Back to Prison – Part II

Dejected?  Absolutely!  How in the world was this happening….again? 

Confused?  Absolutely!  After trying so hard to do everything right, the lie of an unknown person – apparently someone with an ax to grind – instantly transformed a tolerable situation into pure hell.

But doubting? My faith isn’t as strong as Joseph’s for I did doubt and wonder why.

I was moved from the relative freedom of the annex to the main compound in Nashville, thrown into the smallest cell I have ever seen with one of the biggest men I have ever seen, given only the barest of essentials and left.

A friend went to the annex to pick up my belongings to discover that most of my “free world” clothes had been stolen by staff members.  Stamps were stolen by the mail room.  Phone calls disallowed.

For a month I sat, not knowing why I was there or what my future held.  Every mental picture of life after prison I had conjured during the preceding two years vaporized and I was left with only uncertainly and despair.

On the 33^rd day of this torture, I was shackled wrist and ankle and loaded onto a bus with forty others for the trip back to West Tennessee State Penitentiary – back to where I started all those many months before.  My faith was so weak but, since there was no choice, I started over again. The days were long and the nights were longer.  I was moved from cell to cell, subjected to one cellmate after another, always in a state of flux with no hope for stability of any kind – always fearful that the activities of one of those men would compromise my custody level and thereby lengthen my term.

I tried to secure employment to no avail, finally landing – by default – in the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans for six hours a day for twenty-five cents an hour. As it was with Joseph, the defining quality of these days was idleness, made all the worse coming from a place of responsibility. My nights were also consumed with wondering what was going to happen and why I had been removed from usefulness and productivity.  Every day was consumed with silent prayer asking why I was being punished when I had done nothing wrong.  No answer came but God’s Hand showed Itself.

Discipline

     There was always a ritual to it.  That was something upon which I could count. 

     Whenever I violated a known law of the house there was sure to be a price paid and the payment of that debt always followed a ritual. If at home, I would be immediately sent to my room to await the judgment.  If in public, silence would follow the discovery of the infraction – it was a living silence pregnant with dread – until privacy permitted the ritual.

     The waiting was probably the worst part.  Sure, the paddle or the belt or the hand left a mark and an impression, but the waiting for it seemed cruel and inhuman.  “Let’s just get on with it,” I would silently shout.  Anything would be better than that anticipation of execution of sentence.
It wasn’t until many years later that I was briefed in on the real purpose of the waiting.  It wasn’t to add to my punishment – though that was certainly a by-product.  It was to give my dad time to cool down so the punishment that was deserved could be meted out without the anger or emotion of the moment of the infraction.  It was for my benefit – my safety – my good.

     How much like the Heavenly Father, who never fails to discipline His disciples.  What additional proof is needed to reveal His love and His concern for us than His discipline when we violate His Will and His Law? (Proverbs 3:11-12)

     As for the rest of the ritual?  The spanking was painful but was always followed by prayer.  And, without exception, the relationship between my dad and me was stronger and more vital as a result of those times.  While it surely pained him to punish me – something I never really believed until I was faced with disciplining my own sons – it was for my good.  And in that way my dad modeled the Father.

     I’m thankful for the example dad lived out for me.

     I’m even more thankful that God never lets me off the hook but lovingly punishes me and, by doing so, reveals His love for me and His deep desire that I live His way.

Praise

“And the ransomed of the Lord shall come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” Isaiah 35:10

 We went to comfort, but came away comforted; such was the vigor of her faith– such was the beauty of her …

 Praise

 Her life was just one constant hymn of praise,
Though pain and suffering marked so many days.
                (I’ve never seen Christ’s spirit brighter shine! )
                Weakness chained her body, and confined
It to the limits of her little room;
But naught that life could do could e’er entomb
                Her fervent prayers, or quench her heartfelt praise.
 
God loved her! He sent Christ to take her hand
And give her Royal Escort to the promised land!
                But just before she left, He let her see
                And praise the matchless glories of eternity!
God grant to us in life’s remaining days
A double portion of her victory and praise,
                That when our “call” shall come, the parting hour
                Shall be, like hers, triumphant by Thy power!

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For more of the poetry of my grandmother, visit the “Uplifted Eyes” page.

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