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

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

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

If you’ve ever “bombed” in front of a crowd, you’ll understand how I was feeling. But let me back up before I explain.   A torrential downpour welcomed me as soon as I arrived at our monthly Tuesdays Together meeting at the Atlanta Transitional Center. I was drenched to the bone as I waited outside for the volunteers to arrive.   I glanced at my watch—three minutes to showtime. Only four volunteers had arrived. We’d been averaging 15 the past few months. I figured the rain ha

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

Tuck hasn’t been the same lately.   I’ve known him for over a year. When he first joined our guitar program at Metro Regional Youth Detention Center he was talkative, bright, and engaged.   But over the last few months, something changed. He started showing up to class with his face hidden behind a surgical mask. He can barely focus. When the guard comes around to distribute medications, she announces out loud for all to hear, “Tuck refusing medications again.” Technically it

“Before we begin, I would like to make it abundantly clear that I cannot sing. Prepare your ears accordingly.” ​ You can’t say that I didn’t warn ‘em.   It was a Thursday morning. I was locked in the dining hall at Metro Regional Youth Detention Center. I do not like Metro. The plexiglass windows are covered in graffiti, the doors hammer shut with a resounding boom, nothing ever rarely occurs on time or in an orderly fashion. It is chaotic, dimly lit, sterile, and a horrible

I might not be able to tell you what Heaven looks like, but I’m sure I can tell you what it sounds like.   Tuesday evening, 7:40 PM. We were gathered in the basement classroom of a dilapidated prison. Ceiling tiles sagged low, stained dirty with water, others missing entirely. Mismatched chairs, wobbly tables, moths buzzing at the windows. As bleak a setting as one can imagine, not a place for joy and praise.   Evan tuned his guitar and began to sing.   I pulled into Nazareth

I like to listen to music when I write. Funny enough though, when I was younger and listening to music, I rarely heard the lyrics – what was more important to me was the melody, how the song made me feel in my soul. I remember riding with someone as a sophomore in college and they asked me if I had ever listened to the lyrics of a particular song that was playing. I was dumbfounded. I recall my response being, “Of course not, is that something people do?”  Since that moment I