George

For over thirty years, I’ve been corresponding and visiting with a man in prison.  I met him shortly after he was convicted of murder, and serving a life sentence.  His name is George.

As part of an outreach our church was doing at the time, I, and many others, sent George a Christmas card the first year he was in jail. He faithfully responded to each and every one.  I wrote back, and that’s how the relationship began.

It’s interesting what prison does to a person.  George was only 24 years old at the time of his initial incarceration.  He was full of hope and strong in his faith, encouraging me as well as those around him. That only lasted for a few years though, and slowly, his faith started to decay and his attitude changed dramatically. When he was released because of “good behavior” after serving only 11 years of his life sentence, he quickly found a way back to his old lifestyle.  He started drinking and hanging around with the wrong crowd, and in just a few months, landed back in prison, this time, for good.

George had many supportive people that he could have chosen to be around when he got out, but he didn’t. When he finally had the freedom he had long been anticipating, he blew it. Many friends and most of his family turned their backs on him.  I was extremely disappointed in him, but I felt more than ever I needed to stay the course, even though it was very difficult.

Instead of writing letters encouraging me in my faith, George began to question his own.  His letters took on a different tone.  He started whining about his circumstances and how he didn’t deserve to be back in prison.  He felt no responsibility whatsoever for his actions and took on the role of a victim.  He even planned to escape once and when caught, focused on how evidence against him was planted in his cell to prove his guilt.  He raged about how wrong that was, all the while ignoring the fact he was indeed plotting to escape.  Sometimes I couldn’t even read his letters.  I let them just sit for days until I had the stomach enough to tolerate his rants.

As the years went by, fewer and fewer people kept in touch with him.  His daughters returned his letters, unopened.  His contact with the outside world has now dwindled to just a couple of people.  I was his only visitor for many years.

Through it all, I still feel it’s been a good thing to have George be part of my life.  He’s been a tangible reminder that at one time or another, we’ve probably all felt imprisoned by life’s circumstances or choices we’ve made.  There’s no point in whining.  Even if life isn’t turning out as expected, having the right attitude can make all the difference. Learning to be content, no matter what, is the greatest form of freedom we have.