because we were here.

Sunday, March 9, 2014; 10:38pm

This day has been an adventure in itself and the service part of the trip has not even begun! My day started before sunrise at 6:45am (okay, 6:55, ten minutes after I hit my snooze button a couple times like I told myself I wouldn’t do) with a shower and a quick breakfast in the church’s kitchen with the other 38 sleepy students before boarding our Peoria charter bus at 9am with the destination being an unclaimed inmate body and prisoner execution cemetery. It was a cloudy, rainy morning and we got dropped off at a deserted looking cemetery with hundreds of blank stone crosses and headstones. This wasn’t your typical cemetery with magnificent looking headstones, fresh flowers and elaborate statues adorning the gravesites of those deceased. The lives laid to rest here were, and we can only assume continue to be, forgotten. These are bodies abandoned, rejected by their families (if they even had one), refused to be acknowledged by anyone. These are lost stories; criminal offenders found guilty, yet never given a second chance at innocence. The experience walking through the cemetery while reading the names on only a couple of the headstones was overwhelming, but it was just the start of the day that was ahead of us. After we rode the bus back for lunch, our next stop was Ellis Prison. At Ellis, (or “the farm” as the people there refer to it as) we met a couple lieutenants, officers, guards, and the warden. Much to our surprise, the prison staff respected the inmates as human beings and allowed them to keep their dignity. Yes, this was an all male facility with most inmates facing sentences for extended amounts of time, some facing life in prison for unthinkable crimes, but never once did a staff member allude to an inmate as being worthless. Even Warden Morris firmly believed that we are all, regardless of background or circumstance, God’s children and worthy of love.

As I sit typing this after reflection group tonight I am reminded again that I am a part of something so much bigger than myself. I cannot say that I know what exactly I’m doing here in this metal shed of a church called Burning Hope in the middle of Trinity, Texas working with prison justice of all things, nor do I claim to know precisely what I plan on doing with this incredible opportunity I’ve been blessed with. But what I do know for sure is this: we are all in this thing together and each of us has the potential to change things. Getting to know everyone has broken my heart for the issues they are passionate about. We bleed hope and compassion here and it is evident in the way we intently listen to one another, talk about our fears and dreams even when it makes us feel vulnerable, ramble about our wide range of interests, and encourage one another to be honest in the places that hurt the most and bring us the most joy. All these things are what make us who we are.

So maybe it won’t happen in one day, maybe not even in one week like this, but maybe this really is all worth it. Maybe the world will be a better place simply because we were here.