REPOST from August 24, 2013… “WITH EYES WIDE OPEN” by Tony Casson

On September 27, 2014 By Tony CassonIn EYES WIDE OPENLeave a comment

Since I am unable to write anything new at this time I would like to share a previous post with you…

“Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there.” Galatians 5:34 NLT

“We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.” Hebrews 12:2 NLT

“And this is freedom, this is freedom; This is freedom nailed to a tree.” Karyn Williams – “This Is Freedom”

Towards the end of her long life, the list of my Mother’s physical afflictions and limitations had grown quite long as well. She had a degenerative bone disease called “Paget’s”; a ‘spinal stenosis’ which plagued her with debilitating back pain for years; greatly diminished hearing; and an advanced case of Macular Degeneration which ultimately left her legally blind.

Those afflictions which greatly affected the quality of her physical existence were, nonetheless, no match for her indomitable spirit. Her ability – indeed, her NEED – to smile never waned and never wavered. She seemed to have the power to see through things that were negative about people around her and allowed her to see, and to focus, on the good that she believed resides in us all.

It puzzled me that she could find so much worth smiling about in a life fraught not only with the pain of her physical maladies, but also the internal pain that came from her knowledge that each of her children suffered in his, or her, own way. She accepted the fact that there wasn’t much she could do most of the time, except offer her prayers to God. This is not to say that prayer is an insignificant thing, because it most assuredly is NOT, but it is simply a fact that, as parents, we feel the need to do something tangible, and something immediate, when our children are hurting.

Nonetheless, my Mother was teaching me something important through all of those years, but the lessons would not finally develop clarity for me until I discovered for myself exactly where her ability to ‘see’ things, the way she did, came from.

You see, my Mother’s relationship with God gave her the ability to see things through the ‘eyes’ of her heart. This concept, and this ability, would elude me for years. In fact, it would be sometime after her death, and would require a suicide attempt that was very nearly successful, and a trip to federal prison before I, too, became able to ‘see’ things the way that beautiful, blind woman could.

To that point, I had endured a lifetime of pain and suffering, and had inflicted much pain and suffering upon those around me, the least of whom was the one who gave me life. But my Mother always smiled for me, and she always saw what I failed to see for many years. Finally, a few years after her smile was just an important fond memory, I arrived at a place where I could begin to understand my Mother’s lessons. A place where I could begin to realize my own ability to smile, and to see the good in those around me and, more importantly, I could see the good in myself.

I can clearly recall the exact moment when I felt the first faint stirrings within me indicating that something was changing inside of me. It was shortly after arriving at Oakdale to begin my sentence and I had gone outside to walk around the concrete ‘track’ that comprised the outer boundary of the inmate-accessible portion of the recreation yard.

The track itself is a 1/3 mile loop of sorts; not an oval or a circle or any other recognizable geometric shape, but it does begin and end in the same place. The first segment is a straightaway about 450′ long that heads due east. The track then turns to the north in a long, sweeping curve. At this point, the ‘only’ barrier to freedom is the set of two very tall chain link fences along the outer perimeter that are topped with some decidedly unfriendly looking razor wire, although the razor wire does sparkle brilliantly in the bright Louisiana sunshine or under the powerful lights that illuminate the grounds at nightfall.

As I rounded that first curve on the track, I glanced up over the fence ahead of me and to the right. A few hundred feet away, and outside the fence, there are some warehouses, maintenance facilities and large outdoor refrigeration and freezer storage units that service the compound. My eyes were immediately drawn to what I saw rising above the fence from the middle of those buildings. I could see, silhouetted against the sky, the top portion of an old wooden power pole. My immediate thought was, “That looks just like a cross.” I smiled to myself as I rolled the thought around in my head that it would be rather special to know that from that day forward, for the duration of my stay at Oakdale, each time I came outside to walk I would be able to look up and be reminded of Jesus Christ. The comfort of that reminder of His presence was something I grasped onto hungrily, and eagerly. It was also something I would quickly grow to look forward to seeing each time I ventured out to ‘the yard’ to walk.

I felt a stirring within me and I knew that something significant had begun. I would come to learn that God had chosen that moment to allow the ‘eyes’ of MY heart to begin to open.

As I continued walking along the track, my ‘cross’ loomed a little larger at first, but as the perspective changed and I drew closer, it seemed to drop lower until it ‘disappeared’ below the top of the fence. I found joy in my new discovery and felt a strange warmth spread through me. Little did I know at that point, that what I had experienced was just the beginning of a ‘vision’ that would become complete a few days later while I was enjoying another walk.

On that particular day, as I passed the point where the ‘cross’ dropped out of sight, I kept looking at the spot where the power pole itself was located on the other side of the fence. After walking about 50 feet, a picture began to reveal itself to me, clearer with each additional step. When I reached a point that was directly south of the object of my interest, I stopped on the side of the track and stared at the completed picture. What I was looking at was not ONE ‘cross’, but THREE crosses. The power pole that had drawn my attention originally was flanked on either side by another, shorter power pole. From this vantage point, I could see through the fence and, with the eyes of my heart opening wider still, I realized that what I was looking at were the crosses upon which Christ, and the two men who were crucified with him, died.

OK…I knew that these were not THOSE crosses, but the vision I was looking at appeared the same as what I had seen in illustrations and it seemed as if I had stumbled upon my own, private “Golgotha”. I am fairly certain that most of the men looking through those two chain link fences would only see three older, wooden power poles with wires and transformers on them that serviced a bunch of metal buildings and outdoor refrigerators and freezers, but I saw something else entirely.

With the newly opened eyes of my heart, the fences became transparent and the transformers and power lines disappeared. What I DID see was Jesus Christ hanging from the center cross looking down at me. What I DID see was a man taking the burden of my sins, and the sins of every other person in the world, and replacing that burden with freedom.

With the eyes of my heart, I could see what had been missing in my life. I could see forgiveness for what I had done wrong and I could see what I needed to do to correct those things. I could see the pain that I caused others, and I could see the pain that others caused me, and I could see the pain in the eyes of Jesus as He implored me to give all of that pain to HIM.

I could see the look of suffering on His face as He relieved me of my burden, but at the same time, I could feel His joy at the knowledge that His suffering was not in vain.

Now, with the eyes of my heart wide open, I could see the future and the hope that had been promised to ME. I could see that I was now truly free to do the RIGHT thing, for the RIGHT reason, and in the RIGHT way. I was now free to rid my heart of the darkness that had filled it so completely for so many years and replace it with the light that comes with the unshakeable faith I now had that no matter where I might walk from that day forward, I would never be alone, I did not need to be afraid, and I would never be without purpose.

I began to realize that I was no longer in prison at all. In fact, from that moment forward, I was more free than I had ever been in my life.

In a way, I had come to look upon my Mother’s physical ailments and afflictions as having created a prison of sorts for her. Suddenly, though, I was able to see just how free she had always been because the eyes of HER heart had ALWAYS been open.

Freedom can be a beautiful and inspiring thing.

It can also reduce us to tears when we think about the price that Christ Jesus paid for it. For people like myself, who had used their freedom poorly, and in a selfish, self-serving, and self-indulgent manner, the instant that the eyes of our heart open wide can be a very humbling moment of shame, embarrassment, and sadness.

Fortunately for us, God smiles and says, “It’s alright”. His ONLY concern is that we all – each and every last one of us – allow Him to come into our hearts and open our eyes. NOTHING else matters to him. Not when. Not where. Not why.

For the last three years and four months, I have been reassured and comforted, encouraged and reinforced by what I see out there almost daily. Each time I walk the track, I always say prayers of thanks to the One who suffered so horribly and painfully so long ago in order that we can ALL be free from sin and the slavery that accompanies it and chains us to our own individual versions of prison.

Over the years, I have made it a habit to share what I see with the different people I have walked with. It has always been a desire of mine to share it with those who read these Chronicles, but the description alone seemed inadequate. I felt that some sort of picture was needed to properly convey the image that I see so frequently, but actual photographs are out of the question and I am less an artist than I am even a writer, so I have NOT shared.

Until now.

My friend Richard Roy, who has been aware of how special those ‘crosses’ are to me, spoke with another inmate whose artistic talents are considerably greater than mine. His name is Will Mattingly, and Richard asked him if he would try to draw what I ‘saw’ out there on the other side of the fences.

The three of us walked one day and I shared my vision with Will, who then spent considerable time out there sitting and drawing. A few weeks later, Will passed along his finished work which I named “Through The Eyes Of The Heart”.

I can now share my personal ‘Golgotha’ with all of you, thanks to Richard’s thoughtfulness, and Will’s talent:

No, there is not really a hole in the fence, and in reality there are TWO fences about 10 feet apart separating ‘us’ from ‘you’, but I told Will that I wanted him to convey the impression that the eyes of a person’s heart can remove obstacles that stand between us and the freedom to see what God wants us to see, and to do the things that He wants us to do.

I believe Will accomplished exactly that.

And thanks to those two good men, not only am I able to share the image with all of you, I will now have this drawing to frame and hang on my wall when I leave here to remind me of the freedom that I was given during my time of physical imprisonment. I will also be reminded of the sacrifice of Jesus and the tremendous burden that He removed from my shoulders.

God has opened wide the eyes of my heart, and He can open YOURS as well. With our eyes wide open we can see many things we could not see before: We can see hope; we can see peace, happiness, joy, love, and forgiveness; we can see the goodness that lives and breathes all around us. And with our eyes wide open we can also see the hunger, the pain, the suffering, and the desperation of other people. But these are not bad things to see, because once our eyes are open, we can also see our place in God’s plan to HELP those who are afflicted. Seeing our place will allow us to take the action necessary to improve the condition of our brothers and sisters who are all God’s children.

And THIS, my friends, is freedom.

May God bless you all, and may He open WIDE the eyes of YOUR hearts.

“PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – THE GREY DOG” By Tony Casson

On August 23, 2014 By Tony CassonIn PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – THE GREY DOGLeave a comment

‘My’ bus finally rolled into the station and those holding tickets were all standing in line, waiting to board. I was not the only one who had been anticipating an earlier departure. The bus seemed larger from the outside than I had remembered, but once on board I became aware that what I was seeing was an optical illusion. While the exterior graphics package was a newer, updated version from the one I remembered, the interior actually seemed smaller than I recalled from times past. This, too, may have been an illusion, but the feeling of closeness on a full ‘Grey Dog’ indicates otherwise, and this ‘Dog’ was full of ‘fleas’!

None of that mattered however, as the predominant thought in my mind was that we were finally underway and I was going to be moving farther and farther from Oakdale with each passing minute. The entire undertaking was accompanied by a numbness of my senses that would prove to be a prelude to the numbness my rear-end would experience as the hours wore on. Still, as the ‘Grey Dog’ began its run towards Mobile, Alabama, I was acutely aware that the future had begun.

My traveling ‘companion’ for the first 8 hours or so was a short woman of Hispanic origin who was probably around 50. She did not speak English but required some assistance with her carryon luggage at each stop where we were required to leave the bus for 30 – 60 minutes. Those stops included Baton Rouge and New Orleans, with her final destination being Mobile. She was quiet, but pleasant, and offered me money for helping her. I declined, so she wrote her name and phone # on a piece of paper instead. As I had no phone, I had no number to give her, but I thanked her and did my best to explain. I made sure she got her bags from beneath the bus when she needed to do so and helped her get to a place where she could await those who were coming to pick her up in Mobile.

By the time we left Mobile, it was dark, and I was fortunate enough to be one of the first to board. I managed to get a window seat near the front of the bus. My next ‘companion’ was an attractive young woman named Mila (rhymes with vanilla). Most of the people who ride ‘The Dog’ look like people who ride ‘The Dog’.

Mila did not look like someone who rode ‘The Dog’. Before anyone asks, I cannot tell you what people who ride ‘The Dog’ should look like. You’d recognize them if you saw them. I can only say that, as a rule, they don’t look like Mila.

There was also a young black couple on board who turned out to be a brother and sister who were traveling up into Georgia, and were changing buses in Atlanta. They had been on the bus since I first boarded it and were very well dressed, well mannered, and well spoken, and were traveling from one parent in the Houston area to visit the other parent in Columbia, Georgia. We exchanged pleasantries at each stop. Like Mila, they didn’t look like people who rode ‘The Dog’ regularly either. As it turned out, none of them had ever ridden a bus before, so if I am guilty of stereotyping, I guess I can at least say that I was good at it (hahaha).

Mila proved to be a very interesting young woman who was willing to spend time talking with an old man on a bus. When I asked where she was headed, she indicated she was traveling first to North Carolina to attend a wedding, then she was headed to Portland, Maine where she was going to intern for a state Senator. I told her about my connection to Maine (I was born there and had family there), and further discussion revealed that she had recently graduated from a Christian College in Pensacola. The course of the conversation ultimately revealed that she had been born in Romania and had been raised in Malaysia as a Muslim. She had converted to Christianity at 14, so I asked her about the difficulty that I assumed accompanied being a Christian in a predominately Muslim part of the world. Mila was very intelligent, open, and willing to talk about God, and was the perfect traveling companion (No offense to Olga, my little Hispanic friend).

I admit here that I mislead her about where I was headed and why. I was reluctant to tell her that I had just been released from prison. I did tell her I was headed to Washington, D.C. to live in a Mission, but I sort of led her to believe that I was going there to work, as opposed to going there to live until I could reassemble my much disassembled life. I did show her my copy of my book, “TODAY IS….A Gift From God” and I think she might have examined the back cover where I mentioned being incarcerated, but if she noticed, she didn’t say anything. More than likely it was simple politeness on her part.

Before I boarded my next bus, I saw her standing off to the side smoking a cigarette. I wrote down the address to these “Chronicles” and called her over. I gave it to her and asked her to check it out.

Perhaps she will even read these words. If she does, I hope she accepts my apology for any deception on my part. I was not intentionally trying to deceive for nefarious purposes, or out of any embarrassment or reluctance to discuss my experience and the reasons for the incarceration in the first place. In fact, had we had privacy, I probably would have told her as much as she wanted to hear, but the “Grey Dog” is not conducive to private conversations as we discovered by the interruptions into our conversation several times by a very colorful individual on his way to Washington as well. The conversation with Mila made the extreme tedium of the journey disappear. It was so nice to have pleasant, meaningful conversation with someone outside of the prison environment and I was glad to see I could still participate in such a ‘normal’ conversation.

As the night wore on, we both drifted off to sleep for a while. When we parted in the wee hours of the morning, I was sorry to see her go. We wished each other well, and I knew she would be difficult to ‘replace’ as a traveling partner. I was quickly proven right as my next ‘seatmate’ was a young man who chose headphones over conversation, which was fine, but it was also temporary as he was only next to me for a couple of stops. The crowd thinned out, and he would prove to be my last seatmate. As the morning dawned, I had a little more room to stretch out, and as we rolled into Charlotte, North Carolina the scenery had improved dramatically over Louisiana, Mississippi, and the southern part of Alabama that I could see before darkness had consumed the scenery.

Charlotte was home to my first really scrumptious ‘free world’ food. A black man who, by his girth looked like he really enjoyed food, recommended the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich on Texas toast prepared in the little grill located in a corner of the bus station. Fresh, hot, and made to order, it was truly a thing of wonder. I love a good breakfast sandwich and this one was exceptional.

There still remained about 8-10 hours till we arrived in Richmond, Virginia, but the countryside was beautiful, the weather was gorgeous, and freedom was in the air!

I saw some lovely towns and cities throughout North Carolina and into Virginia. Since the bus was not an express, we sort of took the long way around, but in the end it was worth it.

The entire trip was about 32 hours, and by the time we rolled into Richmond at 7 PM the day after my release from Oakdale, the entirety of my derriere felt like it had been injected with Novocain. Those reading this may find that amusing, but I kid you not: My rear-end was numb, and it was a numbness that did not completely wear off for 3 days!

Seeing my sister in the bus depot in Richmond was one of the most welcome sights I have ever experienced. We hugged and left the station to the comfort of her Volvo crossover. We chatted for a few minutes as we left the city and headed north towards Lorton, where she lives, and then I used her cell phone to call Anthony, my son. To not have the call introduced by a mechanical voice saying, “This call is from Tony Casson, an inmate at a federal prison” was something I had anticipated for a long time. To not be reminded twice during the call that “This call is from a federal prison” was something I had also anticipated. And to not have the call terminated at the end of 15 minutes was priceless! We hung up when we were done talking and it was over 30 minutes before that occurred.

I missed my friends already, but I was thoroughly enjoying the stimulation of my senses by all of the different sights, sounds, and smells that accompany freedom.

There are not enough pages, nor am I in possession of enough talent, to ever adequately describe to you all that I thought about, saw, and felt during my first 36 hours of freedom. I can tell you this much, however: Whether or not that was my last run as a ‘flea’ on the “Grey Dog” or not, there will never be another bus ride which will mean as much to me as that one.

That ride carried me from the place God trained me to be for a little over four years, and delivered me to where He wanted me to be for the next phase of my life of service to Him. The unpleasantness of the physical discomfort of the trip itself is nothing when compared to the opportunities to serve God and glorify His name that I was being directed to.

Those left behind may think they are forgotten, but they are not. They are in my thoughts, my prayers and are a part of many discussions I have. God leads me and guides my steps as I work to help people around me now, but the men I left behind are an indelible part of who I am, how I think, and they will remain a part of my life.

I have written in the past in these “Chronicles” about the ability of our faith in God to allow us to be free no matter where we are, and those words still stand. For me, it was the “perfect prison experience”, and I had never been as free in my mind and my spirit as I was in Oakdale.

I carry that freedom with me into ‘the free world’ and I will use it to help me to fully appreciate the physical freedom of being on this side of the razor-wire. I will ask God on a daily basis to help me remember what Paul had to say about freedom in the Book of Galatians in the Holy Bible: “For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love.” (Galatians 5:13 NLT)

This responsibility Paul speaks about, “to serve one another in love”, is something that can prevent most of the things which cause men and women to go to prison in the first place, from ever happening.

Think about that.

For now, I am ‘dog’ tired. God bless you all and may He keep you and your families safe. I will be writing more on my experiences as time goes on, but I need to get these articles done and posted.

“PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – A CHANGE OF SCENERY” By Tony Casson

On August 23, 2014 By Tony CassonIn PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – A CHANGE OF SCENERYLeave a comment

I didn’t sleep very well the night before my release (go figure). Poor Pete – my ‘cellie’ – was undoubtedly aware of my tossing and turning, to say nothing of my somewhat boisterous and frequent release of gas (nervous anticipation plus cabbage for lunch combined with that chili for the last supper equals, well, you get the idea). I’m not sure that ‘nervous’ is an accurate descriptive phrase, though. It was more a case of being flat out eager to meet the future and step out of the time capsule I had inhabited for 4 years, one month, and 20 days. I was excited to get a chance to demonstrate to everyone who was interested – be they incarcerated or ‘free’ – the full power of God to change us when we invite Him into our hearts and totally submit to His will. I was also chomping at the bit to put my faith in the Lord to work beyond the constraints of the fences and razor wire.

Finally, after bouncing up and down all night, looking out the window of our cell door, and praying, praying, praying for patience, our cells were unlocked about 5:10 AM. I took my last shower in the showers I had cleaned for 2 years as my second ‘job’ in the prison, finished getting ready, and looked around the 7’x11’ space I had occupied for the previous 4+ years, over 3 ½ of them with Pete as my roommate.

My locker had been emptied by the end of the previous evening, my little mesh carryon bag was ready to go, and I went downstairs to find a couple of people waiting for me that one normally would never expect to see at that time of day: “Big Bad Billy Bo-land” (ok, he really prefers to be called Brandon, he’s not real big, although he does need to lose some weight, and he’s not what I would consider bad at all; I just made that name up for its alliterative value and because it was very ‘prison’ sounding) and Stanley, my very first prison ‘cellie’, had made a special effort to get up and see me on my way. It was a gesture which was greatly appreciated. Due to an unforeseen power outage related to exterior security, we were subjected to an ‘emergency’ lockdown the night before, a full 30 minutes earlier than normal. Because of this, I had not completed my ‘rounds’ of farewells. I did not get to see Joseph, David, Brian, Dan, and several others for that one last time and I felt bad about it, but didn’t feel I should go around waking everyone up. Perhaps they will read these words and know that I wanted to tell them ‘goodbye’. They should all also know they will all be on my mind, and in my prayers.

Emotions ran high that morning, as they had the previous evening. When one asks God to help them use the experience of incarceration in a positive manner, the act of leaving becomes bittersweet. Powerful bonds were formed over the months and years, and it is difficult to describe the conflicting emotions at work within us all. In spite of the emotions involved and the love that develops out of positive relationships in prison, the time does come when the door opens for each person and that person must go. There is no putting it off. No delays are allowed. The call comes for an individual to go to Receiving & Discharge (R&D) and off you go.

The call came for me at about 6:15 AM and I said a few hurried, absolutely final farewells, and proceeded to walk through the compound, barely able to resist the urge to run. (There is no running on the compound, unless it is on the rec yard, but believe me, the urge WAS there!). Reluctance to leave was quickly turning into a need to leave. It was rapidly turning into focus on the enormity of the impending event. It was a very surreal moment and I felt as if I were merely skimming along the surface of the ground. In a few minutes, the BOP would be through with me, and I with them, and I would be on my way.

I arrived at the door and was dismayed that no one was standing there, holding it open, smiling in happiness over my release. OK, so that is not exactly true. I didn’t expect anyone to really care and I was not disappointed. The actual processing only took a few minutes. I discovered that a promise to pay me for the work I had done from the 1st through the 16^th, along with the bonus my unit manager had indicated I would get as a parting ‘gift’, was not fulfilled. This was not financially devastating, but it was just one more thing to add to the pile of ‘things’ that made one wonder about the character, integrity, competence, and level of professionalism of the staff. In addition, there was a certified copy of my birth certificate and a new social security card in my file in my case manager’s office which I assumed would be given me, so I inquired about it. I was met with the response, “Didn’t you ask your case manager for it?” I could only respond with, “This is the first time I have ever been released from prison. How would I even know to ask? Shouldn’t it have simply been given to me?” I wrote down my sister’s address in Virginia and asked if he would please see to it that they were sent. In all fairness, I must say he was good to his word as they were actually received about 5 days later.

Lt. James was the lieutenant on duty, so he had to come make sure they were releasing the right person. He shook my hand and wished me luck. No one had shaken my hand for 4 years, leaving me to think staff was afraid they were going to catch something. Perhaps they would have caught something, but it would have been more along the lines of something called professionalism, respect, and raising people up. He also wished me luck and walked me out to the building I had entered on April Fools’ Day, 2010. They went through one last ‘verification’ procedure and then someone pointed me to a white Ford Ranger idling in the parking lot, and I went out the door. That act was every bit as surreal as entering the building 4 years earlier, but in a very, very, very good way!

No one stopped me, called me back, or paid me any further attention. The only person interested in me now was the inmate from the camp next door whose job it was to deliver me to the bus station in Lafayette. The bus station was about 90 minutes away and I was looking forward to whatever scenery the surrounding countryside would afford me. It proved to be a very pleasant trip through piney woods and fields used for growing cotton and rice. The inmate driving the pickup truck was ‘short’ as well, having only 23 days left before his own release.

My excitement built as we drew closer to the point from which my ‘journey’ would officially begin. The camp inmate’s final task was to escort me into the building and make sure I purchased a ticket (non-refundable) for the correct destination. I had prepared my sister for picking me up at the bus station in Richmond, Va. based upon the departure time of the 9:15 AM bus, but that bus was sold out. I had to purchase a ticket for the next one, which didn’t leave till about 1:30 PM, leaving me several hours to kill, and a problem to solve: How to notify Kathy, since there were no pay phones in or around the station, and I had no cell phone, of course. I asked the inmate if he would notify the officers back in Oakdale and he said, “They don’t care. They are done with you. You’re someone else’s problem now.

And with that, he was gone.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, control of my life had been handed back to me. For sure, it was not an absolute “I-am-in-charge-of-my-own-destiny” type of control. After all, I was expected to board the bus and report to my Probation Officer within 72 hours, but the control I did have was of mammoth proportions when compared with the lack of control I had had as an inmate at Oakdale FCI.

I had the same control over my life I had when I was expected to self-surrender 4 years earlier: I could not do what was expected of me if I so decided! I could run! I could flee! Fortunately, the time I had spent in Oakdale taught me many things, and high up on the list was the fact that I had spent a good portion of my life ‘fleeing’. It took some work, but I finally figured out that it was myself I was always running from, and no matter how hard I tried, I had never been able to escape me. Wherever in the vastness of this country I wound up, I was always there. Besides, fleeing would set the U.S. Marshalls upon me and I didn’t want to wind up facing Tommy Lee Jones in a storm drain trying to convince him I was a good person with him telling me that he didn’t care.

Nope, the best thing to do would be to figure out a way to call Kathy and let her know of the change in schedule, and proceed as planned. I wandered around in downtown Lafayette for a while searching fruitlessly for a payphone, and I finally gave up and walked back to the station. The man behind the desk told me to ask people to use their cell phone, but I felt really awkward about that. I finally got up the nerve to ask a friendly looking Hispanic man, and he turned me down. I have written about my past experiences with rejection, and I began to get a little tense, but I prayed silently (really, really prayed!) and tried another man who thought I was going to ask for a smoke at first, but gladly let me use his phone. I left Kathy a message, since it was only to be expected that she wouldn’t be available to answer. She called back right away, though, and he handed me the phone as soon as he saw it was a number he didn’t recognize. I gave her the new info, we chatted for a few moments, and then I hung up. I was considerably more relaxed now, and spent some time talking to the man whose phone I had borrowed. He worked on offshore oil rigs and had just come in for his shore time.

Many people wanted to know what the first thing I was going to eat was. What we envision and what constitutes reality are often two different things, as I have come to learn, and accept. What I wanted was unimportant. I actually went to a Burger King near the bus station and ordered a couple of breakfast sandwiches and a carton of milk. One of the sandwiches was the wrong thing, and the first mouthful of “ultra-pasteurized’ milk carrying an expiration date of a full month in the future was sour. Flat out spoiled. Maybe they weren’t aware that even though it was ‘ultra’ pasteurized, it still required refrigeration.

Welcome to the free world. Still, all things considered, it was the best-tasting sour milk I’d had in 4 years, and there had been plenty in Oakdale.

There wasn’t much I could do beyond watching the minutes, and the people, pass as I waited to board the bus that would take me miles away from here. I did buy a hot dog off of a cart outside the station as it got closer to noon, but I didn’t wander very far even though I knew when the bus was coming and could have gone exploring. I felt rather conspicuous in my cheap blue jeans and white golf shirt issued by the prison. It seemed as if I had this big sign on my forehead that announced who I was, where I had been, and the reason.

I began to pray in earnest for the patience to be calm, to be strong, and to be content. It would take all of that, and more, because my time was coming, and I hadn’t ridden on the bus in over 30 years. Like it had done me, time had changed the “Grey Dog” as well.

“PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW – THE LAST SUPPER” By Tony Casson

On August 21, 2014 By Tony CassonIn LAST SUPPERLeave a comment

Leaving prison should have represented something akin to one of the best days of my life, and while there certainly was a growing sense of anticipation, that anticipation was cloaked in something which more closely resembled sadness as the time drew closer.

My last meal at Oakdale Federal Correctional Institution (FCI), on Monday, May 19, was chili with cheese and onions which I used to smother a humongous, perfectly-baked potato. The term ‘baked potato’ itself is a misnomer most of the time as the potatoes falling into that category are most often just boiled with the skin on. Since this potato was actually baked, this was a definite treat. Before being executed, this would not have qualified as a particularly spectacular last meal, but it was more than adequate as a meal I attended for the primary reason of seeing individuals from other housing units I might not otherwise get a chance to see before leaving. In other words, my last supper was more of a social event than a stop for sustenance.

Walking back to my housing unit, I lagged behind my dinner companions to say goodbye to a man named Frank. In his 50’s and of Filipino descent, Frank has a year or two left on his sentence. Frank and I both have a child living in Seattle: he, a daughter, and I, a son. We shook hands, embraced, and left each other with as much encouragement as we could muster. After leaving Frank, I heard my name and turned around to see a young man named Cameron, who was walking with Bernie Ebbers. Bernie is seven years into a 25 year sentence for ‘cooking the books’ in the incident responsible for the collapse of WorldCom. I have often pondered the necessity for locking him and others like him away for so long and causing so much devastation behind them when there are most likely better options that could be employed in our collective search for justice, fairness, and punishment that is meaningful and achieves a purpose beyond causing intelligent, successful, and enterprising individuals to simply waste away in prison. This is a complicated issue, and I digress from the main story, although that is nothing new. It is an issue that will need to be dealt with in greater detail later. For now, suffice it to say that I pray for Bernie and for his family.

Cameron is in his late 20’s and had taken pictures of his girlfriend while in a relationship. The pictures were of a personal, sexual nature. His intent was not to post them on the internet, but the relationship deteriorated, and somehow the young woman’s mother ‘discovered’ the pictures, and turned them over to the police. You see, the young lady was 17 and Cameron was 24 when the photos were taken and Cameron was charged with ‘production of child pornography’. He struck a deal which netted him ‘only’ 9 years instead of the mandatory minimum of 15. I think back to something my good friend Richard Roy told me about his grandparents. Richard’s grandfather was 28 and his grandmother was 14 when they were married. The relationship ‘only’ lasted 50 years.

The times have changed.

Cameron and I embraced and wished each other well. I was not close to Bernie, but we did say goodbye. He was a regular fixture walking the track, and in chapel services on Sunday. He addressed a business class I had taken and I was saddened by the story he told, but I was saddened many times over the previous 4 years of my incarceration by the stories I was told. They headed off in the direction of their housing unit, and I headed back to mine. I walked about 20 feet before looking around. It was a rare moment when there was no one close to me, either in front or behind me and I was thankful for I had to suppress an almost overwhelming urge to break down and cry.

The enormity of the human tragedies represented by the men I had come to know, to care for, to pray about, and to respect slammed into me like a freight train and for a brief moment, I simply wanted to fall down and weep.

I have written quite often over the last four years about my own acceptance of responsibility for the irresponsibility of my actions, and the enormity of the situation surrounding incarceration in general and the draconian, pointlessly long sentences handed out for internet crimes in particular as it all pertains to my friends, their families, and this country as a whole so the scope of it all came as no real surprise or revelation. I guess I just had a moment where I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Like the occasional urge I still get to inhale cigarette smoke, it lasted only a brief moment, and then I was back to worrying about my friends. I was deeply saddened to be leaving them behind. Did I want to go? Of course, I did, but I wanted to take them all with me.

What I was preparing to leave behind was just a tiny snapshot of the total picture of what we are allowing to happen to this country because of our preference for pursuit, prosecution, and incarceration over prevention, as well as our growing need to sexualize everything in our lives until there is nothing left to sexualize but our children. We are pathetic, really, as a nation, and as individuals. There will be those who will point and loudly proclaim that it is me, and those like me, who are responsible for that condition, but that accusation would not even begin to adequately assign the blame and the responsibility.

I have accepted the blame for my part in all of this, but I can not, and will not, accept the blame for the misguided government officials who have allowed this to happen, not just to me, but to thousands, and potentially hundreds of thousands, of American citizens, to say nothing of their families.

As I reentered the place which had been my residence for the previous 4 years, I made a conscious effort to taste the sweetness of the successful completion of my sentence, but the bitterness of those misguided sentences received by some of those I was leaving behind rose like bile in the back of my throat. Stanley, 25 year sentence; David, 20 year sentence; Joseph, 17 1/2; Ken, 17 1/2; Pete, 15; Phillip, 12 1/2; and on, and on, and on. And for each one who leaves, there are more to fill in the spaces left.

Do not misunderstand me. I am angry at, and disappointed in, each man who willingly, knowingly, participated in his crimes. That said, I believe there are better ways to deal with the problem, as I have stated so many, many times before over the last 4 years. Ways that would also provide greater security for our children and protect other innocent victims from the scourge of internet pornography.

As I went around talking with different people, there were several awkward goodbyes as men who are not accustomed to displaying emotion in public fought back the urge to do so.

As I continued to say my goodbyes, I reflected on the fact that many of them expressed confident hope in me. The hope was that I would continue the things I began in prison and I will not disappoint them. Adjusting to breathing the ‘free air’ that Steve Marshall wrote to my dear friend Diane about will take some time, but I get ahead of myself.

In order to continue to do the things I have maintained must be done, I must first get to Washington, D.C. to begin my new life at the Central Union Mission (missiondc.org). I must get situated, centered, and build relationships with those who will hold sway over my new freedom, as well as those I will be working with, and for, in the mission itself, and as I prepare to reenter the workforce.

Exciting times lie ahead, filled with God’s promise of a future and a hope, but first I have to get there, and to do that, I have to get to Lafayette in the morning so I can get on the Grey Dog.

To be continued…………

“But Names May Always Hurt Me” by George

On August 14, 2014 By Tony CassonIn But Names May Always Hurt Me1 Comment

“Are you a Cho’mo?”

It is the first question a clean-cut Caucasian male gets asked when arriving in prison. Felons, like sixth graders, must be quickly sorted by their peers into appropriate social groups. Without knee-jerk junior high labels, how did you know the jocks from the burnouts from the nerds from the skanks from the cheerleaders? And more precisely, those labels told you what assumptions and judgments to make about their characters.

Who cared about first investing the time and energy to understand the individual she truly was before labeling her a skank – subjecting her to years of ridicule and social banishment? In prison, like in school, books are always judged by their covers: Dirty White Boys, Mexicans or Puerto Ricans, Blacks, Asians, Muslims, and Cho’mos.

I’m not sure the age most of us experienced being hurtfully teased and judgmentally labeled in our youth, but we must have been young enough for a parent to try to thicken our skin with “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Well, try as I might, that rhyme never placated the social shame I suffered, regardless how tough my outer shell became. How did it work for you?

“Cho’mo” is prison slang for “child molester.” The label carries the same societal disgust regardless of which side of the bars you are on. And in prison hierarchy, Cho’mos are the lowest of the low. Murder someone – no worries; deal in drugs that decimate whole communities – who hasn’t; cook the company’s books stealing thousands of people’s hard earned retirement money – for being so smart, how were you dumb enough to get caught; view one on-line image classified as child pornography – child molester.

Now before you assume too much about where I’m going, remember I am speaking about labels and their assumptions. Bear with me before your “Onward Christian Soldier” shield comes up.

“Child molester” used to mean just that – someone who forced physical, and usually sexually, contact on a minor under the age of consent.

When you hear the word “child” do you naturally think of a six year old, or do you envision a seventeen year old? They’re both minors in the eyes of the law, but are they both children? Possibly the more accurate label should have been “minor molester,” but the former is much more salacious when reporting the event. Again, “child” conjures one image; “minor” another; and what if the word was “teenager?”

Alter the label and you’ll alter the perception. And does that alteration also change the assumptions about the guilty?

I’ve been wrestling with the term “Cho’mo” and its implication since my arrival at Oakdale. Unlike the “n word,” tossed around here by most African-American inmates to each other as much a term of defamation as one of affirmation, “Cho’mo” is only a term of denigration; an antiquated term that’s implications have transferred over to the more contemporary legal term “sex offender.” I might be classified a sex offender, but I am not a child molester. And yet, when you read “sex offender” do the assumptions of “child molester” flood your imagination? Do you assume a pocket full of candy, a nondescript van and an Amber Alert?

Have you picked up your judgmental and emotionally charged pitchforks, torches, or sticks and stones yet?

“Sex offender” is a huge net of a label which does captures a wide range of Internet-based sexual offenses. Most of these offenses center around child pornography. Though most of us have a general idea of what child pornography is, did you know that some experts classify the culturally iconic 1960’s Coppertone image of a dog pulling down a bronzed little girl’s bathing suit to reveal her tan line as child pornography? Also, some experts believe that hugging a child longer than thirty seconds or kissing her on the lips is child molestations – and that applies to the child’s parents and family members, not just to strangers. When was the last time you ran a stopwatch on a hug?

Don’t misunderstand me, child molesters do exist, and I am saddened, disturbed, and repulsed by their actions. I am not co convinced, however, that the sexual predator stigma assumed by the label “sex offender” is accurate when applied to all Internet actions or offenses.

Here are some of the situations, distilled down to their major points, which have landed some of the sex offenders at Oakdale FCI. I ask you, before you lift a stick of assumption and cast a stone of judgment, what label would you apply to these men after getting a clearer idea of their actions; and an idea how wide law enforcement, the federal government, can cast their net. Who is the child molester, the predator, the sex offender, the pervert, the voyeur, or maybe only someone just like you – a sinner?

Man #1: A married man with small children searches the Internet to find free children-themed movies to entertain his family. As he searches and downloads files, he discovers to his disgust that some of the benignly-titled files are actually child pornography. He shows these to his wife in the spirit of “can you believe this is coming in?” His wife is equally mortified. He then deletes them from his computer. Several months later the FBI shows up on his doorstep, arresting him for possession of child pornography – the files he had opened were encrypted with tracking data.

As a responsible parent he had opened the files to preview the content before showing them to his children. Simply because a file is titled “Little Mermaid” doesn’t mean it is an animated classic with singing fish. Even though he deleted all inappropriate and pornographic files, the fact that he had opened them made him guilty – regardless of not knowing it was child pornography in advance.

He went to trial to fight the charges and was sentenced to 17 years as a sex offender. As often happens, going to trial to fight the charges incurs a much longer sentence than taking the government’s plea of guilty deal in advance. Either way, the government never loses. Upon his release, he’ll have to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life.

Man #2: Legally blind from birth, a 60 year old man had software on his computer to search the Internet for free music to listen to and enjoy. Every day he opened the files the program found. Upon listening, if he liked it, he kept it; if he didn’t care for it, he deleted it; and if the opened file contained no sound, that file was deleted too.

One day, the FBI showed up at his door, arresting him for possession of child pornography. The man was shocked to learn he had been downloading and “viewing” (opening) child porn – as evidenced by files of photos (no sound) and videos (music he didn’t like) opened by his computer and still sitting in his computer’s “trash.”

This blind man, who has never seen anything in his life, is serving five years as a sex offender. [At his trial, some of the files were shown to the jury as evidence. And as the courtroom sat in shocked silence viewing the obscene material, this “guilty” man sat there in oblivious silence, still as unable to see as the day he was born.]

Man #3: A man of legal age was dating a 17 year old female, and it was no secret that their relationship was sexual. Her parents knew about the relationship and approved of the man. On occasion this man and his girlfriend would take explicit photos of themselves while having sex.

They, for whatever reason, decided to post the photos on the Internet. The girl’s parents find out about the posting and had the man arrested for production and distribution of child pornography. At 17 she is of consensual age to have sex; however, the consensual age for pornography is 18, so he is guilty. She bore no responsibility for her participation in the making of the photos because, being under 18, she, as the court stated, was not of an age to understand the implications of her actions. She was still a minor for pornography, though legally no longer a minor for consensual sex. He is serving his prison term as a sex offender. He was 19 at the time of his arrest.

Man #4: A professional, single, middle-aged man enjoyed going on Craig’s List to the adult (over 18 only) chat boards. He often posted listings looking for someone “18+” to explicitly chat with on the phone. (Adult chat boards are filled with these types of listing – and listings of people looking for much more than just that.)

Of the many responses he received, he struck up a chain of correspondences with a similarly-aged woman. Over time they learned more about each other’s interests and proclivities. Eventually she asked him if it would bother him if she was under 18 (under the age of consent). He said he wasn’t interested in someone underage, but wondered if she was looking for someone underage. One of the attractions of these kind of adult chat boards is that you can say anything or be anyone – “truth” is often fantasy, nothing more.

As the woman continued to blur the age of consent lines, she asked if he’d like to see an explicit photo, and asked to see one of him in return. He sent her a photo, and when he asked for hers in exchange, she never responded, and stopped communicating with him.

When the FBI showed up to arrest him, he learned that the woman he had been chatting with had actually been a male FBI officer. The man was charged with solicitation of a minor (though there was no minor, in truth), and is serving four years. He’ll have to register as a sex offender for ten years following his release.

Of the roughly estimated 600 sex offenders here at Oakdale, I know of less than a handful that are actually sentenced for being a “Cho’mo.” The rest, though child molester falls into the sex offender category, had no contact with a minor as part of their charge.

It is easy to make assumptions based on labels. And yes, some of those labels may prove true for a select few; however, more often the label does not accurately describe that truth as it applies to the majority labeled. How many dolphins must die in the tuna net before the net is modified to only capture tuna and zero dolphins?

The next time you read or hear of a sex offender in the news, or receive a card in the mail informing you that one is moving into your neighborhood, what will you think? What will you do? To what lengths would you go to perpetuate the label, or to what lengths will you go to understand the character of the actual person behind the label? Would you banish the sinner or accept the sinner in your church?

How are we taught as Christians to judge others, and to what severity should that judgment’s punishment be? If your private behavior was aired in public, how would you wish to be judged – or would you wish to be understood?

I’ll close with this parable from Jesus:

“but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning, He came again to the temple; all the people came to Him, and He sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst they said to Him, ‘Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such. What do you say about her?’ This they said to test Him. Jesus bent down and wrote with His finger on the ground. And as they continued to ask Him, He stood up and said to them, ‘Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.’ And once more He bent down and wrote with His finger on the ground. But when they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the eldest, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before Him. Jesus looked up and said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, Lord.’ And Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go and do not sin again.’” John 8:1-11 (RSV)

BEHIND DOOR #2 by George

On July 11, 2014 By Tony CassonIn Behind Door #2 by GeorgeLeave a comment

“When God closes a door, He opens a window” is just the type of cliché I despise, especially while I’m sitting in prison. Clichés look good on greeting cards and needlepoint pillows.

Of course, we all use clichés, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I am as bad in peddling them as truth as the next person. Usually we pull them out of our bag of comforting tricks to put a positive spin on a not so positive situation. Well, being in prison definitely qualifies as a “not so positive situation.”

I arrived at Oakdale as Tony Casson, the originator of this website, was due to be released. Unknown to me, I had been a topic of this website before my arrival at Oakdale. A caring friend had discovered this blog and wrote to Tony asking to look out for her friend George, me, who would be arriving soon. As fate would have it, or as I believe God would have it, I ended up being assigned to the same housing unit as Tony. No small feat of coincidence on a compound of over 1,600 inmates between eight housing units.

Imagine my surprise, though I’m sure my expression was one more of shock, when a complete stranger approached me and said, “Oh, you’re George. I know your friend Judy back home.” How could anyone here know me, let alone one of my friends from back home? Over the next several days, Tony became an invaluable resource of how to navigate daily prison life. By the time Tony left, we had developed a friendship. One that now places upon me the honor of contributing to and continuing this blog.

You may think that the opening cliché seems quite applicable to the passing on of this blog from Tony to me. “When God closes a door,” – Tony leaving Oakdale to rebuild his life in D.C. – “He opens a window.” – I arrived at Oakdale to pick up the Oakdale Chronicles pen and soldier on. How could I despise the “truth” in that?

In my heart I don’t. But I also think God is doing something more miraculous than simply “opening a window.” As a convicted felon, the idea that God is making me crawl through a window of opportunity conjures up an image of creeping in to thieve and do no good. There is dignity in walking through a door, and though I am in no way proud of my actions that brought me to Oakdale, I know I’m not here to creep and crawl forward through life.

I am here to stand up, accept responsibility for my actions, do my time in the faith and knowledge that God has a positive purpose to this part of my life’s journey, and by sharing this journey with you, hopefully give you a glimpse into how the power of prayer and the pursuit of His truth can change a life – not only mine, but quite possibly yours too!

So, as we all face adversity and discouragement, I offer this illumination of the cliché. “When God opened the door for Tony to go forth and do good work, He closed it behind me coming in; but He also opened a window for me to breathe fresh air and to see the sun until the time comes for a door to open for me.

When you feel closed off by life, look for the air and the light that will sustain you until a door opens again. There is always another, more dignified door in God’s house to walk through. Let the light show you that door.

“So Jesus again said to them, ‘Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the door of the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and robbers; but the sheep did not heed them. I am the door, if any one enters by me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.’” – John 10:7-10 RSV

“UNDERSTANDING MIRACLES” by Tony Casson

On May 17, 2014 By Tony CassonIn Understanding MiraclesLeave a comment

“Let them see that this is Your doing,

That You have done it, Lord!” Psalm 109:27 NLT

The parting of the Red Sea is most definitely viewed as a miraculous event. Jesus Christ walking on water, healing the sick and the lame, and giving sight to the blind would all qualify, as would His resurrection. We read about all of these things, and more, in the Bible, but often we allow skepticism and doubt to tug at the corners of our belief, testing the limits of our faith. We want to see miracles for ourselves. We want evidence. We want proof.

Unfortunately, we are so busy doubting or being skeptical, we fail to see the living proof that is provided to us on a daily basis. The miracle of ourselves is all the proof we should require, and I have come to finally notice the miracle that is ME.

The story of my attempted suicide has been painfully recounted in these pages several times over the last four years. That attempt was made out of rage at something within myself that refused to allow me to walk in God’s light. That attempt was made because I was angry with myself for a lifetime of mistakes, missed opportunities, dishonesty with others and myself, unfaithfulness, immorality, immaturity, and lack of compassion for those around me. I was blind to the truth and it would take a miracle to enable me to see.

In the Bible, the story is told of Jesus and His disciples coming upon a man who had been blind since birth. “‘Rabbi,’ His disciples asked Him, ‘why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents’ sins?’ ‘It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,’ Jesus answered. ‘This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.'” (John 9:2-3 NLT)

A new person was created when the man’s eyes were opened. He knew where the power that healed him came from and he praised God and worshipped Him from that point forward. He did not allow skepticism or doubt to enter into the equation. He did not chalk it up to ‘coincidence’ or ‘good luck’. He KNEW it was the power of God and he wanted people to know that.

God has created in me a new person, and I want you all to know that. His power has worked a miracle within this individual who, at the lowest point in his life, lay covered in his own blood hovering near death. His power washed off MY blood with the blood of Jesus, and washed away my sin and my pain, washed away the blindness in my eyes, my mind, and my heart, and opened them all up to the truth.

And the truth is this: We are ALL miracles, each and every one of us. Some of the miracles have not been performed yet, but triggering the power of God that will create that new person is a simple as saying, “I cannot do this alone anymore, Lord. Please forgive me. Please help me.”

I am walking out the door I entered a little over 4 years ago. I am traveling to Washington, D.C., headed for a future that has not been totally revealed to me yet, but one which I am ready to face, eager to meet, and promised to me by God. This part of the prisoner’s story ends here, but the journey itself is just beginning. Look for further updates here as that future is revealed. Perhaps I will start a companion blog called “The After-Oakdale Chronicles”. No matter the direction this blog takes, this story is not ending. It is just beginning.

I have come to understand miracles. The miracle is ME. I pray that you allow God to perform a miracle in you as well, for all the proof we need of God’s power was placed within us at birth. Ask him to unleash it in YOU.

God bless you all, and thank you for your support.

“GRADUATION DAY” by Tony Casson

On May 4, 2014 By Tony CassonIn GRADUATION DAYLeave a comment

I am a firm believer in the need for more than ‘rehabilitation’ if individuals are to actually accomplish anything resembling noticeable, and meaningful, changes in lifestyle, behavior, and actions. We all have heard “If you keep doing the same things, don’t be surprised if you keep getting the same results”. Prison provides an excellent platform from which to launch changes within our lives IF we are dedicated to the fundamental belief that something in our life NEEDS changing. It should come as no surprise if I tell you many individuals do not seem to want to change much of anything, except perhaps the fact they are incarcerated.

For those who realize that their lives need to be lived differently, it is not enough to simply try to adopt new practices, hobbies, or job skills. True change can only be accomplished through a complete, intensive spiritual transformation. Look at it this way: In an old house, black mold is apparent by looking at the walls and ceilings. An investment is made in paint and the time is taken to do the painting. The end result looks pretty darn good.

For a while.

The effects of the cover-up may even last QUITE a while, but sooner or later the problem is going to rise to the surface. Why? Because the ROOT of the problem was not fixed. The problem was not eradicated and replaced with something new, strong, and resilient to the mold itself. Unless all of the affected areas are cut out and replaced with new material, nothing much changes, and before too long, what temporarily gave the impression of being new looks exactly the same as it did before, perhaps even worse. Perhaps more dangerous. Perhaps more deadly.

There ARE men in prison who recognize the need for change. No, that’s not totally accurate. There ARE men in prison who recognize the need for a complete spiritual TRANSFORMATION. There are men in prison who sincerely and completely want to walk out of prison different on the inside than they were when they walked in. Some might use the negativity of the environment as an excuse for not successfully completing that transformation. Some may point to the plethora of temptation that permeates the environment. Some may point to a lack of dedicated staff, programs, or opportunities, and find their escape from the work required by blaming others. The simple fact of the matter is that GOD gives each of us the power to transform our hearts, which gives us the ability to transform our lives. We can accomplish this without ANY cooperation or participation of others, without ANY program, without ANY involvement of anyone besides ourselves, and many (certainly not anywhere near enough) men DO allow God to help them undergo just that type of complete and total spiritual transformation which can change the course of a human life.

There will be skeptics and cynics who will view the following claim with something less than acceptance, belief, or any other positive response: I have worked very diligently, with purpose and determination, to allow God to guide my own spiritual transformation. I have sought the companionship and counsel of like-minded individuals, and I have endeavored to benefit those around me with encouragement that all is not lost; that life is just beginning, if we choose to allow God to be the focus OF that life; that He can make us new people, and He will, but WE must welcome the transformation and be ready to ACCEPT it.

Most of my personal work was done in the relative privacy of my cell, but I had the opportunity to attend a 10 week class through the prison chapel this past October. It was a small-group study called “The Miracle Of Life Change”, and there were 15 of us in the group. The program was produced by Chip Ingram, and included workbooks and a DVD series. We were also given homework after each session which consisted of some very probing questions. Signing up for the class, I was excited, as were the others I spoke with. It was a positive offering in a truly negative environment. The class began with total immersion on the part of all involved, but it wasn’t long before we began to experience difficulties, most of them centered on the fact it took 7 months to complete that 10 week class due to frequent cancellations and rescheduling. Something which began on an extremely positive, upbeat note, became something cumbersome and intrusive. Enthusiasm waned and those participating just wanted it to be over. We finally completed the class and a ‘graduation’ ceremony was scheduled. I was asked to give a short speech. Despite the fact the class had become a long, drawn-out affair lacking in continuity, as I set about the task of writing the speech, I discovered that it held more relevance to what I had been doing for the past 4 years than I was initially ready to give it credit for. I realized the importance of the material, the message, and my own motives, and put into place the LAST lesson I was to extract from the class: Nothing in life is perfect. It is only by working through the imperfections and not letting them derail our original purpose that we truly learn how to live in the free world, how to cope, how to become different people than the ones who walked into this place.

I set about the task of writing a speech I felt reflected the positive benefits of the class, the experience of taking the class, the things that were shared and discussed between the men in the class, and I looked forward to the day I would give the speech. That day dawned and at lunch, an hour or so before the ‘ceremony’, I was told there was a sign on the door of the chapel stating, simply: “GRADUATION CANCELLED”. Not postponed. Not delayed. Cancelled.

This announcement was met with nothing other than resigned acceptance. It had become, after all, the ‘nature of the beast’. I was going to simply file away a copy of the speech and cancel my original plans to turn the speech into an article for posting in these Chronicles. Lessons are everywhere. God leaves crumbs for us to pick up in every situation we encounter and it is only when we allow our hearts and our minds to be opened that our eyes can finally recognize this fact.

The speech I wrote follows, but this statement, which was not a part of the original speech, SHOULD have been. Rather than insert it into the speech itself, I offer it as an afterthought since a few individuals have read the original speech, and some of them may read this article. That statement is this:

People, places, and other outside influences do NOT determine our ability to transform who we are. The ability for a definitive, complete, worthwhile transformation comes from inside of ourselves, and it is put there by God. If we are determined to purge ourselves of the habits, thoughts, actions, modes of speech, activities, practices and lifestyles which contributed to our incarceration, there is nothing anyone can do to prevent that from happening. The power of God trumps all the negativity, rescheduled classes and cancelled ceremonies that can be thrown at us, and when we let the negativity of our surroundings take our focus off of our purpose, we are only demonstrating we have taken our focus off of God.

Some time back I introduced an acronym I had created, and I will re-introduce it here:

PRISON

Personal

Responsibility

Spite

Negativity

I – and only I – am personally responsible for the Miracle of my OWN life change, and I accept that responsibility. I have been incarcerated and I have not liked it, but I gladly have accepted PRISON.

Here, then, is my “Graduation Speech”. I hope you enjoy it.

First of all, I would like to thank each member of this class for the time we spent together. There were deeply personal and revealing moments shared, some of which were painful to discuss, all of which contributed to the personal growth of those sharing, as well as of those with whom they were shared. I would also like to thank Ms. Johnson for making the class possible. For such an opportunity to be presented in an environment like this demonstrates a level of concern not often witnessed, and while nothing in life is perfect; while there is always room for improvement in everything we do; Ms. Johnson’s dedication to the purpose of the class cannot be denied or diminished, and should be held within the minds and hearts of all who participated as a very bright spot in a place capable of incredible darkness.

For some of us, Chip Ingram’s “Miracle Of Life Change” course of study is very aptly named in that the ability to change our lives IS a miracle in and of itself. Miracle – or simply the result of very focused, hard work – if we are to leave this place different people than the ones who arrived here, the need for a transformation of our hearts and thought processes was indicated by how we had all lived our lives previously and what we did individually to arrive at this particular destination.

The reasons we all had for feeling that a spiritual transformation was required, varies from person to person, but I would like to read something from my book, “TODAY IS….A Gift From God”, that I believe represents where we all began in our search for that transformation within ourselves. It is the message for August 14th, and it is titled “Today is the perfect day to take back what was stolen from us”.

It goes like this:

Every single one of us has had something stolen from us by Satan. No one has escaped except for Christ. We have all given in to temptation and we have all sinned and every time we have sinned we have allowed Satan to take something else from us. We have been his willing victims.

He has stolen dignity from some of us. From others, he has stolen decency. He has stolen our faithfulness to our spouses and our faith in God. He has stolen our truthfulness, and he has stolen our integrity. We have let him slip away in the darkness with our morality, and we have let him get away unnoticed with our kindness. He has pocketed our happiness, and smashed the windows to our souls and left the space empty. He has cheated us out of our love for ourselves, leaving us unable to love anyone else. He has conned us out of our certainty, leaving us with our doubts.

When we weren’t looking, he walked away with our compassion and left disdain in its place. While he distracted us with self-indulgence, he swiped our desire to help others and replaced it with selfishness. He has stolen our tolerance while trying to convince us that hostility and impatience were better suited to our personalities.

He has stolen our sight, making it impossible to see the pain of others and he has taught us to lie, cheat, and steal while we have hungrily pursued the education.

More than likely, what Satan has stolen from you is somewhere on this list. If not, it needs to be added, because everyone has lost something. Some of us have lost more than one thing, and perhaps more than a few of us have lost it all. He will try to prevent you from calculating your exact losses. He will try to cloud your judgment, distract you, or take something else from you. He pretends to be the best friend you have ever had, but he is – in reality – the biggest danger you have ever faced. He will suck everything good out of you until there is nothing left but your last breath and then he will take that as well.

But the Good News is that today is not going to be like yesterday. Today we are going to take it all back. God has been waiting for today for a very long time, and He is glad that it is here. We must reach out and ask God to take our hand and tell Him we want everything Satan has stolen from us. Today is the perfect day to take it all back, and God is the Perfect One to help us all get it.

God is the Perfect One, indeed!

Proverbs 21:31, in the New Living Translation tells us that, “The horse is prepared for battle, but the victory belongs to the Lord!”

WE are those horses, and Chip Ingram’s “Miracle Of Life Change” helps us to prepare for the battles ahead. Now that this class has ended we must be acutely aware that the end of this class is NOT a signal to allow ourselves to think that an irreversible change has come over us and what each of us had allowed to be stolen from us, and has hopefully been returned, will remain permanently safe – that those things can never be stolen again. The end of this class is NOT an occasion to pat each other on the back in congratulations simply to move on to the next item on our list of “Things I want to do in prison that will look good to my PO.” The end of this class is not an indication that we can let down our guard and live life in a carefree manner with no regard for what we have learned, or the progress we have made.

The end of this class is merely an indication that the rest of our life has BEGUN and we have been provided with valuable tools with which to help us live those lives differently. The end of this class is the BEGINNING of our opportunity to prove to others change is possible. The end of this class is the START of new responsibilities to ourselves, our families, our friends, and to God. The end of this class marks the INITIATION of our need for vigilance, to prevent Satan from slipping in the back doors of our lives to begin his work again.

We should be careful broadcasting the words, “I am a changed man”. Ecclesiastes 5:7, in the New Living Translation begins, “Talk is cheap”, and we all know this to be true. Nor does a certificate of completion, a diploma, or a notation in our file offer definitive proof that we have learned even one thing or taken anything more than the first step in transforming our lives. It is only through our actions, the manner in which we live our lives, and the way we treat other people that we can provide testimony to the fact that something is different; that we have allowed God to enter into our hearts and purge us of who we were; that we have allowed Him to make us new; that we have learned and that we LIVE the lessons of this class, and the lessons we receive reading God’s Word each and every day. Only by SHOWING others who we have become can the true miracle of our individual life changes be verified.

Completing Chip Ingram’s course is a step in the direction of new lives, and now that we have taken that step, we are better prepared to take each successive step, never getting ahead of ourselves, but never falling behind either. We must stay focused on Christ, keep following His example, and we must keep putting to use the things we learned as we explored our old behaviors and replaced them with new ones. The course materials we were given should remain with us as reminders of the work we have done, and as sources of valuable assistance to continue that work.

The Miracle Of Life Change is an ongoing process, and I will pray for God to provide each one of us with the strength, courage, wisdom and desire to continue what we have started. Thank you.

-THE LETTER- by Tony Casson

On April 24, 2014 By Tony CassonIn THE LETTERLeave a comment

Like most people, I receive more email than ‘snail’ mail, so I was rather surprised the other day to hear my name during mail call. Most of the time, that occurs only to announce the arrival of a package, a book, or a magazine, and on this particular day I was not expecting any of those items. Upon being handed the letter, I looked at the return address, only to see that it belonged to a church of which I was not familiar. Nor was the writing which addressed the letter to me in a hand I recognized.

The letter was from a woman named Judy, and she was writing out of concern for a close friend. His name is George, and he is the godfather of one of her children. George is awaiting the day he is to self-surrender here at Oakdale, FCI, much as I did a little over 4 years ago. In searching for information on the institution itself, she came upon these Chronicles. Judy indicated George’s crime is the same as mine and she is concerned for him. I got the distinct impression that prison is a new experience for him, as it is for so many who are guilty of this, and other, internet computer crimes. Like all who are unfamiliar with the whole concept of incarceration from the perspective of experiencing it firsthand, George wonders what awaits him.

Judy’s concern for the welfare of this man is touching. She acknowledged reading that I am leaving soon, but she requested that I extend a hand of friendship to George and help him to find his way around if I should still be here when he arrives. This place can be quite surreal to those walking in off the street and who are accustomed to more civilized surroundings. There are adjustments to be made by those incarcerated, as well as by those on the outside who care about them, and I will do my best to offer advice to both.

My response to the letter is in two parts. The first is in an open letter to Judy; the second, an open letter to George. In presenting the letters this way, perhaps the information may be useful to others as well.

-AN OPEN LETTER TO A CONCERNED FRIEND-

Dear Judy,

I thank you for your kind letter. I was deeply moved by your obvious compassion, kindness, and concern for George’s well-being. In your letter you indicated that you had read an article I wrote where I encouraged people to get involved with some of the organizations dedicated to working for positive change in the way our government ‘leaders’ deal with this very serious and destructive problem sweeping our nation like a California wildfire fanned by Santa Ana winds. I reiterate that encouragement here. Reform Sex Offender Laws (RSOL) national and state organizations are an excellent place to start.

George is fortunate to have a friend like you, Judy. For your part, and for others who know someone facing what George is facing, or who is already in a place such as the one from which I write, I would like to offer some tips that might make the experience less frightening or foreboding than it is for all concerned.

Communication is important, and hearing our names at mail call is something we can never tire of. We want to know what is happening in the lives of those we care about and we like to see pictures of life being lived on the outside. There may be concern that pictures will make us sad, and that is true on one level, but reassurance that those whose lives our behavior has impacted are still capable of carrying on, laughing, smiling, growing, and enjoying life outweighs whatever negative thoughts or feelings may be experienced.

I will say it again, “Communication is important”. Hearing the voices of those we love is something we need. Please take the time and visit “Google Voice” to obtain a ‘free’ local phone number for your inmate to call. The difference between having this number for someone living out of state is this: 15 minutes with a Google Voice number is $.90, whereas that same 15 minute call without it is $3.15. That’s like getting three calls for the price of one, plus a couple of soups from the commissary. It is very important that you take the time to do a little research. The correct area code is 318, but do not accept, or select just ANY prefix in the 318 area code. It MUST be a prefix that is specific to Oakdale ONLY, and there are only 2, I believe.

Books are always welcome. You can mail up to 5 paperbacks at a time, but do NOT mail them in a box. Mail them in an envelope-type mailer and do not mail more than 5 paperback (NO HARDBACK BOOKS MAY BE SENT FROM HOME) books or magazines at a time. More than 5 will result in ALL being returned. Official rules call for the package to be marked “Approved Per Policy”. If you purchase magazine subscriptions, provide them with something educational like Smithsonian or National Geographic. I received both while here and they were always in demand by others.

We do not have Google in here. We do like to ask people to look things up for us, and it is surprising to me how many people have difficulty getting that done. We know people on the outside are busy, but help where you can. I never felt unloved by family or other relatives, but the defining relationship of my stay here was the one developed with the friend of my sister’s I have written about many times in these pages: Diane Woodall. People do not have to be family to care about others or to reach out to help. The many, many, MANY pages of research Diane provided me with assisted me greatly in producing this body of work. It may not be what many people expected: A prison tell-all, full of the bad things that happen in prison and the tough conditions and circumstances. It IS prison, there is no denying that, but as Anthony (my Son) subtitled this blog, it is MY story, and I chose to use that story to chronicle my thoughts, but also to chronicle the changes my constantly growing relationship with God have wrought. I did what you need to encourage your friend George to do – focus on building that relationship with God and let the relationship lead him to the process of building a plan for the future. This place can defeat a person. This much is true. But each individual makes the decision to ALLOW that to happen. More on this in my letter to George. Diane’s diligent efforts on my behalf have contributed greatly to my ability to believe in the plan God has for my future. You have exhibited “Diane-like” qualities. I think George is very lucky. Not as lucky as me, of course! 😉

Inmates are allowed to bring in a Bible if they self-surrender, but I do not know the rules regarding hardback editions. Leather and paperback editions may be brought in or mailed from home. All hardback books of any kind must come from the publisher. If a Bible is not brought in, arrange to have one mailed in as soon as possible after arrival. I suggest a “One Year” Bible in the translation of your choice, and an accompanying “Life Application” Study Bible in the same translation.

Pick up a couple of devotional books to have ready to send in to your family member or friend as soon as they have arrived at their destination. “MY Utmost For His Highest”, Streams In The Dessert” are two wonderful sources of guidance, inspiration, and food for thought that have proven valuable to many people for decades. My own recently published collection of daily thoughts meditations, “TODAY IS….A Gift From God” is available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HKKL1RE. (Please do not think this is a shamelessly self-serving promotion. I am confident the messages God helped me to write will add something to each day for George and anyone else who purchases it.) Also, do not think that all three would be too many, as that is not the case. I read 6 different daily devotionals (including my own), and each one provides me with something useful to help me make the most of each day.

In all that you do, try to remember that nothing is forever. It is very difficult for many individuals to see their way through to the light that shines at the end of the tunnel (no matter HOW long the tunnel may be there is always light there). We may have a tendency to be full of self-pity at times. Be patient with us, but do not allow us to wallow in it.

Most important of all, support, encourage, and help your ‘inmate’ to make God the focus of their life. Many may have Him as a PART of their life, but that is not good enough. He must BE their life. Everything else must flow from that relationship; everything else is a part of our lives, but NOT God. There are many here who would disagree with me, but all I can do is try to impress upon people the amazing things He has done for me, and continues to do. The relationship He has built with me sustains me, and provides me with the Hope I need to have confidence in the future. I am not unique, or special. What He does for me, He will do for all who ask. This is not as difficult as we make it. It is unfortunate we allow it to appear that way.

May God bless you, Judy for reaching out on George’s behalf. I hope this information, and what follows for George, is helpful.

And now for George himself:

-AN OPEN LETTER TO GEORGE-

Dear George,

Your friend, Judy, wrote to me and asked me to help you. This letter represents that attempt. I pray it helps a little.

When you pull up in the parking lot on the day you are to surrender here at Oakdale, you will be filled with a variety of emotions. The razor-wire topped fence surrounding the compound can be quite intimidating to those not accustomed to seeing it. You will park in the visitor’s section and will reluctantly walk to the entrance. Walk confidently through the front door with your Bible in your hand, and God in your heart. The person sitting at the front desk will take it from there. Have the person dropping you off stay there until you are taken into the prison itself and have changed out of your street clothes. They will give you a bag to put your clothes in and they will give it to that individual. Leave your wallet with that person. Try to get your driver’s license renewed before you come in and leave it with someone out there. If it is valid when you leave that is one less thing to concern yourself.

This word will be easier for me to type than for you to put into practice as you find yourself totally under the control of strangers: RELAX. Everything you will experience from this point forward will be new to you, but you will come to no harm. You will be ‘processed in’ through R&D, receive your PPD (TB Test), and escorted to the S.H.U., which is the Special Housing Unit. It is also where they segregate self-surrenders until their PPD is read. Personally, I think it goes beyond that and is intended to let you know where you will go if you misbehave. It is not comfortable, but it IS temporary. 5 days for me, but I have known others who were in there longer. I didn’t like it, and have never visited again.

Again, just relax. Pray, read your bible, ask for books (You may or may not be successful getting them. It depends on who is working. I believe being polite and respectful helps. I read 3 in 5 days, but they were not anything I would have selected in the library. Still, I didn’t know I could bring in a Bible, so I did not have one to read. I would have read a milk carton.)

I spent 25 years in the restaurant business, and many of them were spent training new managers. One of the first lessons I tried to instill in them was this: From the moment we walk in the building, every action we take is geared towards leaving. This simply meant that we worked throughout the day and didn’t save things until the last moment. Going home was our goal. We tried to enjoy our job but leaving was the ultimate objective. Unlocking the door was simply the first step taken towards locking it at the end of the day.

Prison is no different. Focus on leaving and work toward that goal from the moment you enter. Enter with a positive attitude and you will stand a better chance of maintaining it once you are here. I chose God as the source of my strength, courage, and desire to improve myself. There are other choices one can make. I offer Him as the best one and no person on the face of the earth can tell me otherwise.

In the S.H.U. you will eat, read, and sleep. That’s pretty much it. You and your ‘cellie’ will take turns using the facilities. Privacy is, for the most part, gone, at least in the S.H.U., and to a lesser degree in the housing units. The degree of relative privacy you have depends on whether you are designated to a unit with 6 man cells, or 2 man cells. I am in Allen 1 and I have been grateful to God every day for my 2 man cell.

When you are released from the S.H.U. you will no doubt experience a second round of angst as you make your way through the compound to your housing unit. Being released from the ‘hole’, you will likely get out during a time when other inmates are moving around as well, instead of just after 4 PM count, which is the norm. The ones you pass and the ones you see in the housing unit will all look at you. It’s not you, personally. New people are interesting. People recognize individuals from other places, from home….it is just plain odd. Just ignore them and head for whatever room/bed is designated for you. If you happen to be designated to Allen 1, seek out Phillip in 132, or Brandon in 127. Given you have a few weeks to surrender, plus the time you will be in the S.H.U., I doubt I will still be here, but you can stop in 208 and say hello to my ‘cellie’, Pete. If you are assigned to any other unit, find out when you can go to the chapel, go there when you can and ask for Phillip, who is one of the orderlies there. From a spiritual standpoint, he can guide you to the programs and offerings that are here. He will also give you a pretty accurate overview of how things work and where things are.

You will adjust, and I can say this because we all do. The individuals who don’t are rare.

I cannot state unequivocally what your prison experience will be like, because it is different for everyone. I do believe that those who are miserable here each day make themselves so. I am thoroughly convinced that each day is a gift from God and we must make a conscious choice to use it to serve Him. In doing that, He will reward us with Hope and will fill us with optimism. Our past is there for us to learn from, but it does not have to deny us our future, although it surely will if we allow it to. I could write on and on about this place, but your attitude and your faith will determine how YOU see it. Perhaps Judy can share some of the other articles I wrote for my blog, such as “With Eyes Wide Open”. Perhaps she will share them all. I hope she shares this letter at least, and that you find it somewhat helpful

I have never found anything extremely negative to write about this place. It is prison, and people have jobs to do. As in any situation in life, not all people are friendly, and some can be particularly difficult, but for the most part, the staff here is made up of everyday people with families to take care of who are doing a job, making a living and getting on with their lives. I have not encountered any who are really hateful. Irritating, yes. Admittedly there are a few of those. My own personal experience has been that if you are respectful, upbeat, clean, personable, and demonstrate a sincere willingness to improve yourself, your interaction with the staff will be minimal, and positive when it does occur. They have plenty of problems to deal with and they really don’t want you to be one of them. Immaturity and irresponsibility are the order of the day for many inmates. Don’t be one of those. I made it a point to not create problems for others, and I have lived a productive four years in a place I would rather not be, but where I allowed God free reign to do His work. He has done a great job, I think. Let Him work on you.

The institution itself is pretty clean and in relatively good repair. The food is better than millions of people eat each day and thanks should be given for it. You will be safe and there are ways to report those who would cause you to think otherwise. Look to inmates who look to the future and are not defeated by this experience. Get involved with those who are working to change themselves, and maybe you will be able to help change others.

My words may be woefully inadequate, but I think I have done about all I can for you here. I wish you the best of luck and will pray for you. There are plenty of decent people in here, not the least of which are the ones I mentioned. I am going to miss many of them when I leave. Perhaps Judy can email me at TodayIsAGift52014@gmail.com and let me know how you are doing.

God’s peace to you, George.

Best wishes,

Tony Casson

Honesty And Truth Are Not Proper Nouns

On April 15, 2014 By Tony CassonIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

by Tony Casson

“And when the scribes and Pharisees saw Him eating with the tax collectors and sinners, they said to His disciples, ‘How is it that He eats and drinks with tax collectors and sinners? ‘ ” (Mark 2:16 NKJV)

“A good honest and painful sermon.” Samuel Pepys

Honesty and truth can sometimes make us uncomfortable, and the words used to convey them are not always pretty words. In fact, although they are both nouns, neither ‘honesty’ OR ‘truth’ is a proper noun and, when wielded by Nadia Bolz-Weber in her book, “PASTRIX”, they will undoubtedly be viewed as IMPROPER nouns by some. Tertullian was a father of the early church who lived in the late second and early third centuries. He once said, “Veritas Non Crubescit”, which means “The truth does not blush”, and while the truth itself might not blush, the same cannot be said for many who might read this powerful book written by a woman who definitely does not mince her words.

Ms. Bolz-Weber’s picture adorns the front cover of the book and her image alone serves notice to potential readers that the journey they are contemplating is not going to be a mild one. The photo shows a striking woman with short hair and black plastic-framed glasses which lend her an air of intelligence even though her face is partially obscured by the fact she is looking down at her hands at the ends of heavily tattooed arms which are draped over her knees. She is wearing a sleeveless shirt which enables her colorful ‘ink’ to stand out in vivid contrast to the darkness in her clothing and the absence of back-lighting. One of the tattoos which stands out in particular is on her right forearm and depicts Mary Magdalene.

Mary Of Magdala is a good place to begin this ‘book review’ since she was the also the first person to see Jesus Christ after the resurrection. She did not recognize Him until He spoke her name, initially mistaking him for a gardener. In the book, Ms. Boz-Weber suggests that is the case for all of us; that none of us recognizes Him until He calls out to us. I suspect she may be right. Why Mary, though? Why select someone as flawed as she was to give the immense honor and considerable responsibility of telling others about the risen Son of God? Possibly because He was always a friend of sinners, those who were sick, those in need, and those who, like Mary magdalene, were beset by demons.

“PASTRIX” quite effectively takes us into the same places Christ went to do His work. The author plants us right in the midst of dinner at the tax collector’s house, only we are not at dinner, and we are not in Levi’s home. We are at the ‘House For All Sinners And Saints’ in Denver, Colorado, and Nadia Bolz-Weber is its ordained Lutheran pastor and founder. We are not in some pretty crystal cathedral or upper-class mega church. We are in the trenches, right where Jesus Christ went to go to work, and where many people begin their own search for Him. In the pages of “PASTRIX” we become witnesses to many living examples of how to find forgiveness in an unforgiving world; how to find acceptance and love while all around us the meanings of those words seems to have disappeared or have been forgotten; how to reconcile some of the things we read in the Bible with the way our human hearts, and minds, often differ from those things.

Some may think Ms. Bolz-Weber’s use of profanity and earthy colloquialisms are overdone or gratuitous, but if those who are easily offended can grit their teeth while opening their eyes, hearts, and minds to the MESSAGE of this rough-talking, soft-hearted warrior for Christ, the benefits derived from the experience will far outweigh any inconvenience, discomfort, or perceived damage which may be suffered by the reader. Those words which MIGHT offend, far from being gratuitous or unnecessary, actually act as a powerful hammer with which this passionate woman drives her message home.

“PASTRIX” introduces us to several members of the Home For All Sinners And Saints ‘family’, and when we get to know some of them better, I can hear books being closed, along with the minds and hearts of those closing them, but I implore you all to hang on till the powerful, emotional ending before rendering your final verdict. Some will remain unmoved and convinced the journey was a mistake, but there WILL be those who will be ‘on-your-knees’ thankful they read it in its entirety.

I once wrote another ‘book review’ in these Chronicles about a book called ‘not a fan’ by Kyle Idleman in which I warned my readers that the author makes us uncomfortable as we are led on a search of our hearts to see if we are truly committed followers of Jesus Christ, or, simply, cheering fans sitting on the sidelines. In similar fashion, “PASTRIX” makes those who read it uncomfortable as well, and the author’s choice of vocabulary has little to do with it. The REAL discomfort begins as we slowly discover the depth – or perhaps, shallowness is a better word – of our understanding of what Christ did NOT say.

Jesus Christ said, “Follow me.” (Matthew 16:24)
Jesus Christ did NOT say, “Follow me when you feel up to it or have time, or it is not too much trouble.”

Jesus Christ said, “Love thy neighbor.” ((Mark 12:31)
He did NOT say, “Surround yourself with people you are comfortable with, smell nice, and make enough money to suit you, and love only them.”

Christ said, “Do not judge others.” (Luke 6:37)
He did NOT say, “It is alright to look down on others to elevate yourself as long as you go to church with like-minded individuals each Sunday.”

He said, “What you do to others you do to me.” (Matthew 25:40)
He did NOT say, “If you don’t like the way someone looks or smells, treat them with disdain and ignore their pain and I will overlook it when you stand before me in judgment.”

He also said, “Do as I have done to you.” (John 13:15)
Again, Jesus Christ did NOT say, “I treat everyone with love, kindness, mercy and grace, but YOU are free to treat them however badly you wish.”

Jesus Christ was not afraid to rub elbows with the unwashed, the uneducated, or the unhealthy. He loved those He walked and talked with during His time as a man among mankind. Heaven is most assuredly a perfectly beautiful place to see and in which to live the eternal lives we are promised by God, but while the physical appearance of OUR world is breathtakingly beautiful – as it was intended to be when God created it – the sickness, poverty, pain, and the ugliness of sin that afflicts mankind has given us an unbelievable ability to make that beauty here on earth almost impossible to see. “PASTRIX” teaches us lessons that cannot be learned by avoiding, being embarrassed by, or offended by honesty and truth as brought to us by Nadia Bolz-Weber. She helps us to strip away some of that ugliness and see that there is beauty in there. She has been called upon by God to get down in the trenches, roll up her sleeves (well, if she HAD sleeves!) and help those she finds shed that ugliness and see the beauty God placed inside THEM. In the writing of “PASTRIX” she takes us along and lets us see some of the people who need help finding God inside themselves, and allows us to accompany THEM on their journeys to that discovery. The journeys are not always pleasant, but they are always REAL.

Sara Groves is a favorite Christian singer of mine and one of the songs she performs is called “The Boxer”. I was listening to that song the other day and, in my mind, I could almost see Nadia Bolz-Weber and Jesus Christ in a boxing ring with gloves on, side by side, slugging it out with pain, addiction, homelessness, unwelcomeness, unforgiveness, poverty, hunger, hypocrisy, sickness, and sin – and winning. I get this crazy mental image in my head of her leaning against Christ after the last bell, both of them bloodied and battered, her tattoos glistening with sweat, and I can hear her as she looks up at the face of Jesus and says, “Damn, that was a hell of a fight!”

I have a pretty good feeling Jesus would not disagree with the message or her delivery of that message.

Many of the individuals highlighted in “PASTRIX” are seriously flawed. When the last page is turned, we could very well be left wondering if the very first person Christ reveals Himself to upon His return just might be someone from the House For All Sinners And Saints.

Seriously. Read this book.

(And check out the paperback version of MY book “TODAY IS….A Gift From God” at http://www.createspace.com/4718409)

The Oakdale Chronicles

Tag: oakdale chronicles