by Eric Burnham | Mar 19, 2017 | Book Review, Inmate Contributors
Human beings are sexual creatures by nature. It’s literally written into our DNA. Sexual expression is a remarkably healthy activity, both physically and psychologically, as long as it is not forced, exploitative, or directed toward children. Forced, exploitative, or pedophilic sexual expression is, without question, unhealthy, perverse, dangerous to all involved, and destructive to our communities, but consensual forms of adult human sexuality are entirely wholesome aspects of general humanness. However, sexual expression is against the rules in prison.
Obviously the first thing that comes to mind when discussing sexual expression in the context of prison is homosexual rape or coercion. While all homosexual activity is understandably prohibited in correctional facilities, given the legitimate potential for sexual exploitation, homosexuality is not necessarily an unhealthy manifestation of human sexuality. As with any acceptable form of sexual expression, it is left to the individual to determine the pleasurability and morality of homosexual activity. But homosexual activity is not the only form of sexual expression that is against the rules.
All incoming mail that includes any sexual content is routinely rejected. Girlfriends, wives, boyfriends, and husbands send their incarcerated significant others a little “dirty talk” from time to time. Yet these harmless words are rejected and sent back. Although kept alive only through pen and paper, sexual connections between free and incarcerated loved ones is rehabilitative. Books are routinely rejected as well. Something as innocuous as 50 Shades of Gray was recently denied entry through the mail because of sexual content. Pictures and magazines that fail to meet entirely subjective standards are summarily rejected en masse. The justification for these policies is that sexually explicit material is a threat to the safety, security, and orderly operation of the facility and an impediment to inmate rehabilitation, although the perceptible distinction between implicit and explicit is consistently ignored, often willfully. I could understand limiting the consumption of sexual material for those inmates who are incarcerated for sexually related offenses, but blanket policies are overly restrictive. And it gets even worse.
An incarcerated person can actually receive a disciplinary report for masturbation, complete with ensuing sanctions such as loss of privileges, segregation, loss of housing or job, and even loss of earned-time reductions. Yep! You read that correctly folks: Masturbation, the most harmless and natural form of sexual expression is against the rules. It is not only for the more creepy and inappropriate acts like an inmate touching himself in ways that a female staff member is forced to see (which is a freak show, no doubt). An average inmate, alone in his cell, relieving a little tension can receive disciplinary action if caught.
I’m not convinced these draconian policies are as arbitrary as they seem. Even movies with nudity are censored, but excessive violence in movies, music, books, and letters remains uncensored. Given the fact that sexuality is an irreducible facet of the human personality, rules against any and all forms of healthy sexual expression during incarceration is a not so subtle attempt to dehumanize the inmate, while allowing limitless amounts of violence to permeate all forms of approved media ensures inmates remain socialized to aggression. Consequently, being forced to endure such excessive ā even ridiculous ā restrictions upon one’s humanity, for years at a time, can have a damaging effect on healthy identity development and potentially interfere with rehabilitation in negative ways by crippling key aspects of psycho-social stability.
I’m certainly not advocating sexual licentiousness for the incarcerated. I’m simply saying that 95% of inmates eventually release back into the community, and sexually healthy and mature men are more valuable to the community, primarily because they are more well-adjusted. It makes sense, as long as the goal is, indeed, rehabilitation. I’m not totally convinced it is.
by Taj Mahon-Haft | Mar 18, 2017 | Poetry From Prison, Taj Alexander Mahon-Haft
Tenth Birthday Reminder
Like the shadow stitched to your foot
Like the breath filling your lungs
Like a tail to its dog
Like the waves to the sea
Like starlight dancing on night skies
Like life’s cosmic energy tossed by the sun
Sometimes obvious, sometimes bold
Sometimes hidden, sometimes muffled
Often invisible, unnoticed
Yet in every way connected
We are built from each other
inseparable, it’s true
Our bond bridges any distance
Your spirit lives in me, mine in you
by Eric Burnham | Mar 17, 2017 | Inmate Contributors
My name is Eric Burnham, but these days I’m better known as inmate #12729124. I grew up in a low-income, single-mother home. Nobody in my family had ever graduated high school, so any thoughts of college were “what if” dreams.
As a young teenager, I arrived at the conclusion that there was a ceiling over my life. Whether for socioeconomic reasons, psycho-social stumbling blocks, or poor lifestyle choices (perhaps a combination of all three), I grew to accept the idea that there were just some things in life I would not be able to do. Getting a college education was one of those things, and once a person identifies something as unattainable, steps to get it are considered a waste of time. Consequently, when I was 15 I dropped out of school–a dysfunctional family situation made my poor choices much easier. I was messed up inside, and I self-medicated with lots of drugs, alcohol, and consensual sex. I completely embraced a criminal lifestyle. I didn’t really care how I was living or who I hurt as long as I was numb.
During adolescence, the belief that I was incapable, and therefore undeserving, of anything better became a firm fixture within my self-concept. I was deteriorating fast, and the culmination of my poor choices was a life sentence in prison. I was 21-years-old. I take full responsibility for the carnage of my past. I am deeply ashamed of who I used to be. When I arrived at EOCI in 2001, not only did I not have a high school diploma or a GED, but due to my substance abuse during adolescence, I was emotionally underdeveloped as well. I was initially assigned to the GED program. Within two weeks I dropped out, and about a month later I was placed in disciplinary segregation for fighting.
While in segregation, I began to realize I was worth more than the way I had been living. I wanted something different for my future, or I knew I would die in prison. I just didn’t know how to change. I did know, however, that getting back into the GED program was a good place to start. I earned my GED within six weeks, and I felt like a new man. To the prison staff, a GED isn’t much, but to me, earning my GED showed me I was capable of success, which was empowering beyond description.
I began to question my involvement with gangs, drugs, and other nefarious activities. I wanted more. I had begun to view myself as worthy of more. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t really know how to get what I wanted. It was at that point in my life an opportunity to earn college credit via correspondence-course format became available to me. Since I was enrolled in college courses, clear conduct was–and still is–required in order for the Education Department to proctor my tests. I realized I needed to stay away from certain people and activities that could negatively influence me or jeopardize my education. My lifestyle mattered to me for the first time in my entire life.
I freely admit I was scared. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel or how I was supposed to act. All I knew was that I wanted an education, and I didn’t want to let down the people who were supporting me. They believed in me, and nobody had believed in me like that before.
Staying out of trouble for a greater purpose than simply avoiding negative consequences is habit forming. I haven’t been to segregation since I began my pursuit of a college education. In 2015 I graduated Summa Cum Laude (3.98 GPA) with a BA in Counseling, and in 2017 I will graduate with a Master’s degree in Counseling (3.94 GPA). I’m taking my life in a direction I never thought possible.
For me, education has been a catalyst for change. The investment in myself and in my future has had an enormous impact on my self-concept, my worldview, and my decision-making process. Ironically, even though I’m still incarcerated, my education has provided a greater sense of freedom, purpose, and self-assurance than I have ever known. When I’m released from prison, I’ll be pursuing a career, not simply looking for a job. I’ll be able to use the knowledge and experience God has given me to help others who are struggling.
If you have a loved one in prison, one of the best things you can do is help him or her secure educational opportunities. They can use any help you’d be willing to provide. Education is vital in today’s high-tech, fast-paced society. Inmates releasing back into society already have a black mark against them because of the felonies that haunt them. They don’t necessarily need a college degree–college courses, vocational training, or even some anger management or emotional intelligence classes can significantly help. According to the Journal of Correctional Education, 75% of college educated inmates find stable employment upon release, and they have 43% lower odds of future incarceration. Education matters. It can literally change an inmate’s life. I know it changed mine.
by Melissa Bee | Mar 16, 2017 | From the Staff, News
by Melissa Bee | Mar 15, 2017 | From the Staff
Regardless of the typical squabbles between siblings, my brother has always been someone I’ve looked up to ā it’s even fair to say I have idolized him. (Except for the times I want to smash his face in, like all siblings do from time to time). Growing up, he was both the comic relief and the genius of the family. The class clown. Popular with teachers and students ā though he didn’t seem to notice that. Every single one of my girlfriends had a crush on him (which continued after we became adults). He is the favored uncle to my kids. He’s HIGH-larious. Seriously ā he’s Jerry Seinfeld-funny. He has the kind of talent as a musician that intimidates other artists. He has a photographic memory – I’ve never seen anything like it. (A friend was stunned when Rick described what was on page eight of a schematic he hadn’t seen in years). He is wrong so infrequently that it is super annoying. I mean come on! He’s impossible to argue with, which is usually why I want to smash his face in. I used to argue with him constantly. He’s my only sibling. When he and his wife bought property in Texas back in 2000, turning the talk of a long-distance move into reality, I couldn’t even speak the news out loud. It felt like I was losing my best friend. I thought it was the worst news ever.
It wasn’t. In the summer of 2013, our dad delivered the actual worst news ever. Rick had been arrested, because someone told a lie. A monstrous lie. In Texas, that’s a go-directly-to-jail card. Everything in my life is measured by that day ā what happened before it, and what happened after it.
I wrote the true story below back in December of 2014, after a year and a half of the daily anguish every family member knows only too well when you’re seeing someone you love suffer unjustly.
And yet, one of the first things Rick said to me from a phone in Travis County Jail was, “There are a lot of good people in here. And a lot of sad stories.” In the midst of his own despair, he wanted to do something to help people ā and Adopt an Inmate was born.
While, three and-a-half years after his arrest, we have adjusted to a “new normal,” and it helps Rick and the whole family every time we can share news that we’re helping more people ā certain memories still feel like a fresh kick in the gut. This is one of them.
I hardly ever want to smash his face in any more.
Cards, Letters and Jail Shenanigans
It took four attempts to collect it from the jail. After a number of blatant lies and conflicting stories from a handful of guards and post officers, the bag was lost. We feared it had been thrown in the trash. On the third attempt to collect it, I was shouted at by one of the guards, who literally refused to hear anything I had to say.
Finally on the fourth attempt – I was shown some measure of civility by one guard, who informed me that the property had been located, and would be walked over to the video visitation building, where I was waiting for my last visit with my brother before I flew back home, and before he would be moved to prison. The guard who shouted at me exhibited great maturity when, after the bag was delivered, refused to hand me the bag even though it was six inches in front of her on the counter. She actually called another guard over (the civil one) to pick it up from in front of her and hand it to me.
This is what it’s like to try to get anything done for someone who is in jail. It is exactly how everything else has gone since this nightmare began. Save for a few angels, it is pure hell.
But wait, there’s more.
Because I was made to wait an hour and a half for the visit, even though there were over 20 āTWENTY! ā available video booths and zero people ahead of me (they have perfected the art of causing families to suffer every possible unnecessary nuisance), I missed my flight. Then because of weather (now the landing time would be after dark), the connecting flight was first delayed, and then diverted, so instead of arriving home at six pm that day, I landed at an airport in a different city, and took a two and-a-half hour bus shuttle, arriving home at 4:00 the next morning.
Thanks, Travis County Correctional Center.
This bag of letters was my carry-on. I held on to that bag like it was made of gold, as if Rick himself were in there. I carried it with me through the airport to my connecting gate, clutching it until my flight finally departed. I read the cards and letters in the air, and wept quiet tears of both joy and grief, trying not to disturb my seat mates.
Among the letters were also notes from other inmates, that Rick would pass on to us so that we could contact family members and give them messages. There are many pre-trial detainees that don’t have someone on the outside with the resources to help them, so we tried to fill that gap when we could – but mostly we felt helpless.
Innocent until proven guilty? No. Not in this country. Unless you are wealthy, or have some substantial political clout, you will not be permitted to participate in your own defense. If you are charged – you’re going down.
This, and every other shenanigan we have been forced to go through, is exactly why we are starting a non-profit, to address these kinds of issues. These people have no lobbies, and thus no voices – their stories go unheard, their urgent needs unmet. That is not okay.
Look for news about our non-profit in the near future, and please continue to send cards and letters while we wait out this next chapter. We’ll get through it by focusing on this positive work, and looking forward to his release.
Trust me, there will be a big party. You’re all invited, and I can’t wait to see you there.
by Melissa Bee | Mar 13, 2017 | From the Staff
My brother is a fine artist, gifted in many ways which are all being wasted while locked into a broken system we could not save him from. His time could (and should) be used to benefit those around him – but instead, he is assigned janitorial duties.
It’s sad to think about all the locked up talent.
by Michael Henderson | Mar 2, 2017 | Inmate Contributors
When you finally acknowledge and really accept that you can do and be more than the limitations others have set before you, there are more worlds open to you, with understanding and growth that has no limits than you have imagined, right in front of you.
My Reluctant Ministry brings people into my life that I would not have otherwise been graced with and opportunities to help in ways I could never have guessed. When you think of ministry, you automatically think spiritual or religious. Here in Americaās insides, peopleās needs are a hands on effort because even those who seem to be caught in the maze specifically to be judged by the rest of us, are deserving of the grace that anyone deserves just by virtue of being a fellow human being. This effort sometimes requires me to focus more on legal, practical matters to help find onesā way through the end of the maze. I have come across men who, in hopes to make it, will fake it.
My friend, whom Iāll call Dan, is someone I probably would have never met outside the gates. Iād like to try and fool myself into not having any responsibility for that fact, but the truth is we all have preconceived ideas about people places and things and we are sometimes caught up in our own maze of those notions. Weāre motivated to change by things like fear, desire, need and sometimes imagination.
Dan came to me with the most sincere facets of all of the above and little direction on how to accomplish his goals. I wasā¦ well, reluctant. I have spent all my incarceration living in the law library and had accomplished some of my own goals and didnāt see being able to help this young man very much because of my preconceived ideas about the men Iām imprisoned with and my lack of vision for others. In the process of helping this young man learn how to defend himself from the treacherous penal system, I learned so much from him about myself that I actually consider Dan my friend. Something I would not have been able to do under any other circumstances because he used to be a racist. Self professed. He shared with me about the day he stopped being a racist. He was sent to medical by a Sergeant because of an infection that was oozing and painful. When he got to the clinic, there was a very sweet looking older grandmotherly type of officer as clinic reception and when he approached her desk she told him she didnāt care who sent him to medical that he knew he couldnāt come to medical without signing up for sick call and that if he didnāt carry his beggar black ass out of there she was going to hit the panic button and tell security he was coming after her, at which point he backed out and left quickly.
The very next day, the same Sergeant saw he was in the same condition and again sent him to medical. The same grandmotherly officer was there again but this time there was also a Practitioner there who saw the infection and immediately ushered Dan to the treatment area where he proceeded to treat him with utmost care and professionalism, tending his wound and making sure he had enough dressings and antibiotic cream to get him through the infection. Thankfully, Dan healed, in more ways than one, and he affected healing in me through the whole process.
You see, Dan is a black man, as was the grandmotherly officer that drove him away from the clinic in fear and humiliation the day before. The practitioner was white. Dan told me that day in November 2012, he stopped being a racist because he now realizes that the person behind the skin is what matters, not the skin.
When Dan came to me seeking help to understand the justice system, I was more than glad to help him learn, but I had my reservations. By helping Dan with his case, I was able to experience not only Danās learning and real heartfelt drive, but I realized the ugly truth was that I was more like the grandmotherly officer than the helpful medical practitioner and even though I never considered myself racist, that day I grew and healed and learned.
Even the fact that Dan and I have spiritual talks and share some reading materials, the true ministering came through in the practical hands on effort to help him learn worldly ways, while Dan taught me the ways of the soul. I now no longer look at a personās outer appearance because I first am looking inside of myself to check my own place in the cosmos by ridding myself of those old preconceived notions. That may have been the day I truly stopped being racist too.
* With gratitude for Leah, who not only listens to me, but actually hears me, and suggested the title for my article ā all my love.
by Rick Fisk | Feb 21, 2017 | Inmate Contributors
Hate medicine….
We watched him dying. Everyone on our wing had their own diagnosis.
āCirrhosis.ā
āItās jaundice. Look at how yellow he is.ā
āHow can you tell? Heās hispanic.ā
āNext time you get close to him, look at his eyes. They are yellow.ā
āI bet he has liver cancer. Look at how skinny heās gotten. If he weighs a hundred pounds Iād be surprised.ā
Several of us wrote requests to medical. āYou really must help this man.ā Somebody took a guard quietly to the side of the dayroom after our requests went unanswered.
āYou see that guy standing on the wall next to 101 cell?ā
āSure.ā
āHeās dying. When you do an in and out, take a close look at him. He never goes to chow, his celly says he has chronic diarrhea. Somebody has got to do something for him. Medical is ignoring us.ā
At first, our attentions were discreet. But later we openly made pests of ourselves, asking him daily if he needed help, if he was feeling okay. His stoic refusals led us to believe he was committing an agonizingly slow suicide. Finally, medical responded, though we were certain it was too late. He refused treatment time and time again. To the Wardenās credit (how word reached him nobody is sure), when he saw the man in the infirmary, he was having none of their official resignation.
āWhat are you doing for this Ā man?ā
āNothing. Heās refusing treatment.ā
āOh, hell no! Heās going to the hospital. Now!ā
That was the last we saw of him. Weāve heard nothing since about whether he lived or died but we kept him in our prayers.
Itās probably like this in other states but certainly in Texas, the prison system is loathe to even hint that they employ people who care about inmates. Thus, every nurse station is labeled an āinfirmary,ā every form requesting medical care is a āsick call,ā and you pick up your medication at the āpill window.ā Outside. Rain, snow, sleet, or shine.
To say that prisons do a poor job of delivering health care is a gross understatement. Prison Legal News has been at the forefront of reporting and litigation on behalf of inmates whoāve suffered medical malpractice. You can find, in their archives, article upon article describing lawsuits against prisons which have neglected inmates to the point of serious injury and death. In many cases, suffering could have easily been prevented.
A libertarian-minded person might argue that government hires the least qualified since they pay below-market labor rates; look at the VA for instance. There may be some truth in that. Yet, incompetence alone canāt account for such widespread malpractice. Diseases that are routinely vanquished outside prisons are rampant and life-threatening inside them. When is the last time you heard of someone dying of a staph infection or sepsis in a hospital? It happens rarely because staph and sepsis rarely go unrecognized or untreated. In prison?
āHereās an Ibuprofen. Go back to your cell.ā
And that is after one has waited up to 72 hours for the infirmary to respond to your sick call request.
This indifference isnāt because medical staff are incompetent but because theyāre trained to be belligerent. That sounds like hyperbole, doesnāt it? itās not.
Not all belligerence leads to injury or death. Most refusals to provide care merely result in dramatic cost savings. Letās face it, garden variety colds and flus resolve themselves. Nobody dies. Theyāre uncomfortable is all. Inmates will be forced to work anyway, threatened with disciplinary hearings which can jeopardize parole chances, a win-win for prison wardens.
Not all malpractice results in legal action. Very few inmates have the resources to litigate a malpractice suit.
An inmate on my unit, weāll call him Bob, was diagnosed with brain cancer his last time down. He was given an emergency parole but was convicted of another DUI and sent back to prison. After arriving, he was transferred to the Mumford Unit to have his tumor removed. The surgery required that doctors cut away a piece of Bobās skull. Once his tumor was removed, the piece of bone that had been cut away was fastened back to his skull using four screws and two metal plates.
About five months ago, Bob showed me a two-inch piece of bone that had pushed itself through a wound in his scalp. Also pushed out of his scalp was a titanium screw. Alarming to say the least. Bob put in a sick call request and the nurse was concerned enough to schedule a trip to the neurologist.
Going to see a medical specialist in a Texas prison is an ordeal. TDCJ does not have the resources to employ specialists at every unit. Depending on the type of specialist, an inmate might have to be transported hundreds of miles by bus, cuffed to another prisoner. In the worst case, youāre chained, shackled and hog-tied. Prior to travel, youāre required to pack all of your property and inventory it. Then at 6 AM, youāre taken to a holding cell where you can wait up to four hours for the bus to arrive.
Bob was shackled and hog-tied on his trip to the neurologist. Not once, not twice, but three times was he sent, each trip excruciating and humiliating. On the third trip he was able to converse with the specialist.
āBob, I have good news and bad news.ā
āOkay, whatās the good news?ā
āThe good news is youāre cancer-free. Your MRIs are negative. No sign of cancer at all.ā
āThat is good news! Whatās the bad news?ā
āWe canāt see any sign of missing bone, nor can we find any of the screws we used to re-attach the piece we cut out during your surgery.ā
āWait, what?ā
āThey arenāt showing up. I canāt explain it really.ā
Bob literally has three screws loose in his head somewhere. Unless he lodges a serious complaint, the medical professionals obligated to care for him have officially washed their hands of him.
Perhaps youāre still not convinced that belligerence is cultivated. TDCJ contracts its medical care to a corporation called UTMB*Ā Correctional Managed Care, at several of its units. Outsourcing indemnifies it from medical malpractice lawsuits. It also jeopardizes its reputation for being tough on inmates by using a company that has the word ācareā in its name.
Another inmate at this unit is suing TDCJ and UTMB for injuring him and neglecting to treat his injury, namely a separated shoulder caused by an officerās assault. The suit went to trial (Charles R. Adams v. Lieutenant Bailey, et al., ā Civil Action No. H:12-CV-02520). The transcript of the trial contains UTMBās admission of professional belligerence towards inmates.
Dr. Erin Jones, who interned as a psychiatrist and has not even one hour of experience in osteopathy, was called as an expert witness by UTMBās lawyers. In spite of her lack of experience, she was allowed to give testimony on Adamsā shoulder condition. More interesting was the beginning of her testimony on behalf of the defense.
Q: Then when you went to work for UTMB in the correctional managed health care system did you receive any kind of training?
A: Yeah, we had training thatās called NEO.
Q: What is that?
A: New Employee Orientation. And itās ā working in corrections is very different from working in free-world medicine. And so we had to learnĀ ā
Q: Explain to us why. What is different about it?
A: Well, there is a lot more patients that want something for secondary gain. There isĀ ā basically eighty to ninety percent of our patients are either lying or exaggerating on their symptoms to try to get something. [Treatment, perhaps?]
And then, my job every dayĀ ā and itās a challengeĀ ā is that I have to find that ten to twenty percent that are really sick and take care of them because they need my help, you know. But then, you know, I donāt want to waste my time on something thatās not real, you know.
There you have it. A UTMB employee admits, under oath, that UTMB trained her to treat up to 90% of her patients as if they are lying. Itās truly absurd for Dr. Jones to complain that her job is so difficult. Imagine coming home from work and reporting that you had a terrible time disregarding 90% of your duties. Whew!
āThat ten percent I did was hard but I enjoyed doing it.ā
Jones offered no empirical evidence to support the claim that such a high percentage of inmates are lying and I suspect that its because UTMB doesnāt offer any either. Plain, common sense suggests the claim is a fabrication. Texas inmates are charged a $100 annual co-pay for any non-chronic care (even though they are not paid for their work). Chronic care is care for issues such as diabetes, cancer, or pre-existing conditions discovered during prisoner intake. Why would an inmate lie āto get somethingā when it costs them $100 to do so?
Itās preposterous to conclude this unless you are interested in getting paid for work you refuse to perform. Planned, systemic belligerence. Itās not health care, itās not medical practice, itās hate medicine. No amount of honey can make it palatable.
*University of Texas Medical Branch
TDCJ Inmate
by Eric Burnham | Feb 20, 2017 | Inmate Contributors
Weāre pleased to introduceĀ a new contributor to our blog, Eric Burnham.
My name is Eric Shawn Burnham. I was born April 21, 1979 in Las Vegas, Nevada, but I grew up in 
Oregon and California mostly. I came to prison in 2001, and Iāve been at EOCIĀ ever since.Ā
When I was 21-years-old, I took another manās life while intoxicated, and I was given a 25-to-life sentence in prison. I deeply regret the actions of my youth, and Iām ashamed of the lifestyle I was living that led to the death of another human being at my hand. But as much as I want to, I cannot change the past. I can use it to shape my future, however.
In 2003 I earned my G.E.D., and in September 2015 I earned a Bachelor of Arts in Counseling, graduating Summa Cum Laude (3.98 GPA). By mid-2017 I will have earned my Masterās degree in Counseling. In addition, Iām accumulating CEUs (Continued Education Units) in order to meet the requirements for state certification as an alcohol & drug counselor. (Iāll still need 4000 hrs. of clinically-supervised counseling after Iām released.) My education is important to me because Iām dedicated to helping young people avoid making the same mistakes I made.
I work as a tutor in the G.E.D. program here at the prison, and I love my job. It doesnāt pay well, but it gives me the opportunity to help young people and practice my skills.
Personal growth, to me, means becoming the person I was designed to be. Iām not too sure where the balance is found between nature and nurture in the formation of my spirit as a unique human being. I do know, however, that Iām just one incarcerated man trying to overcome my past mistakes and make a positive impact on this crazy world. I kind of think thatās what life is all about: taking the bad and using it for good.
Finding My Purpose in Prison by Eric Burnham
Can the prison experience be good? Inmates are crammed into small cells or overcrowded dorms like sardines, surrounded by some of the most difficult personalities on the planet, and ordered around by self-righteous, often power hungry and abusive authority figures. The cramped living quarters are physically uncomfortable. The lack of privacy is emotionally exhausting, and the empty nature of prison friendships isĀ socially unfulfilling. The boredom is mind-numbing. The loneliness can be crushing, and the inflexible power structure imbeds anger into oneās personality. The incarcerated person is completely isolated from loved ones ā few things hurt more than knowing your friends and family have moved on without you. Perhaps the hardest pill to swallow, however, is knowing this is all self-inflicted. After all, if you admit itās your own fault, you are then responsible.
There is no escaping the fact that Iām responsible for an incredible amount of devastation. Iāve brought suffering to my victim, my family, and myself; and I cannot move forward with my life until I acknowledge that. But when I finally realize I am the problem, something miraculous happens: I also realize I can do something about the problem. I find purpose. The time Iām serving in prison becomes an opportunity to change how I view the world, how I treat others, and how I meet my needs. However, I cannot accomplish that on my own. I need Godās help. But if Iām committed to learning how to become a better man, God has promised to help. āAnd we know that for those who love God, all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose,ā (Rom. 8:28).
God is interested in transforming me into an instrument of light, and He will use the difficult experiences of incarceration to bring about changes in me that I cannot completely understand. But Iāve got to do my part. Iāve got to live like I believe it. How I view my situation will determine how I live while Iām here. I am not the victim. The selfishness of my past put me here. But if the selfish deeds of my past led to my present incarceration, what might my present positive actions lead to in the futureā¦ if I give my present to Himā¦ on purpose?
by Melissa Bee | Feb 18, 2017 | From the Staff
We are so pleased to partner with Ashley Asti. Ashley creates organicĀ custom skin and body oils to honor the skin and soul, with a commitment to ethical creation, sustainability and wellness. SheĀ is also one of our adopters.
Each month, Ashley AstiĀ donates a custom oil āto an individual who deserves access to loving self-care, nourishment, and celebration but who may not be able to afford one of my oils on her or his own.ā
I was thrilled and grateful to be the recipient of my own custom-made oil this month. Along with the oil, Ashley provided a lengthy description of every ingredient in the bottle and its function.
In Ashleyās own words:
I set out to write women who are incarcerated because I wanted them to know that they are not alone. I wanted them to know that they are loved and supported and that their stories and lives matter because, the truth is, we heal with love, not isolation. But what Iāve gotten in return is a gift far greater and far more precious than any I can offer.
The letters these women, these now friends, send me are lessons in life. I am moved by the strength they hold, the endurance they convey, the powerful rumblings of faith that seem to lift themselves up off the page. These women are my sisters in spirit, guiding me.Ā
I stand with Adopt an Inmate because caring about and respecting all living beings matters, no matter who we are or what weāve done. Because, in truth, we are destined to bring ourselves down until we know that dehumanizing one dehumanizes all. Bars, isolation, and violence are no longer the answer. We must find better ways to heal and co-create justice.
See theseĀ additional worthy organizations that Ashley partners with.
