My son, despise not thou the
chastening of the Lord, nor
faint when thou art
rebuked by Him.
Hebrews 12:5
Well, here I go again. I was in this predicament last year at about this time, and now I'm back, courtesy of the Lord's loving discipline combined with my foolish behavior...
chastening of the Lord, nor
faint when thou art
rebuked by Him.
Hebrews 12:5
Well, here I go again. I was in this predicament last year at about this time, and now I'm back, courtesy of the Lord's loving discipline combined with my foolish behavior...
I did not heed God's advice to slow down and rest. AS I wrote in my journal at the beginning of the month, "Rest," is a negative word for a compulsive doer who always has to stay busy. It somehow cuts against the grain for me to stay still for a change.
So, yesterday morning, with my right kneecap badly swollen and unable to walk without assistance, the officer in charge of my housing area called the Infirmary to request a wheelchair. Then, about twenty minutes later, an inmate orderly arrived with the chair. He stood at the base of the stairwell and waited for me to make it down from the top floor. Fortunately, a friendly neighbor came along-side to help. He had to practically carry me down the steps. Because I could use only one leg I had to hop and bounce my way to the bottom. And once I was securely in the chair, the orderly pushed me and my small carrying bag through the corridors to the hospital. It was humbling not to be able to walk by myself, and in my own strength. I felt utterly helpless.
Meanwhile, I am now confined to a four man room in the hospital. It feels somewhat claustrophobic having to live in a room with three other men. In the more than thirty years I have been in prison, I've always had a cell to myself. Now I've got less privacy. We have to share a single toilet and one shower. It's like having to share one's apartment with several strangers.
Steve is my neighbor who occupies the bed next to mine. We're separated by an open space of about four feet. Steve's a well-poised black man who came here from a correctional facility that carries the benign sounding name of "Great Meadow." This maximum security prison is located in the obscure town of Comstock. Comstock, like many of the state prisons, is in a remote part of the state. The town would probably not exist today if not for the prison and the money it generates for the town by the guards and their families, and by those who travel into Comstock to visit family members who are incarcerated. But Steve is now at Sullivan temporarily to get the stitches removed from one of his hands after he injured himself and had to also undergo some minor surgery.
Steve is of the Muslim faith, he said. He knows that I'm a Christian because I told him so. He also saw me reading from my Bible the first night I was placed in the room. Thus far we've hit it off very well because he's a mature and sensible guy, and he has a mellow disposition. Steve says he writes poetry. He's from New Jersey and is married with two grown children. He also hopes to be out of prison soon because his sentence, he said, is nearing its end. He told me that he's a professional chef, too.
The other two men, whose beds face in my direction from the opposite wall, are both from this facility. One of them goes by the nickname "Nickel." He's an older black man who is noticeably overweight with a large belly that extends far beyond his waist. Nickel is in his mid-fifties, I would guess, with a short dull scraggly beard that mats the bottom of his face from ear to ear. Nickel, however, makes me feel ill at ease because I sense something sneaky about him. He's very jittery, too. And I don't trust him. He was admitted to the Infirmary after complaining of chest pains.
And the third man goes by the nickname of "Trek." Almost everyone in prison has a nickname. Trek's a cook in the facility's kitchen. Like me, he's been locked up for a long time - maybe twenty years. Trek is originally from the island of Jamaica, and he came to the United States to seek a better life. But years ago the lure of fast money tempted him through the selling of narcotics. It's a common tale of young men from the Caribbean.
I've known Trek for many years, but only as someone to make small talk with. He's quiet and easygoing, and a hard worker. Trek was admitted to the hospital because his blood pressure was "off the charts." The nursing staff has him under close observation hoping that his blood pressure goes down. All four of us are stuck in a place where we don't want to be.
D.B.
So, yesterday morning, with my right kneecap badly swollen and unable to walk without assistance, the officer in charge of my housing area called the Infirmary to request a wheelchair. Then, about twenty minutes later, an inmate orderly arrived with the chair. He stood at the base of the stairwell and waited for me to make it down from the top floor. Fortunately, a friendly neighbor came along-side to help. He had to practically carry me down the steps. Because I could use only one leg I had to hop and bounce my way to the bottom. And once I was securely in the chair, the orderly pushed me and my small carrying bag through the corridors to the hospital. It was humbling not to be able to walk by myself, and in my own strength. I felt utterly helpless.
Meanwhile, I am now confined to a four man room in the hospital. It feels somewhat claustrophobic having to live in a room with three other men. In the more than thirty years I have been in prison, I've always had a cell to myself. Now I've got less privacy. We have to share a single toilet and one shower. It's like having to share one's apartment with several strangers.
Steve is my neighbor who occupies the bed next to mine. We're separated by an open space of about four feet. Steve's a well-poised black man who came here from a correctional facility that carries the benign sounding name of "Great Meadow." This maximum security prison is located in the obscure town of Comstock. Comstock, like many of the state prisons, is in a remote part of the state. The town would probably not exist today if not for the prison and the money it generates for the town by the guards and their families, and by those who travel into Comstock to visit family members who are incarcerated. But Steve is now at Sullivan temporarily to get the stitches removed from one of his hands after he injured himself and had to also undergo some minor surgery.
Steve is of the Muslim faith, he said. He knows that I'm a Christian because I told him so. He also saw me reading from my Bible the first night I was placed in the room. Thus far we've hit it off very well because he's a mature and sensible guy, and he has a mellow disposition. Steve says he writes poetry. He's from New Jersey and is married with two grown children. He also hopes to be out of prison soon because his sentence, he said, is nearing its end. He told me that he's a professional chef, too.
The other two men, whose beds face in my direction from the opposite wall, are both from this facility. One of them goes by the nickname "Nickel." He's an older black man who is noticeably overweight with a large belly that extends far beyond his waist. Nickel is in his mid-fifties, I would guess, with a short dull scraggly beard that mats the bottom of his face from ear to ear. Nickel, however, makes me feel ill at ease because I sense something sneaky about him. He's very jittery, too. And I don't trust him. He was admitted to the Infirmary after complaining of chest pains.
And the third man goes by the nickname of "Trek." Almost everyone in prison has a nickname. Trek's a cook in the facility's kitchen. Like me, he's been locked up for a long time - maybe twenty years. Trek is originally from the island of Jamaica, and he came to the United States to seek a better life. But years ago the lure of fast money tempted him through the selling of narcotics. It's a common tale of young men from the Caribbean.
I've known Trek for many years, but only as someone to make small talk with. He's quiet and easygoing, and a hard worker. Trek was admitted to the hospital because his blood pressure was "off the charts." The nursing staff has him under close observation hoping that his blood pressure goes down. All four of us are stuck in a place where we don't want to be.
D.B.
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