“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

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

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 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

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

Today, I want to tell you about Tristan.   Tristan and I did not get off on the right foot.   I write to tell you about how far he’s come and what he’s accomplished. His story is one of the countless stories we encounter time and time again at HeartBound Ministries, thanks to your support, prayers, and a lot of help from God.   The first time I met Tristan, he was not happy to see me. He wore a scowl on his face.   I instinctually knew that it was his first day in “big boy pr

“Spence, how old are you?”  I didn’t even know his name. It was his first day in our horticulture class at Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison. He’d introduced himself earlier but was so quiet I couldn’t understand what he was saying.   “Twenty-eight,” I replied. We’d spent the last hour or so working side by side in the garden. New to the class, he volunteered for the easiest task, clearing rocks out of the garden beds. As I watched him pick up rock after rock, I sa

I’ve been with HeartBound for four years now.   Whenever someone new hears about my job, I know to immediately expect a million questions. One of them being – “What are the people you work with in prison for?”   My answer is nearly always the same: “I don’t know.” And that’s the truth.   A common misconception about prison is that everyone knows what everyone else is “in” for. The details of someone’s offense are rarely – if ever – discussed. A lot of prisoners don’t talk to

Every other Tuesday, HeartBound hosts a horticulture/financial literacy class at the Atlanta Transitional Center. We cook a hearty meal for our 14 or so attendees, play a goofy game called “Juice, Jam, and Jelly,” and then spend an hour teaching. I love these men deeply; most I’ve known for over two years. Because it’s a transitional center, I can bring in my laptop, which makes teaching a lot easier.   That evening in my kitchen, my mind raced through the list of possible to

Michael. Cooper. Ronnie. Mikel.   These are, in a way, some of my “children.”   My boys at Burruss that I teach every Tuesday from 11:30-1:30.   I bring them snacks, books, and seeds, and they eat, read, and plant.   I’m 28, 29 in August. I don’t foresee biological children in my immediate future (sorry Mom!).   But I have these kids, and I love them SO much.   They all arrived in our horticulture class in sorry states. Michael couldn’t read. Cooper was a social outcast becau

Daryl was hungry for more. I could see it in his eyes.   Daryl is one of those kids who came from nothing and if I had to guess, never had anything to call his own. His life, according to societal standards, is full of failure. He is in prison, sentenced as an adult even though he was a minor when he committed his crime. Georgia is one of the few remaining states that still tries children as adults based on their crime. They receive the same sentences as adults and upon turni

Conner is a quiet kid with a big smile.   He loves the University of Alabama Crimson Tide. He also loves biographies of musicians and books that help him refine his blossoming art skills. Each week he comes to me with a list of books for me to procure on his behalf – Dolly Parton’s autobiography, Johnny Cash’s Man in Black, Dante’s The Divine Comedy. He’s a voracious reader, impressive considering the fact that he’s only 17.   Since he first arrived at Burruss Correctional Tr

I had two new students in our horticulture class at Burruss Correctional Training Center recently.   They weren’t there to learn. When they saw me enter the facility, they realized that I was wheeling a cart full of ramen noodle packs. They came to class for some ramen. Ramen is a form of currency in prison; with the food often arriving in minuscule, inedible portions, many rely on ramen from the prison commissary for sustenance.   Many students arrive in our classroom becaus

Mikel has a lazy eye.  ​ He talks almost exclusively in broken urban slang. I would bet that he doesn’t weigh more than 135 pounds, despite the fact that he’s 17.  ​ When he first joined our horticulture class I feared for his safety. He was an easy target to pick on between the lazy eye, small stature, and wannabe gangster vernacular. Not to mention that I quickly discerned that he was probably developmentally disabled.  ​ But the kid tried so hard in class. He didn’t blink

“I never seen a tomato before.”   He held the tomato gently in his hand, cradling it like an egg.   “I swear, I never seen a whole tomato before.”   I had to turn away to keep from laughing.   As you might imagine, the food served in prison is quite terrible. Our students come to class hungry, making it difficult to pay attention. This simple fact was one of the reasons why we started horticulture programming, so students could grow their own food to supplement what’s offered

Several months ago, I shared about Ethan, a horticulture student who had recently tried to commit suicide – twice. I’d be remiss if I didn’t share an update.   Genesis arrived at Burruss Correctional Training Center unlike many other juvenile inmates – he was upbeat and smiling. He actively participated in class and gleefully shouted out answers to the little puzzles we use to warm up at the start of each class. His answers were nearly always wrong – he is undoubtedly intelle

Put yourself in their shoes for a minute.   You’ve committed a crime. A judge or jury of your peers has deemed you unfit to walk about freely. A prosecutor has decried you as a “menace to society” or worse, a “superpredator.” The gavel falls, your wrists and ankles are shackled, then your loaded onto a white re-purposed school bus and driven down to Forsyth, GA. There, you’re unloaded, given a set of starched white prison shirts and pants, and told, “Welcome to Burruss Correc

“Like an eastern redbud I have a heart.”   Each week during our horticulture class, I introduce the students to a new plant. They then have to memorize how to visually identify the plant, as well as how to spell its Latin, common, and family names. They’ve learned to spell words like Chaenomeles speciosa and Hamamelidaceae. I’m replicating an exact assignment I had in my own undergraduate studies and teaching the same plants I learned and poured over for four years. The only

There’s a peace lily on my porch. It’s a sad little creature, confined to a wicker basket that’s starting to rot.   I have a small collection of houseplants, all of which are in varying states of health and wellness. Yes, I was a horticulture major in college and hold a Master of Science from UGA, but never took the “Indoor Plants” class. I don’t know anything about our indoor plant friends, which is quite ironic because when people hear about my educational and career backgr