For the past few days I have been writing about my personal experiences with our system of justice and the aftermath of those events. You can read those by clicking the links below:
It Was One Year Ago Today...
Probation Frustration
"This Now Defines You"
And now for the conclusion of this series...
Remember this one? "This is the song that never ends, it goes on and on my friends! Some people started singing it not knowing what it was and they'll continue singing it forever just because..." A silly song with poignant message for us today.
On April 2, 2014, thanks to the help of many friends, a fine attorney, a thoughtful Ware County, GA judge and lots and lots of prayers, my probation was terminated 3 years early. After 7 years I was free to travel, free to be around my friend's children and free of monthly visits to a probation officer. There was much celebration and joy and I wrote here of Crossing Bridges and beginning a new phase of my life. And much of that has happened. Let me be very clear before I start whining today- life after probation is MUCH, MUCH better than life on probation. But as you know from my banishment from Disney World, my lifetime ban from Facebook and a few other things I have mentioned over the past few days, convicted sex offenders may be released...but they are never really free. Once the legal system starts singing their song, you are forever trapped. It is truly The Song That Never Ends.
You know by now that my name will remain on The List for another 24 years- unless the law changes and it becomes even longer. "Shorter" and "more reasonable" are not words you hear used a lot when it comes to sex offenders. But you probably do not know what that means. It means that every 6 months I must go to the other side of the county to register so they can be certain all of the information about me on the SO website is correct- especially my address. It means that if I move, they have to approve it. It also means that if they are signed up for the app my neighbors would receive immediate notice that a SO was moving in. If someone new moves in with me, they have to approve it. If we buy a new car I have 48 hours to report it to them- in person- or like the other things listed here it is a third degree felony. I can travel out of state, but if I am gone more than 5 days I must turn in an itinerary - in person- no more than 48 hours before leaving town. It means that there is a special code on my driver's license so that any police officer who stops me for anything will know right away that I am a SO. It means I am still banned from entering schools, even just to drop off lunch for a friend. It means that while I can get a passport and travel or take cruises, there are many countries that will not allow me in once I get there. It means that the local sheriff's department will do the occasional "drop-in" just to make sure I still live where they think I live. And judging by my experiences with WDW and Facebook it means that any company that wants to can decide not to do business with me at their whim. It is the song that never ends.
Please understand- this is a mess of my own making. I committed a crime defined as a sex offense by the laws of the state of Georgia. No one made me do it, no one caused me to do it, and I have no one to blame but myself. Having said that, I also acknowledge that for the past three days I have written about what is wrong with the system. It is broken, and the only thing that ever seems to happen to change it is they add more laws and more restrictions. So it's time to put up or shut up. What would I do if the put me in charge? Here we go:
- Education & Prayer. Most offenses are not the headline grabbing "man grabs child off of bus" sort of things. A detective told me once that the vast majority of sex offenses are not committed against strangers, but against young women and men with whom the SO builds a relationship and spends time grooming. The potential victims are often easily manipulated because the adults in their lives who should be giving them love and attention- parents, grandparents, teachers, youth pastors and more- fail. These young people are often out there looking for adults who will make them feel special, unaware of the dangers. Their need for attention makes them easy marks for adults who twist the word "relationship" to meet their own sexual deviances. We need to educate one another on the need to offer tangible, real and meaningful attention to the young people in our lives. We need to know what they are doing, who they are talking to and what their issues might be. And we need to pray prayers of protection over our children and prayers of wisdom for the adults in their lives. I unfortunately know this to be true- evil is out there looking for children. We must be vigilant.
- Shorten the List. Not everything currently called a sex offense deserves that title. We need to change the list of offenses so that everyone who is labeled is someone who deserves it. Not to beat a dead horse, but getting drunk and peeing in a parking lot should NOT be a sex offense. And there are others as well.
- Levels. The remaining crimes need to classified according to severity and be broken into different levels. There are different levels for murder, different levels for robbery, different levels for rape and different levels for assault- but all SOs are exactly alike? Levels would allow for more rational responses by the public and a better concept of "let the punishment fit the crime" for the offenders. Plus they would offer more public protection. If a Level 4 SO moves in next door, you know to be very afraid. Their level indicates the crime. And such crimes could also come with tougher mandatory sentences because you don't have to lump everyone under one law. Lawmakers KNOW this needs to be done. They are just afraid to do it.
- Real Help. Make sex offender therapy something that helps rehabilitate SOs and gives them hope, rather than beats them down. Currently there are guys who enter the program having made a terrible mistake, but after hearing over and over again what monsters they are come out believing it. The come out worse than they went in. This HAS to change. A little encouragement could help SOs hang on to family and friends as well as their faith.
- Appeals. If the offense was your first and only offense, if you completed your sentence without incident, if your former PO recommends it and if you have the support of family and friends there should be some sort of appeals process to get your name off The List in less than 25 years. Yes- that's selfish. But I believe it is also right. There needs to be a place where the song ends.
One final thought on this whole thing. I know that the idea of sexual misconduct with minors is horrifying to most of us- and it should be. When we hear the phrase "sex offender" it conjures up visions of unspeakable things happening to innocent victims. There are sexual predators among us, and we should fear and revile them. But...in our current system not all SOs are predators, and not all child abusers are SOs. There was a news story from south Florida a few months back about a woman who was arrested and convicted of branding (just like you would a cow or a horse) her small children so she could more easily identify them. Because this horrible abuse was not labeled a sex offense, she received only 3 years probation, got to keep her kids and has very few restrictions. She BURNED her children, doing permanent damage, but when her probation is up she will be on no list and have no restrictions. And to bring this 4-part series full circle, she can go see Mickey anytime she pleases. There is a certain weight given to the term sex offender that is no longer valid because it has become so watered down. We need a new label for people who physically abuse children, sexually or otherwise. We need some changes in the laws, and a much more equitable system of justice where the greatest single factor in sentencing is not money. You may well disagree, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it. And I'll wrap this up with a promise- you have now heard the last of my thoughts, complaints and experiences about that time of my life. It's all out there now- and I'm done! Thanks for hanging in there with me, and thanks for loving me anyway!
"Enjoy every sandwich."
Day 3 from inside the system. I am glad to get all this out, but it is also exhausting...
As part of my probation process it was required of me to attend and graduate from a 4-part sex offenders therapy program. The classes have no true beginning or ending; you start going immediately and stay until the head of the program decides you are done. As a result, you never know how many years it's going to take to finish- you only know it will take years. It also means that your first day of Level 1 you are walking into a class of sex offenders who are trying desperately to say the right things and get promoted to Level 2. Sessions last an hour and only one or two participants got to talk each week. We were told we could not get off of probation until we finish all 4 levels. This is a partial truth, it turns out, but still- everyone wants to get their chance. I was in the group for 5 weeks before the therapist spoke to me, other than to call my name when he called roll and collected my payment. And they NEVER forgot to collect payments. Every week, from every person. Money rules inside the legal system. Four levels, around 20 guys per class, multiple weekly classes at each level, $20 per person per week- this therapy stuff was a racket! Of all the things that were part of my probation, nothing was as frustrating or as useless (for me) as the 4 and a half years of "intensive" therapy. Why? I was hoping you would ask...
By the time the therapist decided to talk to me a few things had become crystal clear. I was way out of my element. Some of the guys were there because of various computer offenses, some were 19 year olds convicted of statutory rape with their underage girlfriends, and there actually was one guy there for urinating in a parking lot. Then there were the guys who had done some truly heinous "get your own story on Dateline" kinds of things- and their stories freaked me out a little. And again- I can't say this often enough- we were all lumped in the same pile and given the same "treatment." The clear purpose of Level 1 was to remind us all that we were officially scum of the earth, and that in fact there was no lower form of life than a SO. One of the first things he ever said to me was "I don't care who or what you think of yourself. You are a sex offender. This now DEFINES you." He made it known that he didn't really want to hear what you thought were the reasons you may have offended; he would TELL you why you offended. There was to be no mention of God or faith or any of that "bullsh*t." And most importantly, at the risk of humiliation in front of a group of around 20 guys, you were to never minimize your crime. This was the greatest sin. Before I ever got to speak in group that was painfully clear. And according to our fearless leader, everyone minimizes. Everyone see their crime as "not so bad" and blames someone or something else. This way of thinking led to a problem with me. You see, I freely confessed what I did and that what I did was wrong, and that it was my fault. I was the sinner. And because there was no victim, no emails, no pictures, no phone calls and no attempt at further contact, there was no need to minimize. My crime, though very much a crime, was by the standards of this program already minimal. Just as had been the case during my 49 day sin jail back in Georgia, even the other "criminals" laughed in disbelief at that my particular offense was being punished in such a way. And the therapist knew it too. So he never wanted to talk to me. He promoted me to Level 2 in about 6 months (which was ridiculously fast compared to others) simply because he wasn't sure what to make of me. Many were much less fortunate, and the therapist took great pleasure in ripping them new ones and keeping them in Level 1- some for years. I met one man who had been in Level 1 for three years when I arrived and was still there when I left.
Another fabulously useless part of the therapy was the mandatory polygraph testing. Once a year, at great expense to the SO, we had to schedule and take a lie-detector test from one of four approved polygraphers in the county. They would hook me up to the equipment, test me with sample questions about my behavior since the last time I was there, and then administer the test. It felt like a big deal and was very stressful, even if you knew you had done nothing wrong, because such tests are notoriously unreliable. But here's the real deal- I could have confessed to robbing a bank during those sessions and it wouldn't have meant a thing. My therapist was the only one who could see the results; the legal system cannot use the results. Even my PO could only know if I passed or failed. So the worst thing that could happen was deeper questioning and more time spent in counselling paying $20 a week. I passed every time, and the polygrapher recommended each time that I didn't need to be tested again. That fell on deaf ears. The money needed to keep flowing...
Levels 2 and 3 of the program were with a different therapist, one who actually seemed to care about the individuals in his groups. These classes were all about writing papers and letters and presenting them to the other SOs in group. Some of the papers allowed for personal reflection and pondering what led you to commit your specific crime. These were actually helpful for me, as were some private (and expensive!) sessions I scheduled with the new therapist to speed up the process. The letters were supposed to be apologies to your victim and their family, so I just got to make stuff up. I enjoyed the chance to get some creative writing in. The bigger issue was for the others in those levels. Many of them had trouble with writing; they certainly had difficulty saying things the way they needed to be said for approval. Every paper and letter I wrote was approved the first time I shared it, and there were a couple of other guys like me. Some of the rest of those guys were rejected over and over again and are probably still in those levels hoping their probation will expire before they have to write anything else. I actually ghost wrote papers for three guys (including Jose, the friend I mentioned yesterday who died while still in the program) just so they could move on. I spent a year on each of those levels before being sent to Level 4 and one last battle with my original therapist. It was a skirmish that would last nearly as long as the first three levels combined.
Early on in Level 4 the Doc made it clear that he was going to try and break me. It was clear to him that I didn't feel nearly bad enough about myself, and in fact seemed much more at peace than I had back in Level 1. That was NOT the way it was supposed to work and it needed to change. He wanted me to confess to things I had not done. He wanted me to acknowledge that faith was a fantasy, that my youth ministry (for 28 years) had been a scheme to get me close to teenagers and that the church was actually a plague on society. He told me that I had no doubt ruined countless families over the years through my manipulations. At one point I told him that many parents and former youth still supported me; he called them delusional and accused me of using mind control techniques, including this blog. He tried to make me stop writing, but my PO backed me up. He wanted me to admit to being a pedophile, despite the fact that my crime had nothing at all to do with young children. (Side note: It does not help your cause in such situations to point out to a licensed therapist with a PhD that he is misusing a clinical term like "pedophile." Bad juju...) When I refused to confess to these lies, he shut me out, not talking to me in class for weeks at a time. Many weeks I boarded the bus for home with tears in my eyes, wondering if this would ever end. Finally it became clear what I had to do. Suck it up, tell him the lies he wanted to hear, and graduate. So that's what I did. At my final polygraph test the administrator asked me if I had ever lied to my therapist. I never even blinked as I responded, "YES." When he asked me what I had lied about, I told him the truth- and he was stunned. My therapy ended with me saying horrible and false things about myself so I could get out of the system. And I was not alone.
Mandatory sex offender therapy is another cosmetic illusion in the overall system. I witnessed very little effort to help SOs discover the WHY of our offenses. I saw a concentrated effort to remind us all that we were now garbage and that there was no coming back from that. They sought to (and quite often succeeded) destroy hope at every turn. It is little wonder that there are many SOs who choose to violate probation and go back to prison, because the pain and scrutiny they bear on on the "outside" just gets to be too much. I saw people punished for not being able to pay on time, while others were released early because they had attorneys who played golf with the Judges. One wealthy business man, who had molested 5 kids in his home and was a real jerk in group, served no jail time and was released halfway through Level 2 with his probation terminated because the Judge felt he had "done enough." Justice may be blind but it sure knows how to find a dollar. There is lots of lip service given to keeping offenders from reoffending, but I saw little evidence of concrete steps being taken. Personally, my biggest takeaway was a list I carry in my wallet of things I would miss if I ever reoffended. That is a huge deterrent for me. I'm not certain how well that works if you have an addiction or a mental illness that led to your offense. The public safety would be much better served by a program that encourages and rehabilitates and actually treats problems instead of telling offenders over and over again what they already believe- you screwed up, and no one loves you anymore. Now go away...
One final word. When I walked out of Level 4 as a graduate, free and clear of the mandatory therapy, I shook the hand of the therapist, looked him in the eye, and said something like this: "There is something you were wrong about from the first day we met. Being a sex offender does not define me and it never has. I believe in the love, grace and forgiveness that come from following Jesus. And THAT defines me. FOREVER!" And I will take a polygraph on that anytime you want me to. We'll wrap all of this up tomorrow.
Because of Jesus,
This is Day 2 of my series taking a look back at what life has been like since I was sentenced to probation in May of 2007. The probation was was terminated in April, 2014. These posts are based on my personal experiences. I do not seek to minimize what I did- it was very wrong I was guilty. I just want to shine a light on a very broken system.
On May 7th, 2007 I stood before a judge (you can read more about how I got there HERE) and was sentenced to 10 years of sex offender probation for an illicit instant message conversation with a minor. The sentence was part of a plea "bargain" that would keep the judge from giving me time in prison. The 10 years probation was the maximum he could give. At the time I was pretty clueless as to what those years would be like. Now, as I look back on them, I see clearly what a mess that time turned out to be. For the next few days you can learn a little about what it was like for me and for my family. Hold on tight...
After confirming my sentence, Judge Jackson (Remember that bit in the movie Young Frankenstein where every time anyone said the name Frau Blucher a horse would winnie in the distance? Yeah...typing Judge Jackson does that to me!) then began to read to me the list of regulations I would be living under, some for the next 10 years and some for the rest of my life. This list is slightly longer that the U.S. Constitution. Because in the majority of states there is no difference made between the incredibly wide variety of things now lumped under the name "Sex Offense" every item applies to every offender- no matter what they did. Many Probation Officers, police officers, District Attorneys and Judges have been saying for years that this is a major flaw in the system, but the legislators who make the laws won't budge. They don't want to be seen as "soft" on sex offenders (henceforce referred to as SOs). Even the Minnesota couple who originally lobbied President Clinton for a national registry of SOs back in the 1993 have spoke out in opposition to what that registry has become. My offense- a sexual conversation with a minor (who turned out not be a minor) through instant messaging- is estimated to occur over 1 million times a day in some form (texting, social media, etc.) in this country. There are a few dozen crimes now labeled as "sex offenses." Yet catching violators seems to have taken a back seat to "watching" us after we get caught. For the most part, registered SOs are not the people the public needs to fear. It's the ones who haven't been caught yet. But more on that later. My restrictions were the same as someone who had kidnapped 10 kids and abused them for months. One even stated that I have no contact with the victim. It was the DA who pointed out to the Judge that I had no victim, so that didn't really apply. That would not be the last restriction that would make very little sense very quickly.
One of the basic restrictions stated that there should be no contact between the SO and anyone under the age of 18. The DA moved to amend that this not include my then 11 year old son, and after a brief debate the Judge agreed. I would be allowed to keep living with my family. At the time this felt like a great victory, but later on it gave me cause for pause. If I was such a monster, someone unfit for contact with children, then why would they put my son at such risk with almost no debate? It made little sense. And neither did any of these things as times passed:
- My crime was committed on and confined to a computer. Yet I was never actually banned from using the internet. We chose not to have it at home for the first 2 years, but we could have. The restrictions just warned that my PO could search my computer at any time. Those 7 years of probation would bring exactly one search, and even then it was mostly to check out this blog. The one restriction that would have actually been fitting for my offense was never really a restriction at all. I was (and still am) prohibited from having my own Facebook account, but that was a Facebook rule, not a probation restriction.
- There were a number of restrictions as to where my family could live. Although every state, county and city can add their own ordinances that determine how close SOs can live to schools, churches, daycares, playgrounds and various other places, the standard law states 1000 feet- roughly 3 football fields. That's not much when it comes to finding a home. We were able to find a nice house in a nice neighborhood that met the standards. We were warned by my PO (who had to approve the location) that the neighborhood was too nice and that the other residents would never accept us, but we have lived here nearly 8 years with only one incident. Everyone can find out online that you are a SO. But they seldom have any idea what you actually did, so the assumption is always that a child molester has moved into the neighborhood- even if the crime was indecent exposure by peeing in a public parking lot. With so many offenses under one label, the public has no idea who is dangerous and who made a terrible one-time decision. So they treat everyone as dangerous with no real idea who actually is. On Will's first day of school after moving in someone put a sign at the neighborhood bus stop with my picture on it, warning people of the presence of a SO on our circle. They had discovered me on The List, and I understood their concern. They knew what I was, not who I was or even what I had done. The sign was quickly removed by the two gay men (and Marilyn) living in the house by the stop. They understood people assuming things and were going to have none of it. Over the following years many of those neighbors became our friends, and several of them wrote letters for me in favor of my probation being terminated. Most SOs are not so fortunate. In some places the "buffer" is as much as 2500 feet. This creates a homeless ghetto of SOs living without hope and with no reason for rehabilitation. Once you are labeled a leper, you don't spend a whole lot of time worrying about what happens next. It can't get worse. SOs with no family support and few choices as to where to live (or work- that's coming soon) are often shunned or even abused by unhappy neighbors. And this is AFTER paying your debt to society for your crime. For SOs it never ends. The label constantly hangs over your head for the rest of your life, and except in rare instances there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Convicted murderers live under fewer post-sentence restrictions than SOs. The system is designed to kill hope, and it works well. I was just blessed to have family, friends and faith to pull me through. Many SOs have none of those things.
- Another guideline required me to stay away from "places where children might gather." Some were obvious. Most were randomly selected by your PO. For instance, I could take Will to school as long as I didn't go in, but going inside a McDonald's or Chick-fil-A with a playground was bad form. The local mall was fine, movies were ok and Walmart (home of children running around with no parents watching them at all) was never even discussed. But church they had to think about. It was all very odd. And it didn't matter if parents wanted me around their children; there was no process for getting that approved. At first I stayed completely clear of all children. But eventually if the parents knew and didn't mind, then I didn't either. When I first started probation I assumed everyone knew who I was, what I had done and were scared to death of me. I lived very afraid of someone accusing me of something I didn't do, and my PO encouraged that attitude. Eventually I discovered that since I was doing nothing wrong and 99% of the people had no idea I was a SO I had nothing to worry about. For the most part.
- The two restrictions listed directly above are perfect examples of how cosmetic the statutes for SOs have become. The laws are put in place to make people feel safe and to make legislators feel accomplished, when they really serve almost no purpose. Sexual predators- you know, the guys you see on the news who do horrific things with children- are a very small percentage of those on The List. And studies show that previously convicted SOs who commit new crimes seldom strike near where they live. Most true sex offenses (ones with flesh and blood victims who are abused) occur away from home at pre-arranged locations or IN the home with people the SO already knows and who would be there anyway. By the time you have been through the system once, you know where you are likely to get caught. The laws currently in place prohibit you from being in the very places where you already know you would have to behave. The system is a mess.
- My restrictions required me to have a job. My label practically prohibited me from getting one. Any job had to approved by my PO. I could have worked delivering phone books- but there might be kids at home. The same with a food delivery service. I could have worked for friends at a small shop in the local mall- but nope, malls were out. I could shop, just not work. Target actually offered me a job as part of an outreach program to give felons a second chance, an initiative which earns them money from the federal government. So they hired me- I even took the drug test. Then the home office in Minneapolis processed my application and discovered that the feds didn't reward them for hiring SOs. And poof- my job was gone. My PO had me applying for 5 jobs a day, 5 days a week for a month at one point. I didn't even get any calls from anyone but Target. So with his guidance, we found a way arround the job requirement. I invented a handyman company, CJ's Odd Jobs, and filed with the state and got a county license. So I had a job. But if you know me, aside from knowing 1001 uses for duct tape I have NO skills as a handyman. No matter- it kept me from a probation violation and a trip to jail, so we went with it! The company is now out of business. :)
- I had to see my PO at the office once a month, and they came to see me at home each month as well. They also would come do a search of the house once a year, which after the second year became a joke as they no longer were worried about me doing anything wrong. Despite the fact that I had no history of drug use, I was subject to random drug tests that required me to pee while an officer watched. I often had trouble doing this. They almost sent me to JAIL a couple of times because I couldn't urinate and they assumed I was hiding something. You can't make this stuff up...
- I had to keep a driving log each month, writing down times and places I drove. For 7 years I did this. And not ONCE did a PO even give it a serious look. Which was understandable, because no one in their right mind would write down times or places they weren't supposed to be. My PO (all 4 of them; they kept changing) understood this was a useless exercise. Like with so many things, the law makers do not. More cosmetics.
- I also had a curfew and couldn't leave the county I live in without written permission from my PO- which wasn't always easy to get. For the first year I had to deal with a Georgia imposed 7 PM curfew until I completed 98 hours of community service. After that it was from 10 PM- 6 AM. This meant that I had to be home every night by 10, which meant I could not spend the night anywhere else. My hospital stay in November 2012 marked the first nights I had spent away from home in over 5 years. I couldn't travel with my family or go spend the night with my mom. One of the SO friends I made while in the program was dying with cancer and he still could not get permission to go see his homebound parents in NY. He died never seeing them again. These travel rules were just more cosmetic restrictions. No one was safer because Jose didn't get to see his parents. One of my neighbors and I were talking the week after Christmas one year while Marilyn and Will were in NC, and she was flabbergasted at the regulations. "If you are are really a danger to us- which I know you are not" she began, "then wouldn't everyone be safer if you were with your family rather than home alone with your computer?" I laughed so hard. It was just another example of how a law that looked good on paper, and is probably needed for sexual predator cases, makes no sense in many others. And everyone on The List is treated the exact same way...
There's more, but I'll stop for today. As part of my probation I had to undergo "intensive" sex offender group therapy. Oh the stories I could tell. And tomorrow, I will! Thanks for reading my friends.
"Enjoy every sandwich."
On June 7th, 2014 I was issued a citation for "trespassing and conduct unwelcome at Walt Disney World" and was banned from entering that Disney property for the rest of my life. This did not happen because I had done something new. I didn't spit on anyone from Dumbo or tickle any Haunted Mansion cast members trying to make them laugh. I didn't dine and dash from the San Angel Inn or scare the lions at Animal Kingdom. Any mischief on my record at WDW would have occurred years ago when my youth groups used to frequent the parks- and in those days we never got caught! The good folks of Disney asked me to leave and never come back because my name is on The List of registered sex offenders in the state of Florida and I had purchased an annual pass, so I was "caught" in a cross-check. You can read my post about that day by clicking here.
I won't recount again how my name got on the list, other than to say that I did what they said I did and I paid the price for it. You can read all about what I did and the sentence imposed by visiting the My Journey Page of this blog and browsing through the first three posts listed. The mess I am in is a mess of my own making and I have always acknowledged that fact. But still... It is frustrating that WDW kicked me out with no appeal process, with no chance to tell them about my otherwise spotless record or about the rave reports from probation officers who had given me written permission to visit Downtown Disney and the resort hotels on numerous occasions during my 7 years of probation. There was no opportunity to talk about my probation being terminated 3 years early or about the dozens of families who were excited that I would finally be able to go back to the parks with them and their children. No one asked what my offense actually was- they just knew it put me on The List- so they had no idea that my offense involved no actual contact (or intent to contact) with anyone. They didn't care that we had been annual passholders (Will and Marilyn still are) for many years before my arrest without incident or that we hold stock in the Walt Disney Company. They didn't know that I brought large groups of teenagers to the parks for many years before my offense. They didn't care that I am not a pickpocket, which according to reports is the number one crime at theme parks- yet there's no banishment list for convicted pickpockets. They only cared that my name was on The List. We know now that we could have made an end-run around the banishment by always paying cash and buying short-term passes that didn't require me to give my name. But the fact that we didn't try to hide and were tossed out while others are not just makes me more frustrated. The fact that someone like George Zimmerman is welcome at the parks and I am not nearly makes my head explode! My extended family- Marilyn, Will, Lisa and Michelle- go often and have to go without me. I usually try to brush all this off and put on a happy face about it, but the fact is some days it really makes me angry. And about once a month it makes me so angry I want to turn green and smash things. I know that God has forgiven me, and though it took a long time I have forgiven myself as well. Why can't WDW get on board the forgiveness train? But then I calm down and remember what I'm truly angry about. It's not about WDW. It's about The List, who is on it and what that means to our lives knowing that there is no way to get off of it. And today I have realized it is finally time- 8 years and 1 month after being sentenced, 14 months after being freed from probation and 1 year after being banished from Disney- to tell you what life was like during probation and what it is like today for someone on The List.
So hang on to your hats. The next three days will feature my own editorial thoughts and real experiences from the inside of a system that is badly broken. It doesn't help protect the public, it just offers the illusion that it does. It doesn't help the victims. It doesn't help rehabilitate the offenders. And it creates an atmosphere of hopelessness for many that actually leads to more offenses instead of protecting you. If you think that everything you need to know about sex offenders can be learned from the nightly news or by watching To Catch a Predator, think again my friends. It's about to get real up in here...
Because of Jesus,
For the past few months I have written here most every Tuesday about the #NarrowRoad we seek to walk with Jesus. Each of us have our own stories to tell and our own history on the path. In some circles these are called our testimonies. My preferred description is to call it my spiritual journey. Whatever you want to call it, here is mine. Please forgive my overuse of the word "I" in this post. But for once, this kind of is all about me...
I grew up in Quaker (until I was 4) United Methodist churches. As a small child I attended Sunday School, Vacation Bible School and all of the worship services and church picnics you can imagine. By the age of 10 I had memorized my share of bible verses. I knew the hymns. I could recite the Apostle's Creed. And to be honest, I was under the impression (because church taught me) that being able to do all of those things made me a Christian. I had yet to learn the truth that going to church doesn't make you a Christ-follower anymore than sitting in a garage makes you a car...
When I was about 10 my parents quit going to church because of a split in a church they loved. They never went back. For a few years I stayed home on Sunday mornings- and I enjoyed it. I didn't miss church at all. When I was in 8th grade, my best friend Steve Semmler convinced me to go to youth group with him. I wish I could tell you I went because deep in my soul I longed to know Jesus, but the fact is I went because of a girl. New Garden Friends Meeting was a very important stop on my faith journey, but we didn't use language like "saved" or "born again." In fact, that language both scared and confused us. I remember being at a gathering of youth groups and going around a circle introducing ourselves. The other youth were saying their names and the exact date that they had been "saved." We said our names and that we liked to play basketball. I didn't have a salvation story. I was learning about Jesus, but I did not yet know him.
My growth continued when I became involved in a Young Life Campaigner Group. There I studied scripture and shared experiences with a group of guys who came from a different background than I did, and who understood more about giving their lives to Christ. Living in the way God intended became very important to me, and I was identified more and more as a Christian, by myself and by others. Volunteering at Quaker Lake Camp and talking with kids and counselors about Jesus continued my journey. By the time I began working at the camp at age 18, I was committed to following the teachings of Christ. I had seen old friends whose lives had taken a different path from my own and who were now living dark, painful lives. I felt like I had been saved by Jesus. I would feel that way many times over the coming years. But I still had no definitive date, no concrete answer to the "When were you saved?" question.
I began working for churches as a youth leader when I was 18. For the next 28 years I led teenagers in their search for Jesus, always reminding them that while "once saved, always saved" may be a theological truth, the fact is that we are in constant need of saving- and Jesus will never let us down. Some experience salvation in a magical moment, with trumpets and lights flashing; many of us are saved because we allow Jesus to slowly, deeply consume our hearts. The problem with the latter is that it doesn't give us an exciting story to tell; it doesn't give us a date to recite. But it still gives me a Savior, and Jesus has played that role in my life over and over again in my 55 years of life.
Over the years I have often feared being one of those people I have seen so many times in church or at youth camps who find their "salvation" in an emotional response to a sermon or a tragedy. I have witnessed as far too many people have walked down the aisle at church to the strains of Just As I Am; they have knelt at the altar just as they are; and they head back to their seats just as they were. I have often doubted the sincerity of those who could name the date and time of their salvation, because I have wondered if was simply emotion. But in April of 2007, in the midst of the darkest days of my life, in the midst of repenting of the most public sin of my life, I found myself in tears and on my knees before God asking to be saved one more time. And in that moment, I was filled with the Holy Spirit in a new and amazing way. And I have not been the same since. I was and am still far from perfect. But I was saved in a whole new way.
I realize this is not a normal testimony, but I have not lived a normal life. I have been a Christian since a very early age. I have been a committed Christ-follower since I was a teenager. As an adult I led many students into relationships with Jesus, and gave my life to him in service. But if you want to know when I was saved- REALLY saved by the overwhelming love and grace of Jesus Christ- I'd have to say Easter Sunday, 2007- in jail. Walking with Christ, learning to trust him, sharing life with him- all of these things are part of the pilgrimage. And the trip down the #NarrowRoad never ends. Brennan Manning once said that "The worst thing is not crying out in the darkness; the worst thing is having no one in the darkness to cry out to..." Knowing that Jesus is there in the darkness- not hoping, not thinking, not wishing, but KNOWING- that's my salvation story. Thanks for listening.
Because of Jesus,
Eight years ago this week was the last time I was ever officially any one's Youth Pastor. It's so hard to believe it has been that long since life fell apart and my sin was exposed to the world. So much has changed in my life. But one thing has not. I still miss being a Youth Pastor.
Please don't misunderstand me. This is not a "poor, poor pitiful me" post. God continues to bless me with a ministry through this blog and through connections with "youth" (some now approaching and passing 40) who still consider me to be one of their pastors. I love those moments and cherish those relationships. But there is something about ministry to and with teenagers that cannot be replicated anyplace else. Youth ministry is a constant whir of sound, energy, movement and emotion. For those who are truly called to do it the outlets for creativity and service are limitless. And though I have not been a youth pastor in 8 years, my mind still operates in that realm. There are opportunities, people, situations and challenges that pop up in my life everyday that are still addressed with the mind of a youth pastor. The issue is this- there are no events to plan, no studies to teach, no trips to take and no ridiculously wild adventures on which to lead students. It all just stays in my head.
At the Oscars this past Sunday night there was a performance (see picture at top) of the song Everything is Awesome from The Lego Movie. It you saw it then you know it was a blur of color, dancing, lights, song and strangeness. It was great! One of my more conservative Twitter followers stated that he had never taken drugs but he was pretty sure that scene was what it would feel like if he did. It was almost hallucinogenic, and he hated it. But one of my youth ministry buddies tweeted that if you had just watched Everything is Awesome then you had seen what it is like inside the head of a youth pastor. Constant, but controllable, chaos! And I do miss turning all of that loose on students in the name of Jesus. You don't have to be wild, crazy and creative to be a youth pastor. But it does help, and God blessed some of us in special ways. Ministry among students requires great passion, and passion is most always messy. Your goal is to build relationships with teenagers and help build a Christian community out of parts that were never designed to work together. The challenges are many, but the rewards are both amazing and eternal. I can look back over the years I spent doing student ministry and see how much those ministries impacted lives in large part because we were willing to take risks and have faith in the truth that God created us all for something special. We believed that in Jesus EVERYONE is awesome, and that changed us all for the better. So of course I miss it. It was such a huge part of me. Even now it feels like I have the ability to see things through a different lens than most of the adults I know. And that is a blessing.
Even without the legacy of my sin, my days as as youth pastor would likely be done by now anyway. The demand for 55 year old, diabetic, 7-toed youth ministers is remarkably low. But that truth does nothing to help me miss it less. So if you are so inclined I would very much appreciate your prayers today, and as always I appreciate your love and support. This post should also comfort many of you, who have often thought to yourselves at a youth meeting, a Rec Around the Clock, on a beach trip, playing a silly game or on the streets of NYC, "Carl is just a little bit nuts." You are and have always been right. And God made me this way so I could spend 30 years in ministry with some incredibly special people. Much love, my friends!
Because of Jesus,
This blog often contains references to the amazing grace of God. I know that our sins are forgiven and forgotten in heaven because of the love of God whose name is Jesus. Despite my own sinful nature and notorious failures, it is that gift of God that defines me before the throne on God Almighty- not my past. I know and believe that God's love is all I need, because love is always enough. But every now and then I am reminded that this world does not forgive so easily, and that it very seldom (if ever) forgets.
Most of you reading this know my story of sin and failure over 7 years ago. You know that I confessed, repented and have started life over again in many ways. You know that I served a probation and was granted an early termination this past April, having done anything that was asked of me during my supervised time. Freedom was mine- or so it seemed. Since then there have been a series of disappointments and frustrations in my life because of that single act committed in late 2006. I try to stay positive, and I try to press on. But the world keeps tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me of my sin. And it makes me sad. It is hard to escape your past when the system keeps reminding you of the worst thing about you.
The most recent reminder came at the end of last week. One of our neighbors (whom I had talked to numerous times while we were out walking dogs) appeared at my door one morning and said she needed to talk to me. She and her husband (they are an older couple) are trying to sell their house and have had all kinds of problems. They are currently on the third potential buyer. She told me that they were all but signed on the dotted line when this latest prospect discovered that I lived in the neighborhood. And now they were going to back out. My mere presence was scaring them away. My neighbor had not known of my offense previously, and she was there to get details and reassurance in the hope that she could change they buyer's mind. She listened to my story, and like many of you have been she was amazed that I shared it so openly and so easily. It was her opinion that I had more than paid the price for my crime and have rehabilitated myself, but she was not the one who needed to be convinced. She left in the hopes that she had enough information to do just that.
She did not. She was back a few hours later asking a few more questions and getting the phone number of my last probation office so the buyer could call. This mother- at least I assume there were kids and that was the reason for her concern- was about to give up a beautiful home in a great neighborhood simply because I live there. And that, my friends, was a hard dose of reality to swallow. I am still awaiting word on their final decision.
It continues to amaze me that my presence on a list because of something that happened over 7 years ago can still cause such turmoil in my life, let alone in the lives of others. I am not on the list because of law enforcement or the judicial system, I am there at the whim of legislators who years ago decided to "protect" the public from people like me by lumping dozens of different types of offenders on one easy-to-hate list. Instead of offering protection, this has led to great confusion as no one can differentiate the truly dangerous from the sinfully stupid. This is not just my opinion- it is the opinion of law enforcement officials and counselors all over the country. But no lawmakers listen, because standing up for the rights of an offender like me is political suicide. So despite the love and support of so many friends and family (and neighbors, I might add) and the knowledge that God loves me, there are days I feel like a monster. People are avoiding my neighborhood because I live there. My spirits are often most easily defined through music. And this makes me feel like a sad song...
There are things none of us can control once they happen. We deal with consequences both earned and undeserved that enter our lives and bring us joy or sorrow. The thing that we must remember- each and every one of us- is that none of these earthly sorrows have any impact on the love of God in our lives. Jesus loves us no matter who we are, no matter what we have done and no matter what the world may say to us. Even as I struggle with feelings of sadness and inadequacy I can feel the arms of God wrapped around me, reminding me that He will never leave nor forsake me. My family and friends are by my side. And so despite feeling like a sad song, the song in my heart remains one of hope- because God's love is always enough. To continue this week's theme, I've gotta' keep pressing on...
Because of Jesus,
Many (if not most) of my readers know of my downfall over 7 years ago. The story has been very public, including posts here on this blog. From the very beginning I confessed my crime and my sin and have tried to do everything asked of me to put it in my past. I served 49 days in the Ware County jail and 7 years of probation. I was in therapy and counseling for nearly 5 years of those years. I was a model probationer, never having any issues and being told by 3 different officers that they really felt no need to check on me. My final PO was even responsible for me applying for the early termination which allowed me to get the final 3 years of my 10 year sentence removed. I have lived with the shame of the label I was given and tried to live my life in the years since my offense to restore my reputation and bring honor and glory to Jesus. And on April 2nd, 2014, I was given my freedom from probation. I could resume my life, see people I wanted to see and do things I wanted to do. I knew there would still be some fallout, like my name being permanently on a list, but I thought I would finally have a chance to be normal again. In at least one instance, I was wrong. Terribly wrong.
If you follow my posts here you know that one of my first adventures after being released from probation was to go to Walt Disney World with family and friends. We bought me a 3 day pass, which we upgraded to an annual pass before my third day in the parks, so we had used my annual pass once. On June 7th Marilyn and I ventured to Epcot for the day. We had fast passes and dinner reservations- a whole day planned. Upon arrival, we were told that my pass was blocked for some reason and I was sent to guest services. After a bit of stalling, I was sent back to an office and was greeted by WDW security. At that point I was told that since my name is on a list because of my offense in 2007, I'm not welcome on Disney property. Not in the theme parks, not at Downtown Disney, not on the golf courses. I am simply not welcome. This is not a stated WDW policy; it is something they do behind the scenes. Officially, I was issued a trespass warning for having committed "conduct not welcome at Walt Disney World" and told that if I ever come back I will be arrested. I was allowed to go to Downtown Disney or the miniature golf courses and meet friends while on probation; now even that was gone. They took my Magic Band, my annual pass and asked me to leave. Walking back to our car in the Epcot parking lot was surreal. This was the LAST time I would ever be at WDW. My disappointment at that moment is very difficult to describe.
I do not write this today to debate the policy or to cast dispersions on the Disney company. They are trying to protect their customers, and they see this as a way to keep out some riff-raff. I do have a problem with the bigger picture. Eliminating an entire group of people because they have been lumped together on the same list with no regard for individual circumstances and no chance for appeal is not right, yet Disney is far from being the only company to have these sorts of policies. Forget about my situation for a moment and consider this scenario. A 19 year old man and his 15 year old girlfriend have consensual sex. Her father discovers this, is outraged, and presses charges- as is his right. The man is convicted of statutory rape and is placed on the list for the next 25 years. This happens far more than you might think. He serves his time and is released from legal restrictions- given his freedom. Yet because of his actions at the age of 19, WDW will never allow him to visit. He will not be able to see Mickey with own children until he is 45 years old and his name goes off the list. The patrons of WDW deserve to be protected from sexual predators. They need no protection from that young man or many others in categories very much like his. The "net" of offenses used to put people on the list has gotten so big that it has become impossible for the general public to separate the sharks from the minnows. I have many thoughts from "the inside" about the flaws inherent in the system and how laws intended to protect are actually creating more problems, but those will have to wait for another day.
So why do I share this today? Simply to say to the dozens of friends who have been so excited about the possibility of going to Walt Disney World with the Jones family that I will not be able to join you. Many of you deserved to hear this from me one on one. But to be honest, telling the story exhausts me, and the thought of telling it 20 times was a bit more than I could handle. So please accept my apology and please know how deeply disappointed I am that I cannot share what will always be one of my favorite places on earth with you and your families. Please keep Marilyn and Will in your prayers, as this has been very difficult for them to deal with as well. Sin comes with consequences, and I accept that. Accepting that some of the consequences are never-ending is a much tougher thing. Grace is often hard to find in the real world- which is one more reason I will continue to cling to Jesus. Thanks for listening.
Because of Jesus,
There was a little old lady at one of the churches I served who would often stop by my office to say hello on weekday mornings. We would exchange pleasantries and when I (or anyone else) would ask her how she was doing she would always respond, "So blessed I can hardly stand it!" What a great approach to life! I freely confess there have been days where I couldn't offer up praise to God with such enthusiasm. But the past few days have been filled with so many blessings that I am left weak-kneed and tongue tied as I try to thank my God, my family and my friends for all the blessings in my life. But I do want to attempt to recognize a few of those blessings this morning, because I am indeed so blessed I can hardly stand it!
- Yesterday Judge DeVane in Waycross, GA terminated my 7 year old probation, thus eliminating the final 3 years of restrictions, curfews and supervision. This was done with the help of many people and many prayers. It hasn't quite sunk in yet what this means, except knowing that I have a lot of catching up to do on visiting people and taking road trips!
- My attorney, Jim McGee, was a man I had never met until I walked into court yesterday. But he fought for me, and I would have not have been able to share that first blessing without his work.
- It was suggested that I take a witness with me to testify if needed as to my character and my rehabilitation, and as he always does Jerry Hanbery stepped up and went with Marilyn, Will and I to Waycross. I can't tell you all the ways Jerry was a blessing to us on the trip- they are too numerous and occasionally inappropriate! He sacrificed much and wound up not be called upon to testify. All I can say is everyone needs a friend like Jerry. Love ya, Sundance! And Melissa- thanks again for loaning him out to us. Remember. there is Ghirardelli's in your future!
- Marilyn was called upon to testify, and was a rock despite being a little unnerved. Plus she and the judge got to talk shop for a moment when he asked her what sort of law office she works in. She and Will have been and will continue to be constant blessings in my life.
- Our old buddy UBD (David White) and his wife Tina from Trinity UMC in Waycross took us to dinner on Tuesday night and then David sat with us at the courthouse all Wednesday morning. I can't express how much it meant to us to have him there.
- I asked for letters of support and reference to share with the Judge, and my extended family came through in bigger ways than I could have ever imagined! So many amazing friends- people like Steve Semmler, Denise May, Tammy Doggett Foster, Susan McBane Tuggle, Marie Allen Duke, Millie Simmons, Jamie Robinson, Ashley Goad, Ann Saunders Hale, Wayne & Jane Gless, Patsy Hill, Karen Chester, Ashley Miller, Jill Painter Watson, Todd & Kristin Willis, Lauren Carr Cacciatore, Cindy Martin, Jennifer Minnigan Kuramochi, Jacob Lupfer, Lisa Kraus Spires, Teresa Reep Tysinger, Lisa Jewett, Joanne Gastler, Jim & Linda Swenson and Ron & Kristy Starcevic and no doubt a few I have missed- sent letters, texts, notes and offers to write letters. It was so touching. And many of the letters...wow. I firmly believe they helped turn the decision in my favor. Let's just say that even if the petition to terminate had been denied, I would still be feeling incredibly blessed today!
- In addition to those mentioned above, countless others let us know they were praying for us through Facebook and Twitter. We coveted those prayers and could feel the support, and what's more I think the Judge felt it too. He's a part-time pastor. Praise be to God!
In May of 2007 I entered a wilderness from which I was sure there would be no return. I knew God would offer grace and forgiveness; Jesus had already taken care of that. But I never expected to feel the kind of grace, forgiveness, support and love I have had from family and friends over these past 5 years since I came out of hiding and told my story. I can never really repay the blessings I have been given. But I wrote a song once for a stewardship campaign at FUMC-Kissimmee called Blessed To Be a Blessing, and I firmly believe that is true. With my new freedom comes new opportunity to serve the family of God in new ways. I continue to ask for your prayers as I try to find where God wants to use me. And now, more than ever my dear friends, I am here for you. Call on me anytime. I am bursting with joy this morning. That's what happens when you're so blessed you can hardly stand it!
Because of Jesus,
Today is the conclusion of my 49 Days of Grace series. You can find the first 7 entries, plus the posts that explain how I wound up spending 7 weeks in the Ware County (GA) jail by visiting 49 Days .
May 7th is a date that has been stuck in my mind for a very long time. It is the birthday (I think) of one of my dear old friends, Alan (The Asheboro Flash) Brown. It is the date (I think) on which Alan, Carl Semmler and myself began our epic road trip from NC to Cali and back in 1979. And on May 7, 2007, I found myself with my hopes once again high that I might finally be done with my unfortunate incarceration. The previous day my attorney had been to see me to let me know that the Judge had finally signed my bond. Unfortunately, before signing it, he raised it to a level that we could not afford to pay. I was now being held under a bond usually reserved for rapist and murders. Clearly, this Judge did not like me. He had also agreed to go ahead with the plea bargain he had forced the D.A.'s office. This plea was no bargain, but since I had confessed and the alternative to accepting it was letting the same Judge decide how long I would be in prison, it was the only choice. What did I agree to? 10 years of probation, which was the maximum that could be imposed. Restrictions galore. A label for a lifetime. But I went to the courthouse on the morning of May 7 ready to accept it- and to go home to my family.
Of course, like everything else in this story, it was not that easy. I sat in a holding room in the courthouse until late afternoon, once again waiting on Judge Jackson to see me. Around 4 PM, the guards came in and told a bunch of us we were not going to be seen and we were headed back to the jail. I couldn't believe it. This made the third time he had stood me up. 49 days in jail and still not one opportunity to go before a Judge and have bail set. I was so depressed. I got back to my cell and everyone- the other inmates and the guards- were livid. No one could understand why I was being treated so roughly as a first time offender with no actual victim. I went from sad to angry. I remember sitting on my cot, angrily asking God when this would end. Dinner came around 5, and I didn't eat. And then something wonderful happened. One of the guards came down to tell me that I was going back to the courthouse. They were never supposed to bring me back to jail, and now the Judge was looking for me. There was hope! And so I was loaded up (complete with Frankenstein chains!) and driven back to court.
Upon arrival I had to wait a few minutes, then saw my attorney and was taken in to see the Judge. The charges against me were read, and the sentence I was accepting was explained, including all of the special conditions that go along with my label. The Assistant D.A. was quick to strike a few conditions, including never being able to drive alone, not being able to use the Internet, and most importantly, not being able to live with my son Will. But just as I thought we were done and I was going to go home, Judge Jackson had one more bomb to drop. I was banished from his south Georgia jurisdiction. I had 60 days to move. I am fairly certain this was unconstitutional, and that he did it hoping I would want to to fight it and go to trial, but by that point being able to live in Waycross was the least of my worries. I quickly accepted. He spent a few minutes telling me what a monster I was, and then announced we were finished. I was transported back to the jail while paper work was finished, and then came the moment I had dreamed of for 49 days. They gave me back the clothes I was wearing when I was arrested. Marilyn picked me up and we got pizza for supper. I got to sleep in a real bed, with real pillows. I got to use a private toilet. I was reunited with my family, including my Mom who was there. I was free!
Sort of. My probation restrictions got complicated immediately. I could not be out after 7 PM on weekdays or after 4 PM on weekends for the first year. I was terrified of how people I knew might respond if they saw me, and I was convinced that everyone in town knew who I was. I had 60 days to move out of south GA, but it was determined I was living too close to an abandoned playground and would have to move out of the house we had been renting- immediately. But the grace of Jesus we had experienced all along- from the church family, from the guards, from the people I met on the inside, from the D.A.'s office- had one more big play to make. A lawyer from Trinity United Methodist Church (I think I know who, but have never really confirmed it) called Judge Jackson and told him he was making far too big a deal out of what I had done, and that he should allow us to stay in our home until such time as I could get transferred to Florida. And he did. I wound up staying in Waycross far less than 60 days as it turned out, moving in with my Mom in Leesburg, FL on June 1. Marilyn and Will would join me later that summer, and we moved into our current home in Tampa in July of 2007.
I have shared this series in the hopes that my life can speak to these truths- that the love of God whose name is Jesus will never abandon us; that grace is given to even sinners like me; and that John 1:8 is an absolute fact. I have seen the darkness.I have lived in it. I was almost smothered by it. But "the light (Jesus) shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it." My life today is a testament to that Light. Turns out that I had been singing the truth all along- "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me..." Thanks to all of you who have shared in my story and for the grace you have shown me as well.
Because of Jesus,
In the Spring of 2007 I spent 49 days in jail. While in most ways a terrible time in my life, they were also days filled with grace and a whole new understanding of the love of God whose name is Jesus. To read my story and see more of these posts, check out 49 Days of Grace.
One of the most difficult parts of my 7 weeks in the Ware County Jail was the excruciating boredom. If you have watched prison movies, then you probably have images of guys playing basketball and lifting weights in "The Yard." You may think of guys spending time in the library, or watching lots of TV. None of these things were available to me because I was kept in a high security wing for my own protection. As I have mentioned before, I did not go outside for 7 weeks, and counting paces in my cell for exercise could only fill so much time. I napped a lot because time passes quickly when you are asleep. But mostly I counted on my wife, who brought me books, word search magazines, pen and paper and a deck of cards. While in jail I was able to read through the Bible 2 times. That's the entire book, old and new testaments. Twice. I also read all 7 books of the Chronicles of Narnia, several novels (I remember The Lincoln Lawyer and a couple of John Grisham books), a history of the AIDS crisis called And the Band Played On, and Tony Campolo's The Kingdom of God Is a Party. I filled a couple of word search books. I wrote letters. And I played a lot- A LOT- of Smith.
Smith is a solitaire card game that my friend Steve Semmler introduced me to in the summer of 1973. I have no idea what the real name of the game might be, and I really don't remember how it became Smith. But it did. I will not try to explain the game here, but suffice it to say that winning this particular game requires an incredible amount of luck. It is also very addictive, because you very often almost win. Steve and I, along with other members of our group of friends, would play the game for hours on end. As time passed I taught it to many of the students who traveled with me on youth group trips over the years, and they too were quickly addicted. And all of us had one thing in common. We never won. Oh every now and then someone would claim to win, but a quick review of the rules would usually lead to the discovery that they had cheated- inadvertently or not. So given all of this time to kill and a fresh deck of cards, I attacked Smith with a new passion. I mean playing hundreds of times each day I was bound to win, right? I even taught the game to a couple of the guys who passed through my cell, and they too suffered from the frustration. I have now been playing Smith for nearly 40 years and have still never won. I have been one card from winning hundreds of times.But I have never beaten Smith...
In many ways, Smith is a prefect analogy for my time behind bars. The frustration was immense. On two different occasions I was loaded into a van and taken to the courthouse so the judge could sign my bond and I could go home. Both times the judge failed to show due to illness. My attorney kept finding out new details about the crime I was charged with, and none of it was encouraging. Georgia has a law that allows first time offenders to serve their probation, and if they complete the time with no incident their crime can be completely expunged from their record. It turned out that my offense was not eligible for that. He thought they would offer me a plea deal with 5 years probation. It was 10 instead. And worst of all, he and everyone else kept thinking that I would be released most any day. Any day turned into 49. It felt like I was one card away from winning, but just like with Smith, I could not for the life of me draw that card.
Fortunately, all of the time spent reading the Bible wasn't just a time killer. Reading all of the great stories of doubt and faith, of failure and redemption, reminded me that I was not alone. I became especially fond of Joseph, abandoned in Potiphar's prison before becoming Pharaoh's right-hand man, and David, the giant slayer and king who also sinned in a big way before being known as a "man after God's own heart." I became very aware that my story was still playing out, and that it would play out in God's time, not mine. I was still often frustrated and depressed. But I was reminded that no matter my struggles and failures, Jesus would still love me, and because of his love there was NOTHING that could ever separate me from God! I may never defeat Smith, but my sin has already been beaten by the Cross. That required no luck...just love. Every night I would close my prayer time by remembering that children of God are never alone. I still do that today. Next Wednesday we finish the 49 days with the story my release.
Because of Jesus,
My 49 Days of Grace series continues today with Week 5.
Time in the Ware County Jail passed very slowly. I mentioned last week my cellmate Ryan, who tired so desperately not to swear in my presence. But Ryan was actually my second roommate after my time in solitary. The first person I got to spend some serious alone time with while in jail was a guy named Billy. When they first put him in the cell with me, Officer Betty told me that he was a hard case who had been moved out of the general population because he had anger problems. She was hoping I might be able to help calm him down. I said yes, but the fact was I was horrified at the prospect of having to live with anyone in a cell, much less someone with a anger problem. I had seen prison movies. I had heard the stories. My prayer life got much better very quickly as Billy moved in...
At first Billy was very stand-offish, and I was very glad. But when you are locked in a cell together 24 hours a day, eventually you begin to talk. We stayed up very late one night and he told me his story. He had been convicted of statutory rape at age 19. The girl was 16. He served 3 years in prison and married her when he got out. He had two years of probation left and he would have completed his sentence and be eligible to have his record expunged under Georgia's first offender law (more on that in a later post). Just weeks before he could have been free of all labels and restrictions, he tagged along with some friends who stole a ridding lawn mower. They were busted, and Billy went down with them. He was now a 2 time loser, separated from his pregnant wife and angry at everything- but mostly himself. I decided that night that the only way Billy could get past his anger at the world was going to be to accept God's grace and forgive himself. And if I could show him that grace was real, then I could make a difference.
The following morning I got out my bible and began to read, as I did every morning. Billy asked me what "part" I was reading, and I told him John 8. The story of the woman caught in adultery, and the story of how Jesus calmed the mob and offered her forgiveness. For the next hour or so Billy talked about unbelievable it was to him that God could forgive him- and that anyone could still love him. I did my best to explain the love of God whose name is Jesus to this hurting, damaged young man as we sat in the most depressing place you can imagine. More importantly, I tired to show it to him in the way I lived in those circumstances. His pain made me focus on what was truly important. Over the next couple of days, Billy began to relax. His anger subsided. We began to talk about all kind of things and laugh together. And at the end of a week he was allowed to go back to the general population. Just knowing that I could offer him grace helped Billy believe that God loved him too. God was working in him. It was a great thing for him. And once again I was reminded that grace was not just a word. It is a reality.
I wish I could tell you that Billy went on to a life of peace and happiness. Truth is I never saw him again. But God used Billy to continue to teach me the one basic truth I needed to learn over and over again as I dealt with my sin. I was still a blessed son of the living God. And nothing in that cold, scary cell- or in my bleak, uncertain future- could change that. Thanks be to God!
Because of Jesus,
My 49 Days of Grace series continues with a look at a few of the humorous moments of my 7 weeks of unfortunate incarceration in the Spring of 2007. For more background on how I wound up in the mess I was in be sure to visit the My Journey tab located in the upper right of this blog.
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| "Hello, Mrs. Wiggins!" |
It may be difficult to believe that in the midst of my 49 days in jail there were actually some pretty light-hearted moments- but there were! To help you understand a little more about the circumstances, I need to tell a few things about the hall I was held on. I have mentioned before I was on a high security wing for my own protection. Most of the folks I shared the hall with were there because they had serious mental issues. I fully understand that these are nothing to make fun of. However... For the most part I could not see the other people on the wing- only when we were herded to the showers. But I could hear them. And that made for some very interesting moments. Here are a few of the characters I encountered.
- Tim Conway - There was a little old man who kept moving in and out of the jail during my stay there. I have no idea what he was alleged to have done, and he never stayed very long. We began calling him "Tim Conway" because when he spoke he sounded like the old man character Tim used to play on The Carol Burnett Show- sort of a funny mumble. But the mumble was only part of what made him memorable. One of the first nights he was with us on the hall, we heard screaming around 3 AM. Tim was trying to get the guards attention, because he wanted to go home. They were ignoring him. So Tim raised the stakes. He began yelling at the top of his lungs, "I lost my face!!! I cannot find my face!!!" At first we were irritated at the early hour, but then it just got funny. There were lots of things that would have gotten a response from the guards, but yelling I lost my face was not one of them.. But Tim would be released, arrested again, and keep trying. A couple of weeks later we were awakened to the sound of Tim yelling, "My spleen exploded!" Another time it was "Who stole my _ _ _ _?" He did have a body parts theme! Under the circumstances it was pretty funny stuff.
- Big John - A man named John was a couple of cells down the entire time I was there. John would go through long periods of silence. I discovered one day that Big John had been in the Ware County Jail a very long time- for psychiatric evaluation. He had threatened to blow up the county courthouse while standing in the restroom of that very building. This was not his first threat, and so John was kept heavily medicated and under constant observation. He would sleep for days at a time. And then....BLAM! John would sing. He would sing church hymns.He would sing classic rock. He would make up his own songs, which always made him laugh hysterically. And the sound of his songs and his laughter would shake the walls. I loved those days, because they made me laugh so hard. And laughter was hard to come by. Big John was also the one who started what became a tradition one day while we were waiting for our shower time. He asked me what I was "in for" and when I told him he seemed to think I was lying to him. Our merry little band had some pretty serious felons in it, and next to their crimes my illegal computer conversation (while very bad) seemed pretty tame. After we entered the shower area John announced in a loud voice, "Stay away from Jones. He is dangerous. If you're not careful, he'll talk to you on a computer!" From that day on, someone would say it every single time we headed to the showers. In no way is that meant to downplay my very serious offense. But again, under the circumstances, we found it to be quite funny.
- Ryan - For several weeks I shared a cell with a young man named Ryan. Ryan had many problems, including having attempted suicide on a couple of occasions and having committed multiple violent offenses. As we got to know each other, he learned of my past as a youth pastor. Up until that point, Ryan's language (like almost all of my fellow prisoners) was quite colorful. In a very foul sort of way. To his everlasting credit, after he found out I was a pastor he tried desperately not to curse when talking to me. He most often failed miserably. But it was so funny watching him try. He would curse, stumble over apologizing while cursing at himself for cursing, and then try again. In the end I got to pray with Ryan a few times, and we read the bible together every morning. By the time I got out Ryan believed Jesus was a "damn good guy..." Baby steps...
I spent most of my 49 days and nights sad, lonely and fighting depression. I was there because I had broken the law. There shouldn't have been anything funny about jail. But God brings light into darkness in a variety of ways. And slowly but surely I was beginning to realize that it was going to be the love of God whose name is Jesus that still defined me, not my crime and my sin. Grace was real. And I needed to share it. More on that next week.
Because of Jesus,
