by Roger Bruner
I felt sorry for the guards, though. Several of them looked like they had taken God’s call seriously, too, but they couldn’t respond while on duty. I made note of their names to give to Warden, uh, Chaplain Jenkins.
I’d never heard of a revival taking place inside a prison, but I spent one glorious evening of my teen life watching one insider after another break free from the captivity of sin in a meeting room at Red Cedar Correctional Center.
chapter sixty-two
The service was officially over, but spirits were still high. Anyone witnessing the interaction among the insiders, Chaplain Jenkins, Graham O’Reilly, and the members of our ministry team would have thought they were watching a Christmas family get-together. The only thing missing was food and drink.
Hmm. I started thinking about what had been going on at my home church tonight—actually three hours earlier. The Sunday night before Christmas was special because the choir presented its yearly musical. Several years earlier, our director started making the singers memorize it. Although they grumbled at first, they had to admit that the presentation sounded considerably more polished when they didn’t have their faces stuck in their books.
Because I’d been suffering from fatigue when rehearsals for the musical began, I would have missed too many to sing in the choir tonight anyhow. I’d participated each of the four previous years, though. Although it wasn’t going to be the same, I’d had my heart set on being there in the front pew.
But the way God worked things out, I didn’t feel like I’d missed anything that night. I’d been among special Christian friends who were like family to me now. They’d blessed me with their prayers and their testimonies.
And who needed a well-blended church choir when we could enjoy the richness of men’s voices—enhanced by the sweet sound of Hi’s countertenor and the power of Rock’s super-low bass—singing from their hearts as if they’d been the
shepherds worshipping the baby Jesus in Bethlehem.
Unlike my departure from Santa María, when I didn’t discover what my Spanish Bible reading had accomplished until the bus was well on the way back to San Diego, we’d seen results at Red Cedar. Plenty of them. Rededications. First-time commitments. And announcements with far-reaching implications.
Rock told me he felt called to the ministry. Maybe not as the pastor of a church, but doing some type of ministry where tales of his prison experiences would include his personal Saul/Paul conversion testimony. Maybe he’d enter the chaplaincy—if his prison record didn’t prevent it.
Graham shared with the men individually how much he’d missed them. They’d been his best and only friends for a number of years, and he planned to slip across the road frequently to visit them. Even if no other outsiders chose to do a regular prison ministry, he would come back and assist the new chaplain.
In an effort to be truthful and honest with his fellow Christian insiders, Alfredo had made an announcement in passable English. “I speak English good. More good than I let on.” I giggled at the wide-eyed look of shock on the face of the friend who’d brought him to the service.
Especially when Alfredo said in mock seriousness, “Be more careful what you say when I nearby.” The guys poked each other good-naturedly as if to say, “Now I can ask Alfredo what you really think of me—what you say about me behind my back. “
He also touched me in a personal way that evening. “Miss Kimmy, I can’t thank you. What you do. For Jo and me. You do not approve. I am sorry—”
“Alfredo, I was wrong. About you. About you and Jo. I’m the one who should apologize.”
“No, you right. At first I—how you say?—I made use of her. So good sit next to pretty girl. Pretend she mine. But she is friend now. Just like you. You brought me Jesus.”
Good thing I’d had the forethought to bring several packets of tissues with me that evening. I was already halfway through the second one.
“Jo helped, though, didn’t she? She gave you the Santa Biblia.”
“Sí. Both of you helped.”
“Will the two of you stay in touch after we go home?”
“I do not know. I think I … am not worthy Jo.” He sighed. Although he’d referred to her as a friend, his feelings obviously ran deeper than that. I couldn’t believe he was going to give up on her that easily.
“Wait a second, fella,” I said. “You aren’t worthy of God’s love, either. But He gave it to you anyhow.” Lord, please keep me from elaborating on that observation and making a simple point more complex than it needs to be.
His face brightened. The most brilliant of Graham’s sunrises hadn’t been more radiant. “Have present. For you.” He handed me something he’d been carrying under his arm. It looked like a Bible at first, but it wasn’t. “A thank-you.”
I smiled, took the hard-bound book from him, and looked at the cover. It was a well worn copy of Miguel Cervantes’ classic Don Quixote. In Spanish at that. The language Cervantes wrote it in.
I opened it up, found the first chapter, and began reading aloud. “En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme, no ha mucho tiempo que vivía un hidalgo de los de lanza en astillero, adarga antigua, rocín flaco y galgo corredor.”
What I wouldn’t have given for a picture of Alfredo’s mouth dropping open.
“Jo is right. You read español good. Perfectamente.”
I didn’t want to burst his bubble by admitting I only understood a handful of the words I’d read, and I couldn’t even fit those together in a way that made sense. The villagers of Santa María had tutored me in pronunciation, not grammar and syntax.
“I learned to do that in Mexico,” I said.
“Jo told me. The villagers … they teach you good.”
I smiled at him. “You sure you don’t want to keep this?”
He nodded. “Jo says you want to learn Spanish. For you to read …” He seemed lost in the search for the right words.
“For me to read when I learn Spanish well enough to understand what I’m reading?”
He smirked. “Sí. You do that.”
“This is a precious gift, Alfredo. I wish I had something to give you.”
“You give me God’s love. Can I … hug you, Miss Kimmy? Like brother-sister?” Instead of verbalizing a response, I hugged him.
“Pardon me, please,” he said as he looked around at the rapidly emptying room. “Must tell good-bye Jo.”
Considering how much Alfredo’s farewell had torn me up, I couldn’t imagine the effect it would have on Jo. Resisting the temptation to watch wasn’t easy.
Staring wouldn’t have been just morbid curiosity, though. If Aleesha and I were going to rebuild Jo’s spirits afterward, I needed to see how badly she was taking it. I compromised by watching something a few feet away from them and relying on my peripheral vision.
I didn’t move closer, though. Eavesdropping would be too great an invasion of their privacy. But Jo surprised me by talking with Alfredo for only a couple of minutes. They exchanged little scraps of paper—I assume with their
addresses. Then she gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.
After Warden … Chaplain Jenkins walked us to the parking lot, Jo pulled Aleesha and me to the side. “Anybody for a walk back to the hostel?”
“I’m worn out,” I said, probably in a whinier voice than I realized. “Didn’t we do enough walking today?”
“I think she wants to talk to us, girl,” Aleesha whispered in my ear. “We’re her best friends. Remember?”
“But sure, Jo.” I said in a more positive voice. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s do it.”
We didn’t start talking until Rob, Graham, and Dad passed us in the van. They’d spent a few extra minutes talking with Chaplain Jenkins.
“How’d it go, Jo?” I expected her to break out bawling any second now.
But she didn’t. “Okay,” she said.
I shone my flashlight on her face in disbelief. No tears.
“Really okay.” She s
hone hers on mine. “Don’t look so surprised.” She laughed.
“Surprised, girl?” Aleesha said. “Try amazed. Stupefied. Dumbfounded. Thunderstruck. Not to mention we just plain don’t believe it.”
Girls’ giggle time. In three-dimensional surround sound.
“Isn’t anybody glad?” Jo said, trying to catch her breath after laughing so much.
“Yes, of course,” I said.
“I was praying for you the whole time,” Aleesha said. I started to say, “Then why are you so surprised that it went well?” but changed my mind.
“Isn’t anyone going to ask why things went so well?”
“Besides the fact I was praying for you, girl?”
As wonderful as it felt having the old Jo back, I was going to
miss having Aleesha around, too—if she carried through with her plans to transfer to Howard University the next semester. Now that we’d finally melded into a Christ-centered, three-in-one, one-for-all-and-all-for-one fellowship, I knew of two people who were going to try their best to talk her out of going.
“Go, Jo,” I said. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“Alfredo and I both admitted we’d been using one another from the start.”
“You …?”
“Used him?”
“I was so angry at Mama for what she’d done that I wanted to pay her back by doing the most dangerous thing I could think of.”
“You mean besides getting me lost up on the mountain?” Aleesha’s tone morphed in mid-sentence from a mild rebuke to a gentle tease.
“More dangerous than making you angry, Sister Aleesha. Trying to get romantic with an insider—or at least pretending I was. I wanted to call Mama as soon as I got home. Tell her I’d gotten engaged to a Latino I’d met doing prison ministry. Wouldn’t that have put her in a tizzy?”
“That would’ve gotten my attention,” Aleesha said. “You’re sure you’re not still young enough for your mama to spank?” Not a hint of a tease in her voice that time.
“Well, God didn’t like my attitude, either, and He didn’t like my leading Alfredo on, even though I was almost positive he was taking advantage of me, too. I knew what I was doing when I took that letter. I’d read the rules, and I hoped to get in trouble over it. Anything to hurt Mama a little more.”
Aleesha and I didn’t interrupt. If she felt the same way I did, we were both confused and concerned. Jo knew God disapproved of her attitude. She’d admitted it. But it sounded like Jo hated her mother. Maybe more now than before.
We didn’t have a chance to ask, though. “Kim, Aleesha … when we get back to the hostel I’m going to borrow Rob’s satellite phone.”
“Calling your dad?”
“No. My mama.”
chapter sixty-three
I couldn’t believe Jo. Not the fact that she was going to call her mama. And not that she was going to do it this late at night. Since it must have been three or four o’clock in the morning at home, maybe she thought it would be fun to punish her mama a bit more by interrupting her sleep.
But Jo asked us to be with her when she called, and that floored me. “I’m going to put the call on speakerphone,” she said. Maybe she wanted witnesses.
“Rob has Mama’s number in his contacts. I was tempted to delete it, but I realized I might need it when I worked up the courage to tell her I never wanted to speak to her again.” She paused. “I’ve never bothered to memorize it,” she said before I could ask.
I groaned. Why in the world would Jo want Aleesha and me to listen to her and her mother have a shouting match over the phone?
I was jealous of Graham now. He’d gone to his room as soon as we got back and was probably already sound asleep. Rob and Dad were in their unit, undoubtedly unwinding from the evening’s activities. Maybe discussing Dad’s plans, too. Rob might not have had any seminary training, but he was one practical and insightful Christian. And he had the additional advantage of being older than Dad.
We could’ve called Mrs. Snelling from our room, but it was next door to Graham’s. No matter how good he’d gotten at ignoring three teenage girls and their lively, endless noise-making, we didn’t want to chance disturbing him with a phone call like this.
The living room was still too close, despite having a carpet that would have muffled the voices slightly. The kitchen and dining area were far enough away, but the tiled floor and variety of hard surfaces would probably have amplified the conversation.
We took a vote. No matter how much Jo detested the cold, outdoors won.
As long as we made our call outside the opposite side of the U from Rob’s unit, nobody would hear us. I didn’t know about Aleesha, but I hoped the just-above-freezing temperature would make Jo cut her conversation short. Graham’s spare coat was warm, but not like my skunky down jacket.
Huh. Nobody had complained about my scent at the prison that evening. Too polite to, maybe. But I could still smell it.
If the cold wasn’t enough reason to go back inside soon, the trip-and-a-half up and down Tabletop Mountain and the round-trip walk to the prison made my whole body ache more than I want to remember or try to describe. Not even learning to walk in high heels had been this painful.
If I had to stand up longer than a couple of minutes, my muscles would probably just say “We quit” and let me slither to the ground and freeze to death. I hoped Dad could get a refund on my unused ticket.
“It’s ringing. Be quiet, you two.”
Aleesha and I hadn’t said a word since we came outdoors. Jo must’ve heard our teeth chattering, and I wasn’t about to quit just so she could hear better. I couldn’t.
“Hello?” Michelle Snelling sounded as sleepy as I felt.
Jo didn’t say anything.
“Hello? This is Michelle Snelling. Who’s calling, please?”
At least she was still using her married name. Of course she was. She’d still be a Snelling until she and Jo’s papa got the divorce. I quit thinking about that and started wondering why
she hadn’t recognized Jo’s name and number on her caller ID.
You are so dumb, Kim. Jo is using Rob’s satellite phone, not her own cell phone. You’d expect Mrs. Snelling to recognize Rob’s number?
“Mama, it … it’s Jo.”
Mrs. Snelling was quiet for a moment.
“Jo?” I could almost hear her scratching her head in confusion.
“Yes, Jo.” Silence. Two loud yawns. Silence again.
Would I recognize my daughter’s voice at first in the middle of the night if I’d been sound asleep for a number of hours? Yeah. I hope so, anyhow. But wouldn’t introducing herself by a nickname I’d never heard before confuse me? Probably.
“Jo? Betsy Jo?” She sounded more alert now. And much more excited.
“Yes … ma’am.”
“Are you all right? Is anything wrong? Where are you? Do you need help?”
Random questions kept rolling out like pebbles from my tote bag, and Jo didn’t interrupt her to answer any of them.
I heard a sleepy male voice mumble something in the background. Oh? She was there with him? Of course she was. That’s why she’d left Mr. Snelling.
End of questions. Jo’s turn. “Mama, I’m still in California—”
“When are you coming home? This week has gone so slowly, and I don’t know if I can stand having you gone for another seven days.”
Hmm. Jo’s whereabouts hadn’t surprised Mrs. Snelling, and she knew about the timing, so her soon-to-be-ex-husband must have had a chance to tell her about the trip. And she’d probably let him have it for allowing Jo to come.
“Tomorrow, Mama. We finished up early.”
“I’m so glad.” Mrs. Snelling sounded completely awake now. “I love you, sweetie, and I’ve missed you terribly.”
Do you actually believe that, Jo? If I were you, I’d probably say something evil like, “You mean you’ve noticed I’ve been gone?” or “You loved me so much you moved out on Papa and me?”
> But she didn’t. “I love you, too …”
Wow. I’m not sure I could have said that if I’d been in Jo’s position. Aleesha moved closer to me. Her hand was just inches from my face. Maybe to cover my mouth if she needed to.
“Have you had a good time?” Mrs. Snelling asked. “No, I mean has your work gone well?”
“Wonderful. Thanks. Especially the worship services we’ve been doing at the prison across the road.”
“I’m sure those women appreciated your coming.”
“Uh, it’s a men’s prison, Mama.”
Dead silence. “I’m sure the men appreciated your ministry.”
Come on, Jo. I dare you to say something about Alfredo.
“We saw a number of insiders make first-time decisions.” Jo’s tone was a little, uh, maybe not curt, but slightly brittle. At least she was polite. Good on you, girlfriend. “It’s been far too wonderful to try telling you about on the phone. Especially at this time of night.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing every detail when you get home.”
That’s when I would have said, “And where should I look for you when I get home?”
I heard the male voice in the background again, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Betsy Jo … Jo—what a cute nickname. I like it. Somebody here wants to talk to you.”
I could picture her handing the phone over to her young, scantily clad, uh, friend. What I couldn’t imagine was why.
“Hey, Jo!”
“Papa! What are you doing there? Uh, I mean Mama. I … I don’t know what I mean.”
“Jo, your mama’s come back home.”
I could hear Mrs. Snelling in the background. “Where I belong. And am I ever glad to be home. Leaving your papa and pretending to move in with a younger man was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done.”
Aleesha grabbed my arm and yanked me in the direction of Graham’s apartment. Time to let Jo talk with her parents in private. The last thing I heard before we got out of earshot was, “I love you, Papa. And I love you, too, Mama. And I miss both of you so much.”
