for his own gain.

I have been betrayed, and it hurts. I'd by lying if I said it's no big deal. Now my relationship with these friends has been altered. Nevertheless, the fact is, they sold me out. And as the pieces come together, I am seeing their level of deception more clearly.

They cultivated a friendship with me, and used the name of "Jesus," with the hopes of furthering their own goals. Unfortunately there are people who try to attach themselves to me so that their own names could become known within the Christian community.

The people who befriended and ultimately deceived me, I believe, wanted to be seen. So, sadly, they resorted to seeking out a Christian who is popular. And this kind of victimization comes with the territory. Now, however, I must cut them loose. They've been exposed as "counterfeits."

Moreover, as the situation unfolds, I know I am going to learn many deeper things about spiritual warfare. I am confident that, no matter what damage may come to me as a result of media distortions, God will ultimately get the glory from my life because I belong to Him. Jesus has a plan for me that, while it may be delayed, will one day come to pass. Hallelujah!

D.B.

This morning I was in an area of the facility which has classrooms and offices for the inmates who are in the Sensorial Disabled Unit. These are the men who are sight-impaired. And there's also another classroom in the same area for the men from the prison's general population, who, while not legally blind, are learning sign language.

And it was in the empty sign language class that I parked myself because at the time it was not being used. I needed to stay here for several hours because the blind prisoner I was escorting had to attend his class in the room next door. So I had to be near him and on standby duty in case he needed my assistance with something.

Then, after I had been sitting by myself in the empty classroom catching up on my reading, a man by the name of Rodney* entered in. Rodney once was an active member of and infamous and very dangerous street gang. Fortunately, however, a handful of years ago he slowly began to detach himself from the gang.

Well, Rodney sat down next to me and began to talk. He was happy, he said, because he recently received a letter from his sixteen year old daughter, whom he hadn't heard from in fourteen years.

Rodney explained that she was only a little baby when he came to prison. And as a result of his lengthy sentence - Rodney has at least fifty years to do - his wife divorced him and took his daughter and disappeared. For all these years, he said, Rodney had no idea where his ex-wife and daughter lived. He had lost contact with them.

Anyhow, according to Rodney, his parents happen to be Christians who had been praying for something like this to happen. As it turned out, Rodney explained, one day his daughter, who had been curious about her father for many years, decided to search for him on the Internet. Then when she found out he was here, she got the address of the prison and wrote. Rodney nearly fainted, he said, when he saw the name on the return address of her first letter.

And when his ex-wife found out that her daughter tracked down her father, she too decided to write. Now they're all back in touch, and they've made their peace. But Rodney said they won't be getting married again however.

Listening to Rodney tell it brought tears to my eyes. I'm happy for him. Yet his story reminded me that I had lost contact with my half-sister more than twenty-seven years ago. I have no idea where she is, and I miss her very much.

I told Rodney that I needed to hear his story because, unbeknownst to him, I've been going through a difficult time of grief and anguish because I have been betrayed by several persons whom I thought were close friends. Thankfully, though, today my spirit was lifted as I listened to Rodney's tale of hope.

D.B.

*Rodney is not his real name.