Blessings Five through Seven

5. Warm belly skin taut with my son
6. A praying husband
7. Making something delicious out of leftovers--a daily act of "redemption" from the back of the refrigerator

Blessings One through Four

A thousand blessings:

1. Ruddy breast of robin
2. The first leaves on the first trees going scarlet
3. The arrival of the beautiful days, the days with just enough heat and not too much humidity
4. The bus driver going off his route to drop pregnant me at my doorstep

Honey, I'm Home!: Challenges During Family Reintegration

From Prison Fellowship's Inside Out.

http://www.prisonfellowship.org/inside-out/io-issue/march-2011/entry/20/15221

Alyson R. Quinn

Before joining the staff of Prison Fellowship, Pat Nolan spent over two years in a California prison. During one family visit, their second daughter asked Pat, who had grown grayer behind bars, “Daddy, when you come home, will your hair turn dark again?”

When a prisoner is locked up, the world he leaves behind does not stand still. It moves on without him. So when his long-awaited day of release finally arrives, he can’t just transition back into the same job or community that he left. He steps into a whole new world. And his family life is no exception.

During the prisoner’s absence, roles have shifted, children have grown, and emotional and financial hardships have been endured. Even when daddy (or mommy) comes home, the prisoner and his family can never go back to the status quo that existed before prison, no matter how much they would like to. They must negotiate a new family dynamic that takes these changes into account.

Rebuilding a Marriage Means Tackling the Serious Stuff

In the early 1990s, Joe Avila was imprisoned in California for a drunk-driving accident that killed a teenage girl. When he entered the California Men’s Colony near San Luis Obispo, he left behind his wife, Mary, and his daughters, Elizabeth and Grace. Joe and Mary accepted Christ just prior to his incarceration, and they were committed to maintaining their marriage, but seven years of separation still wrought great changes in their relationship. 

When Joe was released in 1999, he had to take things slowly. “I couldn’t assume I was head of the family just because I was out,” he remembers. “They were doing quite well without me for seven and a half years.”

During his absence, Mary had taken over Joe’s former responsibilities, and she had managed to thrive. After his release, Joe heeded the advice of wise mentors and took his cues from Mary. He looked for small ways to serve and worked hard to prove that he was becoming a better husband and father. Gradually, as he earned trust, he reassumed the role of head of the household.

When it comes to resuming the delicate balance of married life, many couples have a harder time than Joe and Mary. As Lennie Spitale writes in Coming Home! A Guide for Those Receiving a Loved One Back from Prison or Jail, the couple may have to overcome painful, guilt-ridden memories of abuse, addiction, and broken promises. The spouse who stayed at home may await the prisoner’s release with as much dread as expectation.

But for husbands and wives committed to the reconciliation and reintegration of their family, certain processes remain vital no matter the depth of past hurts: patience, true repentance, forgiveness, and communication.

For Pat and Gail Nolan, communication played a particularly important role in their success.

When Pat first came home, he and Gail found it difficult to discuss “serious things.” The children clamored for their father’s attention, and the couple tiptoed around volatile issues that arose from Pat’s reentry into the family.

“We would hold back,” remembers Pat, “and then it would burst like a dam.”

To overcome this difficulty, Pat and Gail reached back to a tool they learned during their engagement. They decided to set up family business meetings every Sunday—a structured time away from their children when they could both bring up pressing issues in a loving, gentle way.

It worked.

Pat and Gail enhanced those times of communication by holding hands, a physical gesture to remind them of their unity and commitment to each other.

Children Adjust Differently

The night of Joe’s release from prison, his daughters invited all of their friends over to the house. They could not wait to introduce them to their father. 

“I’m pretty unique,” says Joe. As the executive director for Prison Fellowship in California, a role he assumed in 2000, Joe has learned that, for most children, a parent’s return from prison comes with more difficulties to surmount.

Ann Adalist-Estrin, a child and family therapist, identifies four stages that many children will go through when a parent returns from behind bars.

1. The honeymoon phase. Eager for everything to work out, children are cooperative and obedient, but anxiety can lie under the surface.
   
2. Suspicion. As they grow more comfortable, children will allow some of their more negative emotions to rise to the surface. They will question the returning parent’s position and permanence within the household.
   
3. Resistance. Children may go through a period of defiance, challenging the returning parent’s authority and love with rebellious behavior.
   
4. Expressing or withholding feelings. Children may ask whether it is acceptable to vent their emotions, or whether they need to hide their true feelings about the turmoil going on in their home.

Whichever phases a child goes through, it helps if the caregiver and the returning parent prepare the child before the date of release. Whenever possible, and with appropriate supervision and guidance, the child and the parent should interact through personal visits, phone calls, and letters. Maintaining a positive relationship before release will ease the process of reintegration. The child should also be included in discussions about the parent’s return and what it will mean for the family, though the complexity of the discussion will vary depending on the child’s age and maturity. Finally, educators, school counselors, and Sunday school leaders should be made aware of the child’s unique needs during the time of the parent’s return. Greater awareness can help these adults respond more positively when a child demonstrates stress, fear, or anger.

Ex-Prisoners Need to Put First Things First

Shortly after Pat’s release from prison, family friends invited him, Gail, and their children to spend a day at the beach. Excited for a respite from daily life, the Nolans packed up their family car with beach gear and prepared to hit the road. But then Pat remembered. The beach was outside of his parole district, and he had forgotten to inform his parole officer. In a panic, Pat attempted to reach his parole officer and, when that didn’t work, her supervisor. His efforts were to no avail, and he had to tell his heartbroken children that the trip was canceled. 

“They were crying,” Pat remembers, as he also fights tears in the telling.

Pat’s dilemma highlights another important component of family reintegration. In the rush to become parents and spouses all at once, ex-prisoners should not forget that their own transition must come first. Whether they need to overcome an addiction, get a handle on their anger, or simply meet the technical requirements of their parole, ex-prisoners cannot become the trustworthy spouses and parents their families need until they resolve their own issues.

“They have to work on themselves a little bit at a time,” adds Joe, reflecting on the slow and sometimes tentative work of reentry and reconciliation, “but they get more respect from the family if they do that.”

Twelve Treasures

Here's twelve things (people and fuzzy animals were saved first) that I would rescue in the event of a fire. What are yours?

1. My rubber stamp that I use to mark things "DONE" in giant red letters.
2. My childhood diaries.
3. The Bible my parents gave me for my thirteenth birthday.
4. The letters my husband and I wrote to each other during our courtship.
5. My laptop (It frightens me to think of how many vital documents I have not backed up.)
6. Heirloom jewelry.
7. The yellow party dress I've only worn twice.
8. My passport.
9. My backpacking pack.
10. My swing shoes.
11. My wedding dress and veil.
12. My toothbrush.

Now, that I think about it, though, I would probably do better to bring burn ointment and bandages.

"Can't Do It On My Own:" When Women Go to Prison

Emily*, a slender prisoner with rusty-black hair, sports a tattoo of a panther curled over her left hand. On a Monday morning, she sits at a cafeteria-style table at the InnerChange Freedom Initiative^® (IFI) unit, a values-based reentry program at Women’s Eastern Reception, Diagnostic & Correctional Center in Vandalia, Missouri. During worship, an inmate queues up a recording of Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus, Take the Wheel.” The inmates love this song. It expresses their need to turn their lives over to God, and they sing it loudly.

But 27-year-old Emily starts to rock in her chair, tears slipping down her smooth cheeks. She has a manila folder, labeled “Faith Lessons,” and in large letters she writes across the front of it: Jesus, take the wheel. She pauses for a moment and then adds another line from the song: I can’t do it on my own.

When the music fades, she wipes her palm across her face.

“I can’t believe it made me cry like that,” she says, embarrassed.

“A lot of people cry when I sing,” says an older inmate across the table.

Heather laughs and stands up, her prison grays tenting out unexpectedly from her abdomen. She is four months pregnant with her first child, she says.

Like women anywhere, the other inmates offer her their congratulations.

Since 1985 the population of female prisoners has risen at nearly double the rate of males. Because women prisoners have historically been few, however, corrections policy has often not taken gender-specific needs into account. The U.S. did not even have separate correctional facilities for women until 1873. But over time, it has become increasingly obvious that female prisoners have different needs than men. By learning about the issues specific to women behind bars, volunteers and prison ministry organizations can respond to them more effectively.

Walking Wounded

“A lot of them have scars from [alcohol-related] car wrecks or fights. Lots have tattoos or heroin tracks on their forearms,” says Janet McLaughlin, a retired Missouri school teacher and PF volunteer who has counseled female prisoners for four years. But, she adds, many of their scars go far deeper. “Many have traumatic and abusive pasts that they need to share.”

While many prisoners of both genders have abusive pasts in common, female inmates have a greater statistical likelihood of experiencing physical and sexual trauma.

In a presentation given to the Virginia Joint Subcommittee Studying Prisoner Reentry, Dr. Janet Warren, a professor of clinical psychiatric medicine at the University of Virginia, shared findings from a study she conducted at Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. She found that 55 percent of the inmates reported they had been sexually abused as children, while 40 percent had experienced other physical abuse. Moreover, between 12 and 20 percent had been victims of sexual and/or physical abuse in just the six months prior to their incarceration.

Many incarcerated women need help to overcome the hurts that drive them to destructive behaviors like substance abuse, and their programs should look different from those offered for men. Lisa Thomas, an ex-offender and prisoner reentry advocate, has ministered to thousands of incarcerated women. She observes that in general, women respond more quickly than men to programs that draw on their affinity for verbal communication and emotional connection.

“They want somebody to hear them. They want somebody to love them,” says Thomas. “The men will respond to that, also, but women are willing to get down to the exact nature of what’s going on a lot quicker.”

Without programs that specifically target women’s abusive pasts through healthy, accountable relationships, warns Thomas, female prisoners risk getting trapped in a “habitual revolving door.”

Keeping the Peace

Incarcerated women may also face difficult relationships with other female inmates. According to Lana Black, who directs the IFI unit in Vandalia, many of the women who come into her office to talk want to discuss problems with their cell mates.

These problems can stem from a variety of sources, including under-developed conflict resolution skills.

While women prisoners commit fewer violent acts than men, “there is bickering . . . some try to manipulate,” says Janet McLaughlin. “[They] try to blame instead of taking responsibility.”

Many female inmates have never seen healthy models of conflict resolution, and so they act out according to what they have learned in negative relationships beginning at childhood.

But female inmates can change. “If they can get past the blaming,” says McLaughlin, “there’s hope for recovery and a better life.” Values-based units like IFI that teach positive relationships can help female inmates arrive at a place of empathy, responsibility, and constructive conflict resolution.

At other times, though, conflict can arise from undiagnosed or improperly treated mental health issues. According to a 2006 report from the Bureau of Justice Statistics, at least 73 percent of incarcerated women have a mental health problem, a rate 20 percent higher than men. And that can lead to problems.

McLaughlin cites the case of one woman that had a hard time getting along with anyone because of her erratic behavior. As a former elementary school teacher, McLaughlin recognized the symptoms and suspected that she had adult attention-deficit disorder.

“I encouraged her to talk to doctors and get appropriate medication,” she says. “Things are much better now.”

McLaughlin hopes that mental health diagnosis and treatment of incarcerated women will improve, so that others can move forward, too.

Moms Behind Bars

Well over half of incarcerated women have minor children.

“It’s hard for them to adjust to separation from their children,” says McLaughlin. “And if they’ve been addicted, they probably weren’t good mothers in the first place, which is hard to face.”

Four to six percent of women, like Emily, arrive in prison pregnant. For those that reach the nine-month mark before their sentence expires, the experience of giving birth can vary widely. Some locations have special facilities that allow new mothers to remain with their infants while continuing to serve their sentence. In other facilities, however, women may be returned to the jail or prison directly after delivery, while their infant goes to family members or becomes a ward of the State. Depending on circumstances, the mother’s parental rights may also be terminated.

Separation from their minor children weighs heavily on incarcerated mothers, but it can also offer a special window for ministry that will help them turn their lives around.

 "The quickest way to get to a women’s heart is through her children,” says Thomas. “An inmate can spot a phony a mile away. But if someone gives them something for their child with no strings attached, you cannot keep them away from Bible study, because they know that you care about them.”

To that end, Prison Fellowship offers the Angel Tree^® program to thousands of inmates and their children every year, delivering Christmas gifts  in the name of the incarcerated parent. As relationships get stronger, mothers behind bars gain motivation to avoid recidivism, as well as hope that their children will not imitate their errors.

Holistic ministry that addresses women’s trauma, substance abuse, mental health, and family relationships can help begin the process of transformation. But “some things,” says McLaughlin, “they just need the Lord’s help to get through.”

*The inmate’s name has been changed to protect her privacy.

Humbug

This year doesn't feel like Christmas. Not a whit. Not a bit. Not a jot. I've been to no parties. I've baked no gingerbread. I've neither strung lights nor rung bells nor sung carols. (And I do love to belt out 'Joy to the World').

We started out this holiday season poorly. Thanksgiving passed unobserved. Instead of the planned repast at my in-laws' Atlanta home, we caught an emergency flight to Boston and rushed to the bedside of my brother-in-law, diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. We prayed and we cried and we talked about anything we could think of to ease the tension of waiting. When dinnertime came, he ate slices of turkey and cranberry relish from a hospital tray. Later on, I excused myself down to the chapel and cried for my new brother and for all the hurts summoned by a hospital room. We were offered leftovers by dear, kind friends around 11 o'clock on that Thanksgiving night, but I was carsick and could not eat it. I fell asleep on their living room sofa. The next day I watched my mother-in-law weep great hot tears that fell on the cover of a leather Bible and wipe them on the bedsheets so that no one would see. But friend after friend like came a steady river, beseeching Heaven for healing. And there was laughter in that room, and kind words and embraces, and in that room Christ was with us.

After several days at the hospital, we returned home to northern Virginia, but only to pack up our apartment and move across town in freezing cold weather. We were joined in this effort with by friends that I think ought to be canonized, though one of them rejoined that he would have to die first, so would I kindly not rush the business. We missed that Sunday service, the second of Advent, rushing to scrub the dirt and grime from our old apartment. But as our friends helped us move, Christ was with us.

The following Sunday, it was my turn to work in the nursery. It was the Lessons and Carols service, one of my favorite services of the year. It's a time of lit candles and holy words and lovely songs, a reverent ushering in of the Christ child. So I was feeling perhaps a little curmudgeonly as I sat down in the basement with the goldfish crackers ground into the carpet while my husband went up into the pews. But then the two- and three-year-olds built a cake for Jesus out of building blocks and crayons and Scotch tape, and they sang 'Happy Birthday' to the infant Savior out of tune and out of rhythm. And I held in my arms the softness of a little baby boy who clung to my hands, and I stopped minding quite so much. And as the children sang, Christ was with us.

And the week after that, I went outside and waited for my bus to come. It never came. I stood for an hour in a five-degree wind chill, stamping my feet to keep them alive. Two days later I came down with a flu that has kept me housebound for the better part of a week. I missed church again, and with it my last chance this year to sing carols in the dear brick church where my husband and I were married. But it snowed. It snowed a soft, fine, bright shawl over the cold ground, as though to remind the world that its sorrow and sinning shall not stand forever. And I sat and drank the soup my husband brought home for me, and I watched the bits of whiteness fall. And in this apartment with its towers of half-filed cardboard boxes, Christ is with me.

And so, you see, this Advent, we have had none of that expansive joviality (aided, perhaps, by a mug of mulled wine) that Christmas seems to warrant. But then, we have had family, and friends, and the most angelic of choirs. We've had snow outside these walls and love within them. We have had the the dearest of all messages that Christmas brings: that now we have Christ with us always.

The End of the Story

Think about the favorite, well-thumbed book of your childhood. Your Lord of the Rings. Your Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Your Gospel of Luke. Let it be to you whichever volume you kept under your pillow and read furtively with the lamp turned low past bedtime, while with one ear you listened for your mother’s tread upon the landing.

If you take any of those stories in the middle, you find a situation past resolution, the hero in the clutches of the dragon and the lovers sundered forever by their parents’ decree. The pierced Savior sleeps entombed and the disciples tremble in the basement. All is lost.

But even as children we somehow knew that stories could not end that way. Armed with that blessed assurance we slogged expectantly through pages of despair and defeat, onto the peace, love, and victors’ bliss that awaited us in the last chapter.

Twenty six years into my life, I believe that our lives are stories that have not yet reached their final chapters.

I believe that the passages of tedium, defeat, and sorrow will find their place in the purpose of the years.

I believe that the fruitless hours spent waiting in the cold, the painful accidents of chance, and the rout of our bodies by cancer and age and long hard use will prove all along to have fit into the Potter’s palms.

I believe in the resurrection of the dead and the live everlasting.

I believe in the end of the story.