October 2007

My life, just like the times and seasons, belongs to the Lord. And as I take personal inventory of myself, I see many areas which need improvement. I need to be much more spiritually developed in all areas of my life so that God could use me to the fullest, if and when He chooses to.

Furthermore, my formerly heavy heart is now almost completely healed. The troubles and sadness of summer, after many media outlets rehashed my criminal past during the thirtieth anniversary of my arrest, has ended. So it's time to move forward by giving God more of my life, and this without reservation.

I do confess, however, that in recent months my prayers have been weak and feeble. I have found it difficult to pray fervently and consistently. Yet the Lord has assured my heart and mind that He has remained faithful. God has sustained me. Through Christ I have been and always will be, in victory. Therefore, I must continue to stand in faith never even entertaining any thoughts of quitting, although at times such diabolical thoughts have indeed crossed my mind.

Thus as I enter a new season I plan to prepare myself for greater works of service and deeper levels of intimacy with my Savior. And it is only by the grace of God, and not my own strength or resources that I can press onward faithfully fighting the "good fight of faith."

D.B.

During the evening yard period I met up with a 25 year old man from Suffolk County by the name of Chris. He was back on a parole violation after having been released from prison earlier this year. He didn't last very long in the "streets" before being rearrested and returned, thus bringing Chris right back to where he'd left off.

Chris lives in the E-South cell block. This section of the facility is designated as the "Special Needs Unit" by the Department of Corrections. Here, those who've been assessed as being in need of special care because of varying degrees of psychological problems along with being educationally challenged as a result of a learning disability mixed with behavioral problems, will live under the supervision of trained staff. However, these men are permitted to mix with the facility's general population. Hence I found myself waking with Chris on this mild night.

Chris is truly a likeable person. Even though he's an "adult" by virtue of his age, emotionally he's like an adolescent. Chris is also very excitable and he talks a lot with his hands. But as he and I spoke, Chris told me that since coming back to prison he's ready to make some "big changes" in his life.

An habitual chain smoker, Chris is about 5'8" tall, and he weighs around 290 pounds. His cigarette habit, though, has put a noticeable stench on his clothes. And his finger tips have ugly brown and yellow scabs on them because he smokes his hand rolled, non-filtered cigarettes to the very end.

Chris told me that he was doing well when he'd first gotten out. But after a while, he explained, he began to hang out with his former friends. He said they were a bunch of bored "wannabe" gang members and high school dropouts who in his retrospective view, were trying to find their place in life. Chris certainly fit into the mix.

Chris had also told me that prior to this his mother had given him an ultimatum when he first came home that if he didn't straighten out, and if he got into any more trouble, he would never be allowed back home again. So Chris, who didn't know that his parole officer was already looking for him, when he had innocently walked through the door, was immediately confronted by his angry mother. Chris said his mom began to yell at him. Then she started smacking her son in the head repeatedly. And within moments, Chris' sister, upon hearing the commotion, entered the room. And once she heard that her brother had messed up again, she too began to pummel Chris with her fists. He said his sister weighs almost as much as him, too.

It must have been a sight to see - a grown man getting simultaneously slapped upside the head and across his back by both a middle-aged woman and his fat sister. Poor Chris! They meant well, however. Chris' mother and sister were, in desperation, only trying to knock some sense into his thick skull. He told me they'd walloped him around for about five minutes as he pleaded with them to stop. He wasn't seriously hurt, he said. But he did tell me that he "felt stupid."

So as Chris and I continued our walk, I couldn't help but laugh as he told his tale of woe. He also admitted that his Mamma was right. He knew better than to hang out past his curfew and to pal around with the town's mischief makers. He told me he should've chosen better friends. I agreed. Then Chris quickly added, "I deserved to get punched around because I was such a jerk." I agreed once more.

Chris is known for saying and doing dumb things. He'd gotten into a few minor scuffles with fellow inmates the last time he was here. He also received a few write-ups for getting snappy with the guards and telling them off. Nevertheless Chris and I had a good conversation and an enjoyable time. Then, as the recreation period was about to end for the evening, Chris added that he's going to try to make it to church this Sunday. I told him it would be nice. But I also remembered that when he was here before he never went to a service. I kept this to myself, however.

Afterwards, as we traveled the corridors on the way back to our respective cell blocks, I said to him that while going to church is nice, having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ is really what counts. I also asked Chris if he had a Bible. He said he did, that he would try reading from it before bedtime. I hope so. Yet knowing Chris like I do, he's more apt to plop himself down in front of a television set in the dayroom and light up a few more cigarettes than he is to go into his cell and study the Bible.

Chris is simply a big kid in a grown man's body. I'll try to encourage him when I can.

D.B.

Today marks forty years since my Mother, Pearl, died of cancer at the age of 52. It's hard for me to believe that I have actually outlived her. I've never completely gotten over her death, either. I was fourteen at the time, and for many years I was angry at God; I wished to die as well and be buried alongside her.

Not a day goes by that I do not mourn for my mother. She's in my thoughts continually. And being in prison makes it hard for me to grieve because I cannot visit her gravesite.

When I first learned that my mother was sick I ran from her. The doctors at a well known New York City hospital which specializes in treating those with cancer told my father that his wife had about six months to live. She lasted only four months, however. And being the emotionally immature child that I was, I could not cope with the thought of my mother dying.

Too bad I chose to run from the situation instead of allowing the truth to draw me closer to my mom. It was an act of what I now realize was self-preservation, and I regret it. Then, when my mother died, my life crumbled. I tried to hold on for awhile and I lived in denial. I even began to do good in school for a change. But none of this lasted for long. I'd eventually resume my self-destructive behavior patterns. I would do okay for a time and then ruin things. I'd do self-sabotaging acts in school and I'd also cut out in anger within the realm of my neighborhood. I could see all this very clearly now that I'm older.

Today, as and adult who's been through many years of imprisonment, what I have learned is that life is fleeting. Death comes too quickly for most of us and we're not fully prepared emotionally when someone close to us passes away. So it's important not to leave certain things undone or words unsaid. I wish I could go back and undo my mistakes. I'd have spent more time with my mother during her final weeks. I'd have told her, over and over, how much I truly loved her. This was something I seldom if ever did while she was alive. And I would apologize for all the times I may have failed or disappointed her.

Unfortunately, I left too much unsaid and undone, and my mother left this world no doubt feeling bewildered by my aloofness, uncertain of how I would fare once she was gone. She was missing me and I just wasn't there for her. While my mom wasted away on a hospital bed with dying people all around her on a ward for the terminally ill, I tried to force myself to forget about her. I'd run wild in the streets and, without her supervision, I would oftentimes be truant from school.

My mother's death taught me a vital lesson. Make peace with your loved ones while they're still alive. Don't be embarrassed to say those words of love and appreciation while you can, or you will regret it later on when they're gone. Their passing will be much harder on you if you've neglected to say "I love you."

And since many people do die suddenly and unexpectedly, affirm your love for them often. Always be willing as well to forgive someone or to seek forgiveness from them as soon as you can. If you do this then you can avoid many years of regret and self-torment afterwards.

D.B.

Going into the prison's Intermediate Care Program (ICP Unit) during the weekdays is a good experience. I enjoy talking with the guys and, if I could be of help to any of them, it is a pleasure. It's also my job.

I was happy, therefore, to be able to return to E-North today after a three-day weekend. Yesterday was the observance of Columbus Day, and I was off from work.

When I'm at the ICP Unit I try to convey to these men, as the opportunities present themselves, that God has not written them off as worthless failures. He can take anyone's life, if they're willing, and make it better. I've seen this happen many times.

In fact, it was only a couple of weeks ago that I said this very same thing to a tall and slim black man in his mid-thirties who was getting ready to go home; he's since been released. I said, "Anthony, God can make your life into a sparkling diamond." He's been in and out of prison many times already because of an addiction to drugs. And he did tell me on a few occasions that he would "maybe" find his way to a church one day.

Unfortunately, however, Anthony's never made any attempts to go to church while he was here. Realistically I would say it is doubtful he'd make a serious effort to do so once he got out. But I believe, too, that God has not given up on him. Interestingly, during some of our conversations, Anthony confessed to me that there were times when he'd "stumble" into a few storefront congregations during his days of addiction and thievery.

Frankly, even a homeless Harlem-hardened street survivor needs a place to rest his bones and his burdens, and a simple storefront church is just the spot. Anthony told me that in these little houses of worship, which seem to dot the inner City's landscape, he would be greeted with a warm welcome, and sometimes with a warm meal as well.

I could picture a cocaine-numbed emaciated Anthony, lost and forlorn, being met at the door by a handful of elderly ladies. Their weary worn faces beaming with golden-toothed smiles, welcoming him into their little oasis, taking turns patting him on the head while hurriedly ushering him into a wooden chair while a few of these church mothers would head to a tiny in-the-rear-of-the-store kitchen to fetch him some fried chicken and mashed potatoes along with a cup of steaming sweet tea. A touch of kindness in a cold city. And no one ever knows. Perhaps with such tender treatment by a gaggle of grandmothers, Anthony's heart would melt and he'd bow his soul to his Creator?

I hope so.

D.B.

It was a very productive day for me. This afternoon, when I was at work in E-North, the building which houses the inmates who belong to the Intermediate Care Program, I was able to have several good conversations with different men. One man asked for a prayer because he's been going through a difficult time of depression. I gave him a few Scriptures to read. Then he decided to read all of Psalm 136 out loud from his Bible while I quietly followed along from my small Gideon Pocket Testament.

In addition, I was able to give out two Bibles to guys who said they needed one. One of them, Arthur, is a new arrival to the facility having been transferred here from a correctional facility far upstate.

In the dark and emotionally painful world of prison the light of the gospel shines brightly.

D.B.

I could only imagine what it must have been like for the woman who had an "issue of blood" to have touched the hem of the Lord's garment as He passed by. Most likely she was weak from years of slowly losing blood. She was penniless as well, for the Scripture says that she'd already spent all her savings on doctors, none of whom could help her. What a life of misery and shame! But when Jesus happened by, in faith and desperation, with perhaps nothing more than her last ounce of hope, she reached out and touched God.

I wish I could've been there to witness this. Her healing was instantaneous, yet without fanfare. Not even those in the crowd who'd been thronging the Lord knew what had happened. So,m in all probability, I too would have missed the miracle. But in a second of time a sickly soul was made whole. Her bleeding had stopped.

And may I venture to say that Jesus is still passing by. He is walking the earth right now through His disciples. He lives in us. And although we're not sinless as the Lord was when He walked among humanity, we have been chosen to be His ambassadors and to represent Him. So in this capacity and with His authority we can be of help to others. We can touch those around us with the love and power of God.

In the crush of the crowd Jesus stopped to ask His disciples, "Who touched me?" Today there are multitudes of sin-sick souls who long to touch Him, too.

D.B.

A father's love for his children is a wonderful thing. And I serve a God who is a loving Father. I've experienced His love, and I know it's real.

He is a Father who takes pity on those who find themselves drowning in deep spiritual poverty, or who are adrift in a sea of moral destitution. Indeed those who are desperate, who recognize their wretched condition, can call upon the Creator and obtain mercy. For God is drawn to those who are filled with genuine humility, who know that apart from Him there is neither help nor hope.

After all, He is the Almighty One. The Lord is a lover of widows and orphans. Forever merciful, He responds to the cries of a contrite heart. In the person of Jesus in whom all the fullness of the Godhead dwells in bodily form (Colossians 2:9), He wraps His arms around repentant prodigals and carries each of them safely home in His strong but tender arms.

And it is at God's "Throne of Grace" where healing begins. Forgiveness is granted for the asking. Broken hearts are mended, and troubled minds are renewed and restored. At this Throne lonely souls find fellowship. Here God makes His peace with sinners. Yes, He pities His fallen creation. What a wonderful God I serve!

D.B.

This afternoon I left my cell block to take a walk in the bright sunshine. I needed time outdoors after a busy morning. I was in the chapel for much of it, first helping to set up the equipment for today's service, then assisting my chaplain with the worship.

As I was walking, however, I was joined by a man whom I know to be on the fringe of belonging to a gang. I could tell that he also likes to get high. Once in a while I'd see him with a glassy-eyed "stoned" look. But we did have a friendly talk as he and I strolled the yard together.

Many months ago I was surprised when he suddenly showed up for a Sunday morning's chapel service. He had come back once after that, and never returned. This is common in here. Prisons are filled with restless men and women who are searching for something. So when I first saw this muscular Hispanic man who's perhaps in his mid-thirties, I recognized in him an emptiness and an inner yearning for meaning and purpose. People who do not have a personal relationship with their Creator experience this, and it's manifested in different ways.

To me, as a minister, seeing an individual with a dead soul is easy to spot. His smiles are superficial and his laughter sounds hollow. More times than not I'd see him wearing a perpetual frown. It's part the result of never knowing genuine happiness and fulfillment, and part not having God's Spirit living in his heart. This man is such a person.

Frankly, I've seen this "dead soul" look in hundreds of faces. I had it before I became a Christian. It's a lost look which reveals hopelessness and deep despair. It exudes from one's aura. Furthermore, I have observed this in both prisoners as well as the guards. These men have been swimming in the polluted "Sea of Sin" for far too long. And they will stay in this condition, I believe, until each is rescued by Jesus Christ.

So I tried to encourage my friend to place his faith in Christ. During our conversation he told me how discouraged he's been feeling due to various situations in his personal life including a wife who's busy doing other things. But I reminded him that Jesus is still patiently knocking on the door of his heart. The Lord has been calling out his name, I said. I told him, too, that I'd pray for him. And I have.

D.B.

I've been telling some of my fellow prisoners who believe in Christ that there are times in our lives when we're going to be afflicted and challenged by what I would call, for want of a better term, "The Four D's." These are Doubt, Disappointment, Discouragement, and the Devil.

At times, for example, I'd find myself becoming discouraged by certain things, be it in my life or by what may be going on around me. While at other times I may be disappointed by the outcome of something, etc. Then there's the Devil himself who's very good at penetrating through my spiritual armor on occasion. Thoughts would suddenly pop into my head that my life is a waste and my service to God is accomplishing nothing. And should I begin to entertain such thoughts, I'd start to doubt the Lord and His goodness. I'd begin to lose my peace, too.

Thankfully, however, these negative thoughts and beliefs do not last very long because I am learning to better recognize what they are and where they originate from. They don't come from Jesus! Instead, it's here that the Word of God starts to flash in my mind as I begin to recall His precious promises. As the Scripture says, "For ever, O Lord, thy word is settled in heaven (Psalm 119:89)."

God's words are settled and secure, forever. It's a done deal! His promises cannot fail. And it is through Him that I have the victory over all negative thoughts and influences. The "The Four D's," as I like to call them, have no lasting power. Praise the Lord!

In reality my labor for the Lord is not in vain. It's not a "waste of time" as Satan would have me to believe. Rather there's a huge harvest of good fruit awaiting me as I refuse to grow weary and give up (Galatians 6:9).

D.B.

Psalm 100 reminds me that I am to "Serve the Lord with gladness." In many religions, even those who profess to believe in Jesus Christ but are heavily into performing charitable deeds and good works in order to merit forgiveness and salvation, there's no conception, it seems to me, of what it means to be saved by "grace," and to serve the Lord with gladness as well.

Myriads of well-meaning persons serve God out of a sense of duty, and this is nothing but drudgery. How sad. Yes, the work of the Lord can at times be difficult. We do become weary on occasion. But Christians should serve our Savior with hearts full of gratitude and love for Him. We're to serve and worship Him with joy.

For me, knowing Jesus is having an intimate relationship with Him. It's not about religion. I don't have to strive to earn His favor nor His love. This is the difference. As the Scriptures say, "For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is a gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast (Ephesians 2:8-9)."

D.B.

As a Christian, not to mention that I have been in prison for more than thirty years, I am better able to understand the pain, grief, and frustration that my fellow prisoners experience as they do their "time" and serve out their sentences. In addition, I believe that through the wisdom and guidance of the Holy Spirit, I am able to show mercy and compassion to others. It is really a work of love. And I thank the Lord for where He has brought me from - the "pit of madness" - and for the way He is using my life now. To Jesus be the glory!

Yet in spite of my attempts to help these men, I am not always successful. Likewise not everyone who came in contact with the Lord and saw His miracles and heard Him teach came to believe in Him. Many rejected Jesus, and men still reject Him today.

So while I am disappointed in Chris (see my entry for Mamma's Boy), I'm not surprised. Chris never made it to church. I met and spoke briefly with him several more times since our lengthy talk in the recreation yard. But Chris is easily led, and in this case, misled. He quickly fell in with his old hangout buddies since returning to prison, just like he'd fallen in with his former friends when he was released on parole earlier this year.

In and out. Chris is a living example of the proverbial "revolving door." Without self-discipline, and without a viable goal, and lacking faith in Christ, too, many who are released from prison eventually end up once more in trouble with the law.

Actually, this time Chris was returned to prison without having committed a new crime. He simply violated his curfew. His parole officer therefore decided to issue a warrant for his arrest based on the violation. Now Chris must serve another year before he gets the chance to try again at making it in society.

D.B.