I think it was almost a month ago the first time I went to visit him in jail.
I had no idea just how much that first visit would affect me.
Just as life throws curve balls, and we don't really know why we do something that takes us where we end up, he was in a place where he could be found that day.
Call it fate, call it divine intervention, whatever. He was right where he needed to be, so he could catch a glimpse into a world different than the one he was living in.
I didn't even get to meet him until after he was released from his first stint in jail. By then, all the conversations about, and prayers for him had connected me to him, drawn me to him.
Our first meeting was one of old friends, at least to me. To him, he was probably a little bit shocked at this crazy lady hugging him.
The differences between us were so staggering, it was almost comedic.
Black, white; young, not so young; fat, thin; short, tall; long hair, short hair. The list could go on.
What struck me most about him wasn't what we could all see; it was what he displayed in his being. A slight bit of fear and unease with his agreement to gather with this unlikely bunch, but the faith to go through with it, and the hope that accompanied him amidst all the introductions and joyous expressions of his return.
That's what I was drawn to.
Maybe he stayed because he recognized something in all of us.
Maybe he didn't see any strings holding any masks.
Maybe he saw and recognized that we'd all dealt with pain of our own.
Maybe he didn't see the telltale signs of people trying to hide that pain, or our shame.
Maybe he even recognized his own strength when in our company.
I don't know.
The beauty of his presence among us isn't knowing why he stayed, but in the staying. Who he is, exactly, right now... is what we were missing.
We couldn't be us without him.
We can't just pretend to know him, or his life, or where he's been without knowing him. Nor can we do a single thing to encourage him, to uplift him, or to help him believe in himself unless we know him.
That's what drove me to go visit him the first time. I wanted to know him more, I wanted to encourage him in this "hard place" he was in.
Being my first time visiting someone in jail, my assumptions were shattered upon our arrival. Face-to-face visitation was reduced to cameras and low-resolution screens, and an old phone receiver. Very 1980's-pay-phone-booth-ish, with about the same amount of personal connection.
About the time I was able to take it all in, we learned that we couldn't even see him that day.
I had to be okay with that; I already wasn't ready for the impersonal (dis)connection that awaited us.
I had to chew on this for a while.
Here I was, facing down a couple of stereotypes.
Prisoners.
What we think it's like in jail, based off of what we learn from movies and television.
But here was This Prisoner.
A man caught up in a world of bad choices.
A man in the process of being delivered from the demons that kept him trapped in that world.
My friend.
In This Jail.
Where our contact was through a computer screen.
Where the guise of technology did nothing to make life better; all it did was separate us further.
Where he'd live out his punishment for his offenses.
AND YET... my second visit completely changed my perspective...
This prisoner:
Our friend. Who admitted his crime, and accepted his punishment.
Our friend. Who, despite his surroundings, found Rest from his circumstances IN those surroundings.
Our friend. Who wasn't sulking in his punishment, but making hopeful plans for a better future.
This jail.
Where the technology that screamed of our disconnect, became the motivating factor in his decision to reconnect.
Where solitude-as-punishment has become the resting place for him, and so many like him, whose life on the outside is so much worse than it is on the inside.
Which houses him now, is catapulting him into a future that will change the lives of all who call him "friend".
