Frank
I sat on the hard floor of a rectangular space the prison staff called a “group meeting room” with 4 boys and Cindy who works with One Heart. This “group meeting room” was more prison cell than meeting room. It was surrounded by windows on 3 sides, it was completely bare except for the 2 chairs brought in by the boys and a key was needed to let us into the room…and out of the room.
Cindy and I were privileged to return to the facility where only a week ago I had led an art camp. We went back to check on two of the boys who artistically stood out to me, however, by afternoon through divine appointment, 2 more boys desired to sit on laminate with us. Actually, every boy we saw was hungry to enter the small rectangular cell. You could see it in their eyes. You heard it in their questions when we were released to join them for lunch, although they were not allowed to talk much. You could feel it on their hearts. Hearts void of outside daily contact. Hearts void of hope. Hearts capable of receiving nourishment.
The word nourishment came up. “Frank” jumped on that word. I find that fascinating. Words had been linked together for the better part of the morning but when nourishment was mentioned. Frank immediately stopped the flow of conversation and said, “What’s that? Nourish whatever. What’s that mean?” I could put “The END” right now. THAT statement is powerful. A 17 year old prisoner asking about a word he had never heard and had no idea what it meant. “NOURISHMENT? What does it mean?” He asked. The End.
But I can’t end there. There’s so much more. Frank is an only child I found out. His dad was in prison (the first time or ONE of the times I couldn’t get straight) from Franks early years until he was 9. Somewhere throughout Frank’s life his mom was also in prison. Once or more, I don’t know that either. Are they currently in prison? I don’t know, although it sounded like they were out and still married to each other. I miss a lot in translation. I don’t talk street and he doesn’t talk white mom of the suburbs, not to mention the group meeting room was not created with acoustics in mind. Yet, we understand each other most of the time. The boys understand each other all of the time. There’s never a “What? Huh? Or questioning face during their conversations.” Where communication seems to break down the most between mom and prisoner is when words like “nourishment” are discussed.
Franks inquisitive mind was a bridge to his hungry heart. “Nourishment is like when a baby is born,” I told him, “And that baby needs milk to survive. It would die without nourishment.” I wonder how long Frank has been dead? The word “survival” seemed to bring up money talk. Actually it doesn’t take much to bring up discussions that revolve around money. Money they understand. Money is nourishment to them. Money is survival. It was money that got Frank into a life of drug dealing. He made good money. He nourished himself. He had to.
He looked out one of the windows in the midst of the dicussion and said, “Yeah, I want job that I can go to every day. I don’t know what I’d do, but I want that.” Here’s the moment God spoke to his heart. I replied, “Frank, the only job you’ve known is one where you live with fear every moment. Fear of getting found out. Fear of keeping it secret. Frank, you can have a job where you don’t have to live with fear every day. It may not pay as much but it will certainly be so much better than what you have known all your life.” Frank is riddled with fear. It consumes him. He gets out soon and he is fearful of that. He’s fearful of returning to the place that led him to prison. He acknowledged that it is going to be hard to turn people away that come looking for him. He’s afraid of standing up for himself and telling his “friends” that he doesn’t do that anymore. He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to stay in prison either. He never wants to return.
What’s going to happen to Frank?
One of the boys that joined us in the afternoon was completely surprised when I said something to Frank. I started the statement with “Frank…” The boy had complete shock on his face and laughed. He turned his attention to Frank and shook his head. I was bewildered with the boy. I looked at him and said, “What? Is his name not Frank?” There was an awkward pause and Charlie, Who I wrote about last time, laughed and explained, “No, that’s his name. It’s just weird to hear you say it. We are only called by our last name.” Frank’s been in for almost a year. Charlie just got there not too long ago. The fourth boy who was with us has been there for THREE YEARS. Three years of not hearing his first name. The fourth boy will be coming to The One Heart Bowl at Grapevine Faith Christian School on Friday, September 9th at 7:30pm as long as he stays out of trouble between now and then. I told him I would be on his sideline looking for him. Cheering for him by his first name. I can’t share his name here, but it’s locked away in my memory. I don’t even know his last name!
I look back at yesterday and I see four infants chained to a cement floor crying out for milk. I honestly don’t know how to process that image. That fact. So instead, I will leave you with an image that Frank drew for me while I was there. I had worn my One Heart T-shirt. Right before we left he said, “Here. Here’s a new One Heart T-shrit design.” It is difficult to see the words ONE on his design. Actually it’s almost impossible especially with the image you have below. Frank wants to be a graphic designer. He’s got the talent. He can learn the skill. Frank has a heart ready for nourishment.
