In The Fields...Of Grace...

“Lift your lips and open your mouth wide!” commanded the LVN who was passing meds that evening when I decided to re-acquaint myself in this facility where I used to work in my earlier years. The inmate in front of her, grinning sheepishly while the others shook their heads and started whispering...

There were 3 structures where the inmates were classified and housed. The dust was softly being blown by the late evening breezes. The sun was already setting behind those chain link fences locked in each doors.The yard empty by then as inmates huddled close, talking amongst themselves and some, watching shows from the big monitor reserved for them.

Those waiting for their evening medications were already lined up as the deputies had called them prior to our arrival. Holding cups of water and with the other hand holding their ID’s, one by one, they waited for their turn. The LVN did the right thing. When placing medications on the inmates' hands, she should make sure that the meds were swallowed as some were good at hiding the pills at the folds in their mouths, under the tongue, sometimes, spitting into the cup, and also, pretending to take the pills when one or all were hidden in their fingers. I remembered…I used to bring a flashlight when I used to pass meds in that facility. I aimed the bright light into their mouths where I could see well if anything was being hidden. I caught some…And when I did, they would either lose that privilege of getting that medications or be placed in discipline.

There are thousands of reasons why inmates do that behavior. Of hiding medications. Or other contrabands. They use those things for their advantage. Selling them in return for a favor. For things or other services. Sometimes, some are just being upset that they think they shouldn’t be there that they like to waste those so the county is losing money that way. They are good at improvising.

I looked at each body. The musty smell surrounding and reaching the cage that protected the deputies, the LVN, and myself. I saw “laziness”. Of some bodies laying on the bed. I couldn’t imagine for anyone not to do anything all day. Most of them, talking. In groups. Obviously with clear distinction of one color hanging around, or trying to find someone with the same race. The “brotherly handshakes” that meant “they belonged”…But still…I sensed most of them were not learning anything but laziness. They knew their rights. When outside, they were quick to violate that of others’. They complained about everything. Food. Beds. Pillows. Showers. Medications. When outside, they knew some of them couldn’t afford those. Especially that the economy had been hard for us.

The LVN waved goodbye as she escorted me and opened the front gate where the staff parking was. Slightly illuminated with amber lights, the surrounding areas were nothing but darkness. That was close to midnight. She was nice enough to accompany me and made sure I was okay until I got to my car. I thanked her and turned on my ignition. With the wilderness around me, I saw a reflection of a fading image of this facility from my rear-view mirror.  It was known as a rehabilitation center. But was it really helping others reformed their lives or not?

It was sad…To realize that God always provided for anyone’s needs only to be taken for granted. And how most prisoners always waited for provisions. When perhaps, God might be waiting for them to take the first step needed. To work. To do something. In order to meet that need. Of being reformed. Changed. For a renewed life.

Oh Lord, forgive us when we take Your blessings for granted…Forgive us when we don’t take actions when we should for the needs we lift up to You. How can we even forget that in Your fields of grace, all our needs are met and You never cease in supplying  our needs? Like Ruth, remind us oh Lord to glean the grain in Your rich fields of grace. Thank You Lord for Your love, grace, and mercy. In Jesus’ Name. Amen.

Taking Risks That Are Worth It

The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?” But the good Samaritan reversed the question: “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” – Martin Luther King Jr

So…I wrote about that female inmate having a panic episode (my preceding post "I Hear You") and the female Deputy called me from near the cage that usually kept them and other staff if they needed safety when passing medications for Medical Staff or just the Custody, doing their work while monitoring the inmates housed in different dorms. Within their sight.

I wanted to pull the sobbing inmate away from the throng observing us and decided to bring her to the nearby, tiny Clinic where the medications and other medical supplies were stored.

“Let’s go!” as she replied that she could try to walk, the three Female Deputies hearing me. I shouted so they would know that I was taking that inmate away from the others. Which meant it would only be her and I in that tiny room. A risk I usually took when doing sick calls. But a risk that was always a necessity not only on my part but especially for the inmate who needed some space to be able to vent out her broken heart. Away from prying inmates. Away from deputies who were tired of hearing their pleas, sometimes, alibis and lies.

As she started feeling better, the tears drying out, I sensed a figure passed by. I saw the warm smile. I smiled back and greeted him. It was the Sergeant. And I knew he didn’t like what he saw. That it was only the inmate and I. He put an emphasis already during their briefing that morning... That officers needed to be there all the time as medical staff did sick call. For our safety. As inmates could be dangerous and unpredictable.

A female deputy all of a sudden appeared in front of the door. But my sick call was over by then. The deputy's face reflected an upset image. I knew…They must have gotten in trouble from the Sergeant.

Much later, the Sergeant came to our Main Clinic and spoke with me and the other nurse regarding his wishes to change that attitude. Of doing sick call. But always with the presence of deputy. I reassured him. It wouldn’t happen again.  But I didn’t apologize. Knowing I hollered to the Deputies who failed in following the inmate and me. When he left, the other nurse passing medications did tell me that when the Sergeant told the deputies that there was a nurse doing sick call and there was no deputy, they all acted that they were not aware. In short, they all lied to cover themselves. But still…They were the ones who got in trouble.

What the Sergeant did not know, I had to take that kind of risk all the time.

God’s children do…We all face dangers daily and face risks for God. We do when we want to share about Christ’s gift of salvation despite the fact that doing so will offend some. We take that risk even when people laugh at us or do not believe in the truth that we share. We take that risk when we love those who are hard to love and easily forgive no matter how many times we get hurt by others, much more with our enemies.

But it is the risk among the risks that is worth facing and tackling. Not for our personal gain. But for God’s glory alone. Most of the time, it will not be easy. But no matter what the outcome, we can be confident that God will never leave us alone as we take those risks and He is faithful to supply us with what we need.

May we take that risks without hesitation when opportunity comes to plant that seed in a perishing heart. Let us plant and let God do the harvesting with His sickle of love and redemption.

A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone, be able to teach, and be patient with difficult people. Gently instruct those who oppose the truth. Perhaps God will change those people’s hearts, and they will learn the truth. Then they will come to their senses and escape from the devil’s trap. For they have been held captive by him to do whatever he wants. – 2 Timothy 2:24-26 (NLT)

I Hear You

"Hear my words, Lord!
    Consider my groans!
Pay attention to the sound of my cries, my king and my God,
        because I am praying to you!
Lord, in the morning you hear my voice.
    In the morning I lay it all out before you.
    Then I wait expectantly." - Psalm 5:1-3 (CEB)

The Female Deputy had brought a crying inmate worker to my attention as I tried to familiarize myself last Sunday in the other Correctional Facility where I used to work for a few years back in my earlier days at the county. The supervisor personally called me and had requested if I could work in his facility. I easily accepted though with a warning that I had not worked there in such a long time. He reiterated with understanding and encouragement that I would have help when I arrived.

I prayed for God to be there with me and Him be my guide. I knew nothing that would get in the way would faze me if I had Him and His wisdom guiding me. Even throughout the shift, I prayed silently.

“Can you walk to my Clinic?” I asked the sobbing inmate worker, her long hair slightly disheveled as she complained of chest pain.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” she complained as more tears flowed and stained her pale cheeks.

“Trust me…You’re not…” I reassured as I continued to keep my stare on her as she sat on the metal bench where the inmates usually ate their “chow” (meals).

Letting out a deep sigh, she got up and walked a few steps into the tiny room where medical supplies were being housed.

“My chest hurts, Nurse,” she tried to remind me of a possible heart problem.

“I know. I’m not ignoring that. It’s not my business to know. That is…Only if you want to vent out…” I waited a few seconds and looked intently at her right hand trying to massage her mid-chest. Her tears continuing to flow.

“Take a deep breath…”

“If you want to vent out, please do so. Your being silent and trying to keep what bothers you will not help you a bit…” I coaxed.

“You’re right…” she admitted, blowing a strong puff of air as her lungs deflated.

“I did have a history of anxiety attack…”

“I hear you…” I insisted…

“No heart problem. When you and the other nurse were out there passing meds, I was thinking about my 7 children back home. I miss them…”

“That’s when I thought my chest started hurting…But I think it’s more of my anxiety now.”

“When are you going to be released? That is…if you don’t mind me asking…”

“In a month, Ma’am…”

“Here’s the deal…You’ve been here for many months now. A month, though easier said than done, would go by quickly. Try to be good and don’t cause any trouble. You don’t want any hindrance to your pending release,” I cautioned.

“I won’t…My mom has been sick, too. She has some rare kind of cancer. I want to be there for her…”

“I’m glad you vented out. Hey! I don’t know your family and friends…Who am I gonna’ share your problems with?”

She laughed. The tears had run dry. Her eyes wrinkled as she smiled and her right hand went relaxed on her lap and stopped rubbing her mid-chest.

“You know what? I’m gonna’ give you some Motrin anyway.”

Her eyes shone with gratitude. She didn’t expect my last gesture. Knowing that she was not having any true heart problem.

“You may not have a heart attack but I see it with inmates who had panic attacks before. Their muscles hurt because they tensed up. I can’t imagine that. To be stiff and be worried at the same time,” I explained.

Stuffing the 9 packets of Motrin I gave with instruction to her left, upper pocket of her blue uniform, she thanked me. She uttered that she was feeling better by then.

“I will have the Mental health doctor follow up with you, too,” I added as her shadow slowly mingled back to the crammed dorm in her unit. I lost sight of her as her body was swallowed by a throng of concerned female inmate workers in her dorm.

Photo Credit

I went back to my seat, facing the empty seat where that inmate had sat before…I sighed…I prayed. I thanked God…Because I didn’t know that inmate did not have a heart condition. I only knew that if I could make her heart spill what was inside would somehow release the pressure that was building up in the first place. And right there…I learned something…About my own supplications that I always try to send up to the heavens. Of how the Holy Spirit would want me to spill what was in my heart. But with humility. How often I rushed my pleas. Of how my prayers and praises could be a work of my hasty mind and heart. Heart that should have a steady fire.(Then, my being lost to silence was interrupted by the other nurse handing out the medications to the inmates. She was grateful that I went with her to the female facility that I was just nearby when that inmate had an anxiety attack. I thanked her in return for showing me around. I knew there would always be a purpose wherever I was scheduled to work).

And indeed…God hears the voice of my cry. And your cry. If our cries come from a sincere heart whose weeping produces that kind of shrill only God’s heart can hear…We may not have the right words. We may not even have the words to say…But God knows…He even lets the Spirit intervenes for us...God understands…Because that’s Who He is…

God!!! Who is always ever near...Just a prayer away...

Crying And Healing

"I'm sorry....I am about to cry..." I whispered audible enough for my husband, my son and my husband's friend(I will call "T") visiting from another country to hear. I choked up, wanting to release a few words from my mouth that seemed to be blocked by my heart feeling the pain from another person's difficult loss.

My husband and his friend...They used to work together many years ago. They were communicating before despite the thousands of oceans between them. Then, we moved into another house. We didn't know. He also moved into another job. Those changes separated them and made them lose their contact. As seasons changed, as our children grew up, as we had transition from our youth to added years of adulthood...time slipped like sand...

T. knew some of our relatives, us, being from the same hometown. He got hold of my husband by sending a text. So, my husband, excitedly invited him to our house. He accepted. But in that short communication, he tried to explain. He  would not be with his wife. Fighting back tears, he told my husband...She passed away. Few months ago. From cancer. And that was why he came here to another country. Trying to be strong, he wanted his only child just to breathe a different air. Out of all the pain they both had to go through. They wanted to remain strong. And to find healing.

In front of me, despite us meeting for the first time, he narrated all the wounds that opened up and the difficult road he walked on. Especially his wife. And son. As tears welled up in my eyes, I prayed silently in my mind. For God's help to help us with our words to T.

(For God always comforts us first....so we can comfort others)...

I let the tears flow. My son, despite being young, let his tears flow. Without embarrassment, he shared the pain he felt, too. All of us were crying.

"I am very sorry. That we were never there during that time. But I know it's never too late. To offer you, T, our help. If there's anything that we can be of help, please don't hesitate to let us know."

He nodded his head. As if that was his way of saying "Thanks". No words came out as he stared at my son openly crying, too in front of him who he met just an hour prior to that.

"I wish my son will do that. I wish he will show his emotions, too like you Kristian," he uttered.

"Because I know crying is good. It could be healing," he added.

My husband and I explained...That growing up we always included our son in everything. Letting him know of all the steps we were taking. Whether it was a step that led to victory. Or to loss. We reassured him that "crying was not a sign of weakness." As we walked on many roads of life's uncertainty.

"Ahhh..." we all sighed. As those pent up emotions were released, we remembered some memories. And how we laughed at some. Crying. Laughing. Together. It could be healing.

"I will probably come back  here in December," T. teased us.

"Anytime..."my hubby and I said as we said our goodbyes and hugged each other.

"Thanks be to God," I uttered loudly on purpose.

"For our time together."

It was good to send him off with a smile on his face. What a contrary to when he first arrived upon stepping on our worn out welcome mat. Indeed, my family and I felt that big wound in his heart. But as he left, I prayed. That he would hide instead his wound and painful loss in Christ's wounds. That was a sure way of finding healing. For in Christ's wounds, "we are healed."

He was wounded for our rebellious acts. He was crushed for our sins. He was punished so that we could have peace, and we received healing from his wounds.- Isaiah 53:5 (GWT)