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

An idea came to me recently.   I was speaking to a group of high schoolers at Trinity Anglican Church. The topic I’d been given, “How do I make the most of the rest of my life?”, led me to think back to my own childhood and what it felt like to be a teenager.   I think we can all agree that being a teenager today isn’t easy. College tuition costs keep rising, acceptance rates are plummeting, and perhaps worst of all - you’ve got to contend with your entire life being online.

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

We all have to begin somewhere. We had just wrapped our Returning Hearts Celebration at Burruss Correctional Training Center. The day was more perfect than we could ever hope for or imagine.  I didn’t sleep well the next two days; I wasn’t quite sure why. My body and mind were exhausted, but I couldn’t seem to find rest. I wanted to cancel my horticulture class the following Tuesday at Burruss, but God kept telling me, “Show up. I’ll do the rest.”  I made the drive down. One

I was a little incredulous. To enter a prison (and leave one), you need your ID with you. Your ID is a big deal in prison. One Returning Hearts volunteer had forgotten her ID, the prison simply wasn't going to let her in. She had rode with a friend up to Walker, it wasn't like she could just turn around and go back home. So we asked if she'd be comfortable joining our caregiver event at a nearby church for the families of the men participating in our Returning Hearts Celebra

When HeartBound hosts our Returning Hearts Celebrations, I like to work the check-in table for families. Why? For many of the children, this will be their first visit to prison. They’re staring up at imposing guard towers and menacing chain-link fences adorned with row after row of concertina wire. Their caregiver is usually apprehensive too – “I’m dropping off my child with these strangers for what?”  Our job at check-in is to quell these fears, to put on a smiling face and