Even with the bright moon and the uber-zillion candle power
yard lights blazing down on me, the stars were equally bright and crisp. The sky was full of them. Everywhere I looked, they were endless – like
the descendants of Abraham. Every turn I
took on the track, I could see a different section of the sky; unique with its
ow arrangements of stars and distant planets.
In the Eastern sky there was a thin layer of a single cloud
reaching closer to the camp. The cloud
was ultra thin – even translucent, as it absorbed the light of the moon. It was like a mist or a fog rising from the
swamp, except it was high in the stratosphere.
The leading edge, approaching the camp, extended forward in wisps that
appeared like fingers reaching ahead into the night sky. Could they be from the very hand of God
reaching out to his people? Perhaps a
sign showing us that He is here with us?
Does God speak to us in a cloud formation? He has done it in the past, to lead His
people and speak to them.
I felt overwhelmed by the whole experience. Did He do this all for me because I was
having a bad night? Did anyone else see
what I was seeing? I’m sure I wasn’t the
only person in the world having a difficult time on Christmas Eve.
What if this was the same sky the shepherds saw when the
angels appeared to them? If I was
overwhelmed by a cloud that appeared as the Hand of God, how must they have
felt when messengers from Heavens Army appeared in front of them and SPOKE to
them? That scene may have caused me to
fall on my face in absolute fear! Why
would the God who created the world and designed each one of us in His image
care enough to reach out to us?
Certainly He doesn’t NEED us to do His work. But it seems He “desires” us, and if the God
who created us also desires us, then He must have placed a desire for HIM
within us, as well.
Therefore, as crazy as it may seem, I will accept the idea
that my creator, my God knew that I needed to be comforted that night by
knowing that He was with me in my sorrow and pain. He gave me a sign through His creation, His
Word, to remind me that He has His hand on my life, just as he does for my
family.
I continued my stroll, basking in the moonlit sky, talking
with My God. My anger and frustration
were distant now and my heart felt lighter as He lifted my burdens from
me. I could see more clearly that this
night was not about me. It was about God
sending His Son to show us the Way to God.
I needed to see God in His revealed creation.
The night air was so still that sounds carried easily. Somewhere in the dark a dog was barking. Perhaps he was outside the house with the
Christmas tree in the window. I can’t
say for sure. It was a comfort to hear
him bark, none-the-less. Then the sound
of a motorcycle starting and warming up broke the stillness. It seemed a sound so out of place on
Christmas Eve. I was waiting to hear the
coyote, whom I had heard other nights from the depths of Buzzard Gulch.
Over the loud speaker, the announcement came to tell us the
“never-ending track” was closed for the night.
So my night watching God in His creation’s glory was over -- at least
for now! There will be many more, but
none like tonight, as this was MY silent night.
My steps were lighter and my spirit was lifted as I walked
back to Hog Lodge. I wished people a
Merry Christmas as I passed them in the hall.
A few of them felt obligated to tell me that Christmas was not until
tomorrow. I would not let them deter my
mission of sharing Christmas cheer. Some
guys in prison, take joy in being very literal and technical and insist on
being “right” all the time. I was two
cubicles away from my “crib”, passing along my Christmas greetings when I
noticed Crankshaft hanging out with his friend, who is a natural born Jew. I wished them both a Merry Christmas and
Happy Hanukah! Crankshaft responded to
my greeting with a very sarcastic statement about Christmas being a pagan
celebration. It was the last thing I
needed to hear and I let him know it! I
reminded him of our fallen nature and how God, yes GOD, has redeemed us into a
new creation. We celebrate the birth of
Christ, which is not built on pagan rituals or beliefs. We do have a responsibility to understand
those things that are rooted in pagan origins and guard ourselves from
them. The fact is that God sent His Son,
Jesus, to become fully human to save our wretched selves from the pagan
practices and sin. Without Christmas and
Easter, this salvation would not exist.
We celebrate that which is good – much as God has redeemed us and uses
that which was unholy and makes it holy for His purposes. Apparently, I was pretty “intense” in my
delivery because Crankshaft became very quiet and later came to my “crib” to
apologize. I accepted his apology and
offered my own for my outburst.
Christmas Day in prison is a difficult day for
everyone. It is a day where you are
reminded of everything you have lost by going to prison. To help cope with our losses, we look for
distractions to occupy our minds.
I went to breakfast because I heard they would be serving
Egg Nog. They came through with their
promise!! The rest of the meal was
standard Bran Flakes and cake.
Polish Mike sat down next to me and proceeded to hand me a
“gift” as he wished me a Merry
Christmas. It was a packaged brownie
from the Prison Gift Shop (commissary), along with a note that read, “Merry
Christmas, Father”. Immediately I felt
bad for not having something to offer him in return. His note was meant to be funny and I took it
that way. But I was also very touched
that he thought about me with that gift.
I need to give you some background context before you can see the humor
in his note…
Polish Mike is a 24 year old and he is big, in stature. He is slightly taller than I am and
stocky. He is from the Chicago area and
is … Polish! He has a distinctive
accent in his gentle voice. When he
first arrived, he spent much of his time sleeping. I encouraged him to come outside, but he
didn’t have any tennis shoes and didn’t like wearing the prison-issued
boots. So I gave him a pair of my old
medical shoes. They helped a
little. I stopped by his crib a few
times to see how he was doing, but we didn’t really develop a friendship. It was more of an occasional acquaintance.
Then there is an officer who works in the kitchen, whose
name is Mr Long. He is nicer than most
of the officers, but is very quirky in a humorous sort of way. One of his odd quirks is walking along the
serving line of his waiting “customers” and “Thanking them for coming!!!!” This, of course, is done in sarcasm, but is
still a nice gesture. Most guys ignore
him or acknowledge him with an uncomfortable smile. As for me, I respond with equal sarcasm and
say, “Thank YOU for inviting us!” (I
choose to fight crazy with crazy!)
Now you know the players, so let me put the story
together. Gee whillickers, this is like
a flashback in a movie!
Last month, it so happened that Polish Mike was in the meal
line with me. As we stepped into the
Dirty Spoon Diner, Mr. Long was walking the line, thanking the
“customers”. He approached me and said,
“Thanks for coming and bringing your son!!!”
This was an awkward moment that made us all laugh. There is a little resemblance that can be
made in our similar statures. So from
that moment on, we have had fun calling each other with our new titles. Others, too, have joined in on the game. Besides the comedy relief this brings, it
also forces me to see the reality of age differences in here. Perhaps I should bear more responsibility
with my “advanced years” to help those who are younger. This is an overwhelming thought!!! GOOD GRIEF!
To be continued….
(I know, I know…this is getting a little ridiculous…one more
Part…I swear, that will be the last!!!!!)
McFreedom
