The days in C block as an inmate worker were full of experiences that continue to be the spiritual steroids I reach for in times of need.  I started feeling the peace that came with putting God’s will before mine, and knowing that I could handle whatever came my way. As long as I was connected to the heavenly wifi and made my relationship with Christ number one, fear of the unknown was gone.

Mornings started with prayer and meditation. At the end of each day was a series of 5 prayers. First for Jill and our unborn baby (future blog). Then one for Tyson, Taylor next, then Makenzie and my last prayer for Kaden. Praying separate prayers for each of them helped me feel like I was still acting as a father and hopefully contributing good to my family.  This was time to focus and pray for each one individually, begging God to bless them each with peace and hope. It was also time to reflect on how my decisions were affecting their lives.

I was working in the kitchen and also as a janitor, cleaning different parts of the jail. One of my jobs was cleaning the visiting area. On visit days I would clean both sides of the hall. It was separated into 5 or 6 tiny rooms with a glass barrier between inmate and family. There was a phone on each side to communicate back and forth. Visit days were good and bad, I hated my children seeing me there, but oh how I loved seeing them. Hands and lips would mark up the glass as we got as close as we could. One day after they left, I went back later to clean the visiting area. When I came to the section that we used, the light hit the glass just right and I could see the prints of hands and faces. Little hands, beautiful little kiss marks. I didn’t clean the glass, just left them so I could see them everyday until my family came again. That night I stayed up late and wrote down some thoughts.

Handprints and kisses mark the glass, handprints and kisses touch the heart. Leave them there, don’t wipe away, to lift me up another day.

This is no place for my kids to be. My baby girls are 10 and 7, But the love they leave up on this glass, brings in a piece of heaven.

Each day I wake behind these bars, Get up and work the day for free, Not really sure how I got here, And became this man I hate to be.

The mixed up feelings are hard to take, My wife and kids their lives move on, While here I sit a broken man, My self respect and integrity gone.

This week the glass was a measuring stick compared the hands of dad and sons, But there is no way to mark or check, The growth of love inside this one.

It’s time to shed this ugly skin, How fast it’s grown these last few years, I feel the changes coming now, But not without blood, sweat and tears.

My daughter Taylor (now 23), and mother of my twin grandsons, sent me this copy of her hand around this same time. She was 10 years old. The letter she  included with this photo copy is scripture to me.

In part it reads, “When you see the one where it is just my hand that doesn’t say anything. Place your hand against it and pretend you are holding my hand. Do it everyday and it will help you.”

These are the words of an angel.

Do yourself a favor, put your hand in the hand of our Savior Jesus Christ. As 10 year old Taylor says, “Do it everyday and it will help you.”   I know when I do, I’m a way better me. When I don’t, well, it can get real ugly. On my very best day I’m not good enough, none of us are. HE IS THE WAY. THE ONLY WAY.