It was one of the strangest compliments I’d ever received. Pastor Sapp pointed at me.   “Spencer’s an example of an average person living out their faith in prison.”   I never thought that being called average would be such a compliment, but in that moment, I understood. I was genuinely honored. I think it’s the perfect way to describe what it is we aim to do at HeartBound.   You see, HeartBound has developed a model for the spiritual and moral rehabilitation of the incarcera

“He did it. He finally did it.”   We were laughing so hard my stomach started to hurt.   I looked around. We stood in the prison garden, the garden we’d begun nearly a year ago. The garden that was once nothing and had since become a place of so much joy, laughter, and conversation.   Our motley crew. A mix of Black, white, Latino, and Asian men. Some in their twenties, some in their fifties, all somewhere in-between.   It was our last class outside before we let the garden g

I’d been putting the lesson off for weeks and weeks, finding ways to stall.   Since August, a group of 35 men and 17-year-old boys at Burruss Correctional Training Center had been learning financial literacy with HeartBound. The end of December was rapidly approaching and there was one subject we had yet to cover.   Taxes.   Finally, we could wait no longer. The time had come to teach the most dreaded lesson of all. Knowing that so many of our students hated math, I expected

Peter’s guitar rang out with the opening notes. William brushed past me. He had recognized the beat almost instantly.   “Ooh this is a good song,” he called out. I don’t think he was talking to anybody in particular. He was, as we say, just “feeling the Spirit.”   Ashley’s voice filled the room. “Give me one reason to stay here, and I’ll turn right back around.”   William’s voice joined in for the next line. He stood a few feet away, just out of the spotlight.   Ashley didn’t

The guard screamed at the boys. She swore up and down, calling them every name in the book. She didn’t care that I was standing a few feet away, that a volunteer could hear her use such profane language.   I thought to myself, “Imagine what she’s saying when people like me aren’t  here.”   The boys responded in-kind by matching her energy. They yelled back. They became even more rambunctious. They pounded on heavy metal doors; the sound of cold steel echoed off the walls. I c

Eric called out to me, “Spencer, any parting words for the students and our guests?”   My mind whirled. What could I possibly say to sum up what I’d just seen? How could I properly describe the experience? What words would be sufficient?   “Let’s just say I haven’t ever seen anything like that before, and I’m quite certain that I’ll never see anything like that again.”   A hearty laughter echoed across the room. Each of us wore a smile on our face. It was a good day.   Eric a

I glanced at my phone. “Missed call from Zach.”   I gulped.   Unscheduled calls from former students elicit some trepidation. Over the years I’ve come to learn that sometimes, no news is the best news. Surprise phone calls are often accompanied with a problem – issues with a probation officer, troubles finding stable housing.   I called back.   Zach’s voice was gleeful. “Yo! Spence! Whaddup?”   Still, I was nervous. I apologized for missing his call, explaining that I was in

Cassius [name changed to protect privacy] sat in the back of the room. His already small frame looked even smaller as he sunk into the well-worn chair. He glanced around the room, eyes shifty and nervous. I had to call out his name several times to get his attention. When he finally answered, his voice was a hoarse whisper.   Every other Tuesday evening HeartBound leads a men’s group at the Atlanta Transitional Center. The topics vary from financial literacy to science to wha

Robert wouldn’t leave me alone.   He was like a shadow, following me closely as I moved through the garden. Every time I stopped to lean over and check a plant, he leaned to check. Every time I stopped to talk to a student, he hung back, trying to act like he couldn’t hear our conversation. I was getting a little annoyed.   I finally stopped and turned to him.   “Robert, what’s on your mind today?”   His face drew uncomfortably close to mine. “Spence, you know I’ve been doing

Their eyes grew big like saucers.   “Mr. Spence, you want us to do what ?”   I told the boys that they had heard me correctly. 100 things. Not 10, not 50, but 100 .   Moans filled our classroom. Eyes rolled.   Torey sat in the back, smiling. He stood up and encouraged them in his thick Latino accent.   “When I was a juvie just like you Spence gave me the same assignment. I thought I couldn’t do it. But I did. And you can too.”   I thanked him. I thought back to those early da

Juan leapt in the air.   Rapidly descending from above him was a small, green, plastic ball.   He cranked his arm backwards, then whirled it forward.   The racket ignited with the ball.   The ball shot forward, cleared the net, then rocketed down. It grazed the concrete just inside the boundary line, then skidded out of bounds.   George had read Juan’s spike perfectly. He was in position and ready. He swung his paddle through the air, a clean forehand.   He whiffed.   I calle

6 AM Wednesday morning.   As I get older, I become more of a morning person. I make my coffee, crack the door open to let in some fresh air, and listen to the world spin outside.   Outside my apartment, there’s a beautiful Japanese Maple. This year I watched its leaves transform from dark red to bright gold. It was glorious.   Every holiday season, HeartBound prepares Thanksgiving and Christmas meals for our students. These special meals are a wonderful time to bring everyone

The last guests were filtering out the doors.  All was peaceful, our first slow moment of the day.   Then, a loud cry from down the hallway.   I dropped the box I was carrying and turned towards the noise. A woman was hunched over, hand over her mouth, crying. Andrea stood next to her. What was happening? I looked at Grace with alarm.   “That’s her in the photo, Spencer.”   At this woman’s feet was an oversized photo printed on foam board. The photo showed a woman singing in

The weather outside was indeed frightful.   A cold wind howled outside the weathered windows at the Atlanta Transitional Center.   A chilly frost nipped through cracks in the window frames. I kept my jacket on and collar pulled tight.   Outside, a cold, bleak landscape. But inside this prison, there was joy.   The men sang Christmas carols. The volunteers handed out plates of food and Christmas cookies. Everyone seemed to be filled with Christmas cheer.   I stepped to the pod

Let me share with you how I know that we’re doing something right.   Roadblocks are getting thrown up left and right at the facilities we work in.   You see, Evil is trying to stop Good. But it won’t succeed.   I was tempted to list and explain every roadblock, a sort of “airing of grievances.” I wanted to complain and show you just how unfair we’ve been treated lately.   But I won’t. I’ll just tell you straight up - working inside prisons has not been easy lately.   Not that

I wish I could say that getting out of prison is the easy part.   That once you’re released, life is so much better.   That those hopes and wishes you had dreamt up during your incarceration become actualized. That life becomes normal again. That family, friends, and your neighborhood welcome you home with open arms.   But release from prison is not a new beginning or a second chance for many of the men, women, and teenagers we work with. Instead, it’s often just the continua

Audrey entered the room with a nervous energy that filled the air, thick and unmistakable. ​ “Is this the program where we get to read for our kids?” she asked, her voice filled with enthusiasm.   “Yes,” I replied.   A few minutes passed as we waited for other women to arrive. I realized that she’d be our only reader that afternoon. Normally, that might have left me feeling disappointed. But not today. Today felt different. We sat together and talked about choosing books for

They call him “Grasshopper.”   I don’t know his government name and if I were to ask around the prison, I doubt anyone else does. Just Grasshopper.   Grasshopper has spent more time in prison than anyone I’ve ever met. Over fifty years. He’s a short guy with a mean attitude.   Grasshopper doesn’t like me. He is one of the prison’s orderlies, meaning, he’s essentially tasked with doing the bidding of the prison’s administration. He walks staff down the hallway, conducts inspec

I recently read an article about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) being used by nonprofits in Chicago to prevent violence. Murder rates are falling nationwide and sociologists are trying to figure out why. Some believe CBT programming might be one of the reasons. I filed the article away in my mind, thinking that CBT might be worth trying in prisons one day. We are always looking for “what works”.   Later that week, I was at Burruss Correctional Training Center for a gradua

We wish you could’ve been with us at Whitworth Women’s Facility—but in a way, you were. You’ve been with us all along.   Grace, Andrea, I, and HeartBound board members Lucy Fugate and Lara Woods gathered to celebrate the third graduating class of the seminary program. In case you didn’t know, HeartBound funds the first and only seminary program for incarcerated women in the state of Georgia. To date, 16 women have received associate degrees and 11 have received bachelor’s deg