He Stole My Jonathon!

As I was getting ready for work this morning, I found myself getting angry. Actually, very angry! It really started last night at my "therapy" group, as we like to call it. I'm sure that society would like to call it a "SEX OFFENDER TREATMENT PROGRAM" and put signs and arrows to the office where we meet, but since the doctor who treats me calls it therapy, I choose to as well. But I digress.

One of the members of the group was sharing an epiphany with us last night about why he thinks he offended. After spending considerable time contemplating why he would be inappropriate with a middle school student, he realized that at the time, he was thinking like a middle schooler and acting like a middle schooler as well. As he spoke, his comments did not seem at all odd to me. I realized several years ago that while I was spending countless hours on-line talking with teenage boys in chat rooms, I was transformed into a teenager myself, at least in my thoughts and actions. My speech and slang were everything you would expect to hear from a 13 or 14 year old boy...certainly not the 45 year old man that I actually was. As he shared, I thought about his words, but the anger didn't begin to spring up.

That happened this morning. As I read my Bible as I do every morning, I found myself in 1 Samuel, where the meeting of David and Jonathon is described.

1 After David had finished talking with Saul, he met Jonathan, the king's son. There was an immediate bond between them, for Jonathan loved David.2 From that day on Saul kept David with him and wouldn't let him return home.3 And Jonathan made a solemn pact with David, because he loved him as he loved himself.4 Jonathan sealed the pact by taking off his robe and giving it to David, together with his tunic, sword, bow, and belt. (NLT)

That was when the anger started to flare! In this passage, there is described the most perfect love that can exist between two young men. The bond was immediate and Jonathon loved David as he loved himself. As I thought about my own life, it was immediately obvious that I had never had a friend like this...never had shared this kind of a bond with another male. Not in my youth and not in my adulthood. The closest that I had ever come was with one or two teen boys that I had chatted with.

But those relationships were nothing more than a fantasy, built on lies and deception. Through my anger, I nearly wanted to cry and scream out the unfairness of it all. Not the on-line relationships...those were really nothing but an illusion and deep down I knew that they were what they were. The unfairness and anger was based on coming to the realization that I may never be able to have that kind of a friendship with another man because of what happened in my youth. I have been "spoiled" by the ultimate spoiler...satan himself.

In the book of John, Jesus is quoted as saying that the enemy (satan) "comes only to steal and kill and destroy." And that is what he did to me. He stole my ability to have a genuine friendship with other boys when I was a child. He destroyed my self esteem and the way that I looked at relationships, covering them in lies and deception. He did all that he could to kill me by dragging me into sin that I didn't understand...and didn't always see.

Our therapist has told us that the things that happen to us in our youth, particularly sexual things, stay with us forever. Although we often try to bury them, as I did, they remain there, under the surface, waiting to emerge. And when it does surface, it impacts us in ways that we never could have imagined. It certainly did in my life!

Every time I read the story of David and Jonathon, my heart is touched by the love they shared...a good and pure love. It is a love that I have discovered that I too want to share. I have loved a woman, my ex-wife Paula, in the deepest, most intimate way that I know how. I have no doubt that I will ever love another woman as much, or in the same way. But I doubt that I will ever experience a the relationship described in 1 Samuel 18. The enemy stole my Jonathon and I'm not sure how to get him back.

The Test

As I sat in the quiet room, the only sound that I could hear was the sound of my own blood, pumping through my veins. They sounded like the roar of a freight train in my ears. It was like I could feel the vibration of my heart as it pounded in my chest. "What am I doing here?", I asked myself.

My eyes wandered to the cross stitch hanging on the wall. It was a series of three lighthouses on the edge of the ocean. Were they there to calm me? Maybe it was working...I really couldn't tell.

I could feel the weight of the strap that hung loosely around my chest. The strap around my belly was barely noticeable. My left hand looked like I had pulled it out of a bowl of spaghetti...long wires dripping off of my index and ring fingers. As I continued to sit there, my left arm began to feel numb. The blood pressure collar had been pumped up for about three minutes now and the feeling in my fingertips was beginning to tingle.

"What am I doing here?"

All, my life, I have done well on tests. I was a good student in high school, graduating in the top ten percent. I probably could have done better, but being valedictorian had never been a goal of mine. But, when I knew I had a test coming up, I would cram and study and do well. Even in college, when I actually studied for tests, I would usually pass them with ease. My problem in college was that I usually missed more classes than I attended and getting drunk was more interesting and enjoyable than spending hours at the library. But still, I knew that if I wanted to pass the test, all I needed to do was study.

When I worked as an educator, it didn't take long to figure out that if I wanted my students to be successful on their exams, then I needed to make sure they knew what was on the test. Sure, they had to study, but I couldn't' expect them to do well if I didn't tell them what they were being tested on.

As I sat in that quiet room, I realized I was taking a test that I had never studied for. And this was not the kind of test that I wanted to fail. Without a doubt, my anxiety meter was running at about 110. Not a good thing, since one of the things this test measured was anxiety and it counted against you.

When I first came in today, I shared with my tester what I was feeling.

"I have to be honest with you, I'm feeling a little bit anxious today", I told him.

"Why is that?, he asked.

"Well, one of the guys in my group failed his test a few weeks ago, and it wasn't because he had the wrong answers", I replied. "Plus, there was an article in the Wall Street Journal last week about these tests and how you can fail them even if you give correct answers."

"Yea, I heard about that", he said. "But don't worry, you'll do fine today. Just relax."

"Easy for him", I thought as I sat there. But then, as I continued to sit there, I began to feel a little better. I liked the tester...he had tested me before and I trusted him. I had been praying for the last week about his moment and it seemed that maybe God's covering was beginning to settle over me.

He told me that today would be similar to the last time. He would begin by asking me some "yes" or "no" questions and then we would do the test. Easy enough, I thought.

The first few questions were pretty easy. "Was my first name Patrick?" "Was I 51 years old?" "Had I been stopped or talked to by a policeman since my last test?" Then it happened..."did I drink any alcohol since my last test?

"Yes", I answered. The tested paused and looked at me. "Is that OK?" he asked. I told him there were no restrictions in my conditions except for drunkenness and that I hadn't been drunk. He moved on.

"Have you masturbated since your last test?" Once again I answered "yes". Again, he stopped and looked at me.

"Did you disclose it to your group?"

"Mmmmmmmmmm....no, was I supposed to?" All of a sudden, my anxiety was coming back. He didn't really know if that was something I was suppose to disclose or not, but he said that in most groups, it was.

I realized that this was a test that I wasn't prepared for. As a teacher, I know that one of the best ways to learn is to ask questions and I hadn't been doing that in my group...at least I hadn't been asking the right questions. I was suddenly realizing that maybe there were things that I was supposed to tell the guys each week that no one had told me about. And now, I was going to have to pay the ultimate price for it...perhaps my freedom.

The rest of the questions went my easily...no big surprises or anxiety lifters. No more questions about things that maybe I should have shared with my group but didn't. Nothing that raised my concerns. Then he went through the questions that he would be asking me and asked me if I was ready to begin.

I can feel my arm throbbing now as my ears detect the scratching on the paper behind me. My eyes are closed and I try to control my breathing. I usually breath through my mouth but he tells me not to breath heavily so I try to breathe through my nose instead. At times, it feels like I can't breathe at all and my lungs feel like bursting. It's like I'm on the bottom of the pool, holding my breath. I can feel the pounding in my ears and in my chest. The regular pattern of my breathing is broken as I take a deep breath to refill my lungs.

He has been asking me questions now for about a minute. Between each question, he pauses for about 30 to 45 seconds. I'm sure it's so I have a chance to think about my answer and have time to worry about it and make the needle dance for him. But, a strange calm is resting over me. I know that I haven't done anything wrong since I've been out of prison that is a violation of my probation. All I can do is tell the truth and let the cards lay where they fall. I've been trusting God for His grace and mercy and covering for the past four years. Why should I begin to question that trust now.

He administers the questions twice, and then speaks those words I've been waiting to hear since I was told I needed to take this test two weeks ago.

"You passed. Everything looked good, except there was a little bounce on the question about revealing everything to the men in your group", he said as he started to disconnect the wires. I smiled to myself as I lifted my arms so he could remove the straps from around my chest and belly. There was no need to worry about this test in the future. I know now that I need to make sure I do my homework and find out exactly all that is expected of me by the group. I can't expect them to answer my questions if I don't' ask them. I realize some of them might not be easy questions to ask...some are going to be very personal and will cause me to reveal more of myself...and the secrets that I've held so tightly to for so many years. But maybe this is part of God's plan for my healing...to teach me to be more transparent and to learn to trust.

Like many tests, I'm always glad when they are over. But I've learned that to be a good student, you have to learn from the test. This was a test I am glad I took...glad that I passed...and glad that it taught me something.

Robert and the "Sisters"

Until you actually spend some time in a place like this, it's really difficult to know if the stereotypes we have about what kind of people are in prison are real or simply misperceptions. I had seen movies and television programs that had the full bevy of characters you might expect. You see the "bosses", the one's who seem to get whatever they want...items that none of the other inmates seem to have. And there are the "fish", inmates that are brand new and seem to be lost all the time. There are snitches, enforcers and thieves. They always seemed to be there on the big (or small) screen, but did they exist in real life?

A week after I got to this new place I called home, a new guy moved into the unit. His name was Robert and he was quite a bit younger than I was. He was a Mormon and had spent some time in the army, and in fact, had served in Desert Storm in Iraq. He apparently noticed that I was a Christian...I guess the fact that I always seemed to have a Bible in my hands was probably a big "give-away". We became friends (if that's the right word in this place) and spent quite a bit of our free time together.

He was an interesting specimen. He said he was in "Club Snoopy" because he had cut the barrel off of a shotgun because he wanted to commit suicide after his girlfriend broke up with him. I learned never to discount someone else's story, so maybe it was true. (He also said he was a direct descendant of Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormon Church...but again, who really knows.) He taught me how to play chess, a game I hadn't played since I was in high school. He was very well read and we would talk about all kinds of different things. He would share his letters from back in Utah with me and it became pretty obvious that the letters that he mailed out were probably just as bizarre as the ones that he shared with me.

On many evenings, we would walk the track just to kill time. One night, as we were walking, we noticed "them". They were pretty easy to notice. It was a group of three African Americans. They were sitting on the bleachers next to one of the softball fields. What help to set them apart from the other inmates, and in particular the African American inmates, was the way the made up their hair, their fingernails and the way they put their make-up on in the mornings. Most of us didn't use make-up, especially since it wasn't available at the commissary. And maybe because most of the men here didn't wear make-up, but these three did. Robert decided to call these guys the "Sisters"...a pretty appropriate title.

The "Sisters" would talk like girls and definitely worked on having all of the feminine mannerisms they could muster. They crossed their legs tightly and "limped" their wrists. They talked in falsetto voices sand and danced around like the stereotypical "fairies" most of us would picture. At times as we would walk past them, they would be talking about guys they been with on the outside before they ended up in this place and it seemed they would raise their voices to make sure those around them could hear. Or maybe, they just wanted one of us to hear them.

It soon became apparent that one...or maybe all...of them liked Robert. They would stare at him every chance they had. If we were walking into the chow hall and the "Sisters" were sitting at a table eating, they would stop and watch Robert walk in. It was like wolves sizing up the next meal from the sheepfold. It soon became almost a joke and we both would simply laugh.

But then, Robert's bizarre side came out a little bit. He had been sharing stories about the "Sisters" to some of his buddies back in Utah. He tended to exaggerate a little bit about what they might do to him, but then, maybe Robert knew something I didn't. About a week after Robert got a letter from his friends, he decided that it might be "fun" to actually talk to the "Sisters" and get his picture taken with them to send to his friends. As we talked about it, we knew there might be some danger in that plan since one or more of them might think that Robert actually liked them and might want to develop more than just a distant relationship.

Sadly, all of Robert's plans for a picture were interrupted. Apparently, the "Sisters" were having some other problems on the compound and one day, they just simply disappeared. I learned over the three years I was there that disappearances were common. The rumor mill reported that they had all "PC'd" themselves (asked for protective custody) because they were being threatened by some men in their unit. Like all rumors, there was never any way to substantiate it, but they never did return to the compound. And Robert never did get to have his picture taken with the "Sisters" for his friends back home.

It didn't take very long being on the compound to realize that the stereotypes really do exist. I was soon to become acquainted with more of these characters who could have come right out of Hollywood.

G.A.P.S. in my Character

After I had been working at my new job in the Chapel for about a week, I made an appointment to go in and talk with the Chaplain. He was ex-military and no nonsense and I needed his opinion on an issue that was eating me up. Every since I had entered this place, everywhere I turned, I was being told to lie about why I was here. It was tearing me apart.

As I sat down in the Chaplain's office, I visited for a moment and then got right to the meat of the issue.

"I'm not sure if you know why I'm in prison but I think I need to tell you. I was arrested for possession of child pornography. That's really not the worst part of it. The pornography was of gay boys...mostly teenage boys."

There, I'd said it. Chaplain Krantz sat there looking at me with a look on his face that I couldn't quite read.

"I didn't know why you are in here and it really doesn't matter. Are you gay? That really doesn't matter to me either...that's between you and God. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Now it was my turn to just sit there and look at him for a moment. This was not going quite like I had planned it in my mind. I had to quickly regroup my thoughts.

"Well, I'm really struggling with the reason that I'm in here. I've been told by just about everyone that I've met that it's not safe for me to tell the truth, and part of the reason that I'm in here is because I wouldn't tell the truth to people who may have been able to help me. I can't keep living a lie and I need some advise."

"It's no ones business why you're in here. And you just need to tell them that. Just explain that your past is behind you and that you are working to become a new person. Is there anything else?"

He looked down at the paperwork on his desk, and I took that as a signal that the visit was probably at an end, so I told him no, and I thanked him for his advise. I stood and left his office and went back to my own desk in the outer office.

Could it really just be that simple? I had my doubts, but what he said made sense to me. Over the next several weeks, I thought about it a lot and continued to read my Bible and some other Christian books that I had checked out of the library.

One night as I was walking the track in the rec yard, the word GAPS came to my mind. As I continued to walk and think, and try to talk to God in the midst of the music blaring by the basketball courts, the guitars and accordians players in the grass and the profanity from the other men who walked past me, the word GAPS continued to roll around in my mind. Pretty soon, words started to fill into place. The "G" became "greed", a word I had figured out helped to describe my past several years. Next, the letter "A" was replaced by "angry". I didn't really feel angry, but I knew God was giving me the word for a reason. Angry was followed by "pride" and I definitely knew where that word was coming from. Although I had convinced myself for years that I wasn't a prideful person, God had peeled that lie away. Finally, the word "selfish" completed the acronym. Greed. Anger. Pride. Selfishness.

It made sense as I thought about it. Every man that I had met in prison had one of these characteristics in common...most had more than one. It occurred to me that we were all in prison for the same reason. We had GAPS in our character, and that resulted in us (me) making a really poor choice(s) that led us here.

It turned out to be so simple. I wasn't asked by a lot of people why I was in prison, but God had given me an answer that wasn't a lie...and an opportunity to witness for Him. I was here for the same reason everyone else was. I'm a sinner, pure and simple. And so is everyone else. No more lies! Just a simple declaration that like all men, I have G.A.P.S. in my character, and they led me to this dark place.

Invited In!

On Labor Day evening, as I was walking back from the recreation yard, I passed one of the clerks that I had met in the Chapel. He was there when I turned my application form in and he had said hello and introduced himself as David. He was an attractive young man, in his 20's. Not the image one has when you try to picture a "convict" in your mind. As we passed, he asked me if I was going to join the guys down in the recreation yard for popcorn and sodas. I started to say "no", when something in my spirit stopped me. Instead, I asked "what time?" and he said in about 15 minutes. He said that Billy was already down there and that we were meeting down on the north end by the Bocce ball courts. I thanked him for the invitation, and turned around and headed back to the "yard".

As I reflect back on that moment, I see a significance that I didn't realize at the time. I don't have a clear understanding of the reasons that I did what I did to end up in prison. I don't know why I was so hooked on going to chat rooms and looking for teenage boys to talk to. I can't begin to pretend that I comprehend what need deep in my being that those chats filled. But I have come to understand that I was definitely looking for something that was missing from my life. Relationships with other men!

I'd like to be able to say that I had never been invited into a group of men before, but that would be a lie. In fact, a big part of my life was being with other males. I had been a high school athlete and coached high school boys for twelve years. In my old church, I had been invited to join the men's group, but I always declined. I'm not sure why...I just don't think I understood the importance. But as I use my 20/20 hindsight now, I can see how deeply important it really was.

As I wandered over to the group that was collected around a blanket on the grass, Billy welcomed me and introduced me to the other men who were there. Some of these men definitely met my preconceived notion of what convicts looked like. The tattoos. The long hair. The buffed bodies crafted by hours spent working out. But others looked like men I sat next to in church, or worked next to in the schools. They could have been my next door neighbor or the sales clerk in the store at the mall. Hands were shaked and names, which I promptly forget, were exchanged. I was handed a soda and given a place to sit on the blanket with this group of men that I would learn to love over the next three years.

The conversation wasn't filled with the profanity that I was bombarded with every other place on the compound. It wasn't filled with vitriolic words for the government and the injustice of the justice system that sent us here. Instead, it was about Jesus. It seemed every conversation that I was listening to in some way centered on Jesus. Whether is was talking about the message the Chaplain had given the day before, or Bible study that the men took turns leading on Tuesday nights or laughing about the antics and errors of the men on the church softball team, it was all centered in some way on Christ. I had never been around men like this before. And strangely (I'm embarrassed to admit) I enjoyed it. It was pretentious or arrogant. It wasn't a bunch of men talking hypocritically about how good they were. It was just a group of men who were sharing in some way God's grace in their lives.

I was amazed that I had travelled 1100 miles to meet a group of men like this. But I had to smile and chuckle to myself at God's wisdom and divine planning. He knew exactly what I needed. And He knew exactly where I would find what would fill that need. I needed to feel like I belonged. I had always been a part of a group, but it seemed I was always the leader and never just a member. This was different.

As the evening grew into night time and the loudspeakers announced that the compound was closing, we picked up the blanket and our trashed and started back to our individual units. One of the men, Jeff, invited me to join him and a group of guys in the morning for a Bible study they had each day around the tables here in the yard. I had never been in a Bible study and on another day, I probably would have begged off and said I was too busy. But I could tell this was too important. Not just being in a group and studying the Bible, but being a "part" of the group, a group of men. A group where I didn't need to be in charge, but someone that had been invited in. Little did I know how significant accepting that invitation that night would be and the influence it would have over my life for the next 154 weeks.

"My Clock Struck Midnight!"

As I was driving to work the other morning, I was listening to a local Christian radio station as I normally do and a song came on that is very popular right now on the charts. The title is called "Cinderella" and I'd heard the song many times before. But on this day, it impacted me in a new way.

I listened to the artist as he sang the words that told the story of a man who had a daughter and how she loved to dance. It starts with the daughter as a little girl, and as most little girls do, she considered herself a little princess and she had been invited to a ball at the prince's castle and she needed to practice her dancing. She tugged at her dad's leg, begging to dance with her so she would be ready for the big gala.

As the song, progresses, the girl grows older and there are continuous opportunities for her to practice dancing. Her high school prom, and then ultimately, her wedding. Each time, she goes to her dad and asks him to practice with her. He relishes the opportunity and he compares it to the story of Cinderella. Remember in that story, the prince is dancing with Cinderella, but as the clock strikes midnight, Cinderella runs away because she knows that the magic spell that had made her beautiful and dressed in a beautiful gown for the Ball would disappear. The father wanted to take advantage of every moment that he would have with his daughter, because he knew that one day, like Cinderella, his daughter would leave home.

The words to the strong brought strong emotions to my heart that morning. I have three granddaughters. Three beautiful little girls that I haven't seen for almost four years. Three beautiful little girls that I may never see again. Before I made the bad choices that led to my arrest, my oldest granddaughter was entering that age where she wanted to dance. Paula and I would go to her house and she would put on a princess dress that my wife had bought her and she would dance for us. I would love to watch her. She loved to dance alone...she never asked me to dance with her. But to just watch the joy on her face and she spun and twirled brought joy to my soul...to my heart.

Listening to the words to the song brought back the harsh reality that she was gone. All of my grand children were gone from my life...at least for now. Perhaps forever. I can't be like the prince in the story and take the glass slipper and go searching for the princess(es). I know where each one lives. But they are no longer part of my life. My choices closed the door to that relationship. As I listened to words to the song on that morning drive to work, I realized that my clock has already struck midnight, and my grandchildren are gone.

EVIDENCE!

The next week was spent getting familiar with this new life I was going to live for the next three years. There were new rules (which tended to change almost daily) and new routines. Fortunately, the life I lived on the outside wasn't so very different.

• remember to make your bed each morning before I leave--I can do that
• go to breakfast and clear your table when you're done--I can do that
• keep your cube clean--I can do that, though it is a little more difficult when you live with two other guys
• keep your shirt tucked in at all times when you are on the compound--never been a problem for me
• don't wear your headphones on the compound--not a problem since I don't have a radio and I can't afford one
• SMILE at everyone you meet--I just made that one up...you get a frown or a cuss word if you look too friendly
• check the "call-out" every day to see what appointments you have for the following day--this one took a little bit getting used to. I'm used to making my own schedule, but breaking this rule could land you in the SHU (special housing unit...or sometimes called the 'hole') for a few days

I met the dentist, who had problems speaking English...it was probably his Pakistani heritage and the doctor again. Even the optometrist wanted to see me, which was a good thing since the glasses that I wore into this place have a chip in the lens.

My biggest concern during the first week was to try to find a job. One thing about prison is that rumors run rampant. I think some people tells an intentional lie just to see how long it takes to get back to him as the "absolute truth." But, regardless of whether it was rumor or not, the word on the compound was that if you didn't get a job before your first team meeting, you would end up working in the "chow hall" for the first four months. That really didn't sound like all that much fun to me, so I started looking.

My first stop was the library and the education department. I filled out the form and included my background of 23 years as a professional educator. I guess that's not what they were looking for. It seemed they preferred to hire men who didn't have a college education to be the tutors at the institution. I didn't hear back from my application, so I assumed the worst.

The first weekend there, I wandered over to the Chapel because I had seen fliers that they showed Christian movies every Saturday night. As usual, I was the first one there. Soon, a tatted out Hispanic guy came in and started to set up the room. I offered to help and he accepted. I found out his name was Noel and he was one of the Chapel workers. I stayed for the movie and the free pop-corn and then walked down to the recreation yard. I was still wearing my work boots, but I was getting in the habit of walking in them anyway.

I started my first trip around the compacted dirt track and as I looked around, enjoying the warm summer evening, I could feel the presence of the Holy Spirit. He said I should check out the Chapel to see if I might be able to get a job there. I dismissed it at first, because the people I had talked to said no one gets a clerk's job anywhere when they first get here. So I put the thought out of my mind and kept walking.

The next day after Church and lunch, I wandered back over to the Chapel. I went in and just meandered about. If they would have had security guards, they probably would have tossed me out for loitering. The memory of the voice the night before came back as I walked in front of the office several times. Finally, I got up the courage to go in and see if they had any openings. As I entered the office, a young man in his 30's welcomed me and introduced himself as Bill. He asked if I was new on the compound and I said yes. I was getting ready to leave and then turned and asked if he knew if they had any job openings in the Chapel. I almost fell over when he said one of the clerks was leaving in a week and they were looking for someone and handed me an application. I quickly filled it out and when I got the the blank for "reference", Bill said I could use his name.

I handed him the application and walked out of the Chapel office, marvelling at God's grace for me. He had promised me before I came into this place that He would watch over me. It didn't take Him long to demonstrate that promise to me...and He continued to show me evidence of that grace and mercy in so many ways over the next three years.