“Thy will not mine be done.” These were the words Richard wanted me to repeat as I did my twice daily meditation. An easy mantra when life is going good, but really hard to say when shit’s hitting the fan. If I turned it over to God now, he might let them send me to prison, I can’t quite let go. Looking back I had no faith, no trust in God. Somehow, I thought if I could still be in charge, “run the show” I could fix everything. It should have been obvious by now that I needed to turn it over to someone other than me and just surrender. My very best efforts had landed me right where I was, lost. 

             E-block at the old cache county jail was a large room with triple bunks scattered throughout. One tv in the corner was shared by 20 plus inmates of all ages and backgrounds. On the other end of the room were showers and toilets with little to no privacy. Next to them on the wall hung the phones, lifelines to the outside world. My collect call home that day was answered by my oldest son Tyson, who was 13 at the time.  After accepting my call I could tell right away that he was crying and immediately I went into panic mode. At first all I could understand was that Jill and Kaden were in an ambulance heading to primary children’s hospital. He went on to explain to me what happened. Tyson was hitting golf balls out into the hay field from the backyard and shanked one. The line drive hit Kaden, who was 3 at the time, in the side of the head and dropped him unconscious. Tyson picked up his brother and carried him in the house.  I did my best to reassure Tyson that everything would be ok. I’m sure he doubted me, after all, really nothing was ok about life. That was all the time we had, the call ended and I sunk back into the dark desperation that was becoming so familiar. “Thy will, not mine be done.”     I had no way of contacting Jill. All I could do was wait and hopefully hear something the next day. I honestly don’t know how I handled those next few days. I was so relieved when I heard he would be ok,  but the relief was soon replaced by  the constant hollow of hopelessness I felt when thinking of our new baby coming into this mess. I can’t describe the loneliness, anxiety, fear, insanity, all wrapped up together. Trapped in this hell hole with people who didn’t seem to care. “Thy will, not mine be done.” Little did I know I was about to meet another Angel. 

                After about a month back in cache I was blessed to get a job in the kitchen. I moved out of the dorm and into a nice little 6 person gated bungalow in the back (c block). Gus, Dee, Eric, Hippie, and old Joe would be my “cellies” for the next 4 months. Judy had been the cook at the old jail for years. She had personal experience and a unique perspective on addiction and incarceration that she gained while watching some of her own boys struggle. Judy was in charge of cooking 3 meals a day for everyone in the jail and our job was to assist her. I helped with the cooking a little, but mainly I was a dish washer. The work day was long between prepping the meal, delivering to all the inmates, washing the dishes and then starting the next meal. Everyday without fail Judy would be waiting for us in the kitchen with a big smile. On Sunday’s she picked the radio station and had us listening to her favorite, “The Sounds of Sunday.”  I can still hear her singing along as we all did our work. One morning she looked at me and said,”  Hey doc I had lunch with your wife yesterday.”  She proceeded to tell me how she searched Jill out and met her in Brigham for lunch. Judy took a great interest in me and my family, she wanted to help me succeed. I couldn’t believe that God had placed another absolutely crucial messenger  in my path. “Thy will, not mine be done?” 

                One day Judy pulled me aside and had me listen to a newly released song on the radio, “Walk a little straighter” by Billy Currington. When the song ended we both had tears in our eyes and she said to me,  “You better walk a little straighter dad, your in the lead.”  She treated each of us with respect and always seemed genuinely interested in our lives. I know she still keeps tabs on as many of “her” inmates as she can. I had a favorite cup I drank from each day in the kitchen, coffee until lunch and ice water in the afternoon. Judy knew I had a craving for a diet coke. One morning when I walked in the kitchen she told me to go get my cup. I walked over and it was full of ice cold diet coke that she brought in with her. Yes, that was a good day. A couple years ago Judy showed up at my office carrying my old stainless steel cup. It hangs in my office as a reminder of my days spent in cache with one of the most charitable people I have ever met.             

           Prayer and meditation became my primary focus. At first alone on my bunk with a towel wrapped around my head, then kneeling alone, and eventually kneeling with Dee, Gus and Hippie. These were days I will cherish forever. The night that Dee first knelt beside me and then quickly retreated back to his bunk, was worth all the time I’d done in jail. In the days that followed teaching him how to pray and then listening to the painful, heartfelt, sincere pleadings of my cell mates was cleansing. They helped me put MY life in perspective. I have nothing but love and respect for these men, they had made mistakes. They were dope slingers, drunks, and thieves, but in the quiet of our shared cell, I heard and felt the righteous desires in their hearts. They matched mine. 

           After prayer one night I got an indigent hair cut. When an inmate doesn’t have money on his books you improvise. Eric, Dee, Gus, and Hippie each took their fingernail clippers to my out of control hair. It took 2 hours but these tweakers had skills and now I officially had some street cred. Check that one off the bucket list. When the guards dropped the razors off the next morning, the fellas finished my new look with some soap and a bic. It was a look my family didn’t really love when we had our next visit. Good thing I didn’t see the judge for a month or so, he would have sent me away with all the other skin heads.

           I was slowly finding peace through prayer, meditation and daily inventory. I was feeling confidence in the change taking place within. I remember telling my dad on the phone one day that I finally felt like the inside was starting to match the outside. In other words, I wasn’t playing a part anymore, I felt genuinely happy and at peace with my circumstance, all of it, no matter what the judge decided, I would be ok. I wasn’t alone anymore and I’d never need a substance again to make me feel whole. Christ filled that void. My conversations with Jill were changing, instead of talking about my struggles, I took greater interest in her’s. How could I help from here? Is it possible to lead from jail? Could we pray at the same time at night and feel like we were all kneeling together in prayer? As my desires started lining up with her desires I felt closer to her and God. In my journal I wrote;  “What do I do now? I need to get out of me! Start focusing on how I can help my family even from here. Should she trust me? No. I have taken that trust and torn it to pieces. I guess the best I can do is to let her and the kids know I love them and support her in anyway that I can.”   

             I asked her one night on the phone if she and the kids would like to get back on the bus. I’d been working hard on it, fixing the wheels, God was knocking out the dents (which hurts), gave it a new paint job. My eyes were clear, and I wasn’t heading for a cliff anymore. She said, “I don’t know, the bus has always looked pretty good, I need to see what’s inside, I wanna look under the hood because it needed a whole new engine.” Ouch. 
           September of 2003 Judge Willmore in Logan, Hadfield in Brigham and Memmott in Davis county all decided not to send me to prison but give me a final shot at NUCCC. Anytime an inmate is transported, they shackle your ankles together and handcuff you. I’d had this done a number of times, the worst of which was when I went to the prison in draper. I couldn’t wait for the shackles and cuffs this time because I knew it would be the last. When I arrived back at NUCCC I was happy to see Richard was still there. I said to him,  “hey, this time I’m ready.”  Jill’s due date was December 24th, so I couldn’t mess around. I was suppose to do a 4 month program and if I stayed the full 4 months I wouldn’t be home by the 24th. “Thy will, not mine be done.” I’d just have to do my best and hope for an early release. The serenity prayer was becoming my life:
    God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference. 

             The first day back at the halfway house I let everyone around me know where I stood. Don’t bring any drugs around me or there will be trouble. I didn’t care about anything but getting home to my family. I went out and got a job at my Uncle Sam T’s trailer lot on Wall ave in Ogden. Every morning I’d be on the bus to work and then back to NUCCC at night. Visits home were great for me, but Jill and the kids had that deer in the headlight look, waiting for me to bail out and go on a beer run. The beer run’s were over, I knew it but they wouldn’t know for quite some time. Even quick visits to the grocery store alone were hard for them. “I’m almost to the store, I’m in the produce section, I’m leaving the parking lot, I’m passing the high school, I’m in the driveway.”  I checked in so often I don’t know how I had time to do whatever I was actually doing. But I did it with gratitude. Thank you God for letting me be around to check in!

             Back at the halfway house Richard had me filling up notebooks as we worked the steps of A.A. We prayed together, he continued schooling me in the art of meditation, he’d constantly remind me, “it’s a no mind experience.”  He became a close friend and also my sponsor.  Richard was irreplaceable in my journey. He’s the one as I look back that I couldn’t have made it without. I asked him once if I could record some of our conversations because I couldn’t afford to forget anything he was teaching me. I still get timely text messages from him that just say “hey, I love you brother.”

             December 7th 2003 I was granted an early release. The same people who escorted me to the holding cell 8 months earlier in April, congratulated me and walked me out the front door. One week later Andi Isabel Gardner was born. I told Jill that maybe we should call her Elmer. She’s the glue that held this family together. I’m not really sure what exists before this life, and how we all end up in the families we land in. I use to think I knew, but as I get older I realize how little I know about a lot of things. But, if we did play a part in choosing our earthly destination, then this baby girl chose me. She said, “I got this, I’ll do it, I know it’s a mess, but send me anyway.” My mother had unexpectedly died just a few years earlier, I think she may have had a hand in all of it as well.  Jill reminds me that the first time I held Andi I looked at her  and said,”I know one thing for sure, this baby loves me.” A couple years ago I ran a marathon. I found that towards the end of 26.2 miles it’s a pretty emotional/spiritual experience. Sort of a ‘no mind’ meditation kind of thing. As I looked up toward the finish line a few hundred yards away, I saw this beautiful blonde angel running toward me. Smiling, Andi grabbed my hand for a minute, and then ran beside me the rest of the way. The pain of the journey was replaced by an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and love for all the Angelic assistance along the way.