The Belly of the Beast
While working as an RN at Baptist in Winston-Salem, I made a decision that had I to do it over would never do again, especially now that Christ rules in my heart. But this decision, as horrific and wrong as it was, placed me within the confines of the Department of Correction for 23 years, 7 months and 25 days. I protested my innocence to any and all who would hear me (including my wife), but I was guilty of the despicable act of violating the trust between a nurse and their patient and co-workers. Nothing can change the past nor can any words I put down here or speak to anyone justify my actions regardless of the patient's condition; it was wrong and I deeply regret the pain that I caused, not only to the patient, her family and friends, but to my own family and friends as well.
There is a story in Scripture of how one man's sin of avarice led to his own death, but also that of his family and the destruction of all that he owned. In Joshua 7 we see a man who because he coveted some clothing and gold and by his stealing it put Israel under a curse. When found out, the pronouncement of and carrying out of judgment (VSS. 24 - 26) occurs. In my own case my family (especially my beloved wife) suffered the shame of my crime; indeed in some instances my wife was painted with the same brush as I was. The foundations of our lives were irrevocably changed; there was no going back on such a decision and it seemed that I was to spend the rest of my days within the confines of the prison system in North Carolina.
There is a story in Scripture of how one man's sin of avarice led to his own death, but also that of his family and the destruction of all that he owned. In Joshua 7 we see a man who because he coveted some clothing and gold and by his stealing it put Israel under a curse. When found out, the pronouncement of and carrying out of judgment (VSS. 24 - 26) occurs. In my own case my family (especially my beloved wife) suffered the shame of my crime; indeed in some instances my wife was painted with the same brush as I was. The foundations of our lives were irrevocably changed; there was no going back on such a decision and it seemed that I was to spend the rest of my days within the confines of the prison system in North Carolina.
The transition from successful critical care RN and paramedic to NCDOC # 10351-TN was brutal; stripping me of any semblance of my past life and clothing in the rough grey that would be my apparel for the next 20+ years was a shock and left me bereft of any hope of any other outcome than eventual death behind the cold stone walls of Central Prison (a very real possibility considering the violent nature of many within those walls and the outnumbered staff who at times struggled to keep themselves from harm).
But God had other plans. For some time while attending UNC-CH and earning my Bachelor's of Science in Nursing there, I worked in the Emergency Department as a nursing assistant. The night secretary, a rather scruffy fellow named Malcolm, used to speak with me about a wide variety of topics during the usual lull in activity on the night shift. I like talking to Malcolm; there was something about him that was much different from any of the others that I knew at work or school. One night he spoke of his faith in Christ, but the manner in which he spoke of Jesus was unlike anyone I'd ever heard; he acted as though this guy was still alive despite his execution outside Jerusalem over 2000 years ago! He kept telling me about this guy named Jim Abrahamson and the Chapel Hill Bible Church, so finally one day I relented and went to Girard Hall on campus at UNC (where they were then meeting). I remember going and being impressed with Jim's ability to preach, but my continued attendance was solely because of the number of lovely and single young women there. The teaching and fellowship just bounced off my heart; it just didn't make sense to me I guess or I just wasn't ready to HEAR what Jim was teaching.
Shortly after coming to Central Prison, one guy invited me to the regular Sunday AM service and, being willing to do almost anything to get out of the overcrowded dorm, I agreed to go. This kept on for several weeks until on March 6th, Eugene Wigelsworth (one of the chaplains there) brought a message. To this day, I cannot recall what he said, but when he gave the invitation I felt as though someone was telling me that this was my last and only chance. When he embraced me and it was as if someone had poured a healing flow of warmth upon my head that slowly moved down my body. He began counselling me and we remained close the rest of the time I stayed at Central Prison; I'd also stumbled upon the local Bible Broadcasting Station and found in it a well of comfort and reassurance in the music as well as challenging sermons that would help me grow in my new found faith in Jesus Christ. |
I was to remain in prison for over 22 more years, moving from camp to camp (at one point becoming an involuntary participant to what I refer to as Jim Hunt's "See America Plan" where he sent prisoners from throughout North Carolina DOC to private prisons in Rhode Island, Tennessee, Oklahoma and Texas. Sadly, many of the men and women who come into prisons to preach speak about how if you just believe enough, that Jesus will set you free from prison. Many of those who fell for such claptrap became embittered against faith in Christ and the ever present cults snapped them up.
Through it all, Kathy remained faithful; it was not a rare visitation that she or someone else was there to encourage and support me. When I was released on May 11th, 2011 and my parole officer (another group of folks who normally do a thankless job with grace and wit) dropped me off at our home in Morrisville, it was an ending, but a beginning as well. There is much that I experienced while in carcerated that I just don't have the space (or you the time) to record now. I include this part of my journey Home in an effort to be honest about who I am as well as who I hope to be.
Through it all, Kathy remained faithful; it was not a rare visitation that she or someone else was there to encourage and support me. When I was released on May 11th, 2011 and my parole officer (another group of folks who normally do a thankless job with grace and wit) dropped me off at our home in Morrisville, it was an ending, but a beginning as well. There is much that I experienced while in carcerated that I just don't have the space (or you the time) to record now. I include this part of my journey Home in an effort to be honest about who I am as well as who I hope to be.