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.

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

When’s the last time you felt joyful? ​ Not happy, not content—I mean truly joyful. ​ The kind of joy that makes you raise your hands high and scream out with every ounce of your being. The kind of joy that proclaims to every ear that you are alive and in the spirit. The kind of joy that can’t come from a drug, a drink, or a dollar bill. Joy. ​ You can ask my mom or Grace—I’m not always the most joyful person. Sometimes I get stuck in my own head and just want to crawl into a

“Spence, you gotta hear this.” I was on my way out the door of Burruss Correctional Training Center. I desperately wanted to get back to my car where water and lunch awaited me. I didn’t want to spend another moment in that prison. It had been a long day already, with an even longer week ahead. I stopped and turned around. Buford, my teaching assistant, stood next to a young man who was brand new to our horticulture class. Buford nudged Shamar. “Go on, tell him what I h

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

“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

“Yo Mr. Spence, can we speak in private?” His name was David. A young Hispanic kid with a marijuana leaf tattooed on his neck. We walked to the corner of the yard. “What’s on your mind, David?” He spoke quietly. “You think you could get me one of those poem books? I’m trying to write a letter to my girl. I want to use big words and s***. Oops, big words and stuff.” I laughed. “Sure thing, man.” You see, a month ago, I’d printed out four different poems and broug

The Georgia Department of Corrections has a problem. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution and Department of Justice have documented these problems extensively. A few highlights: Aging facilities. Staff vacancies rates of 70% or higher. Unprecedented levels of violence (an estimated 60+ homicides in 2024). Widespread corruption (one warden arrested for arranging a murder-for-hire). And as far as I can tell, there are two ways to solve these problems. Option 1: Throw more money

Reading Spencer’s emails is not just informative—it’s an experience. His passion for working with the juvenile boys at Burruss is evident in every word. Each email offers a glimpse of transformation: another future saved, another family restored, another life touched by hope. I know this firsthand because I attended one of HeartBound Ministries’ programs in prison—and I am one of their success stories. As January came to a close, Spencer sent an email titled Worth Its Weigh

Mikel slipped me a note. The previous week, I had told him some good news. A lot of people had read the newsletter about Mikel. The newsletter that ended with us asking for donations to help us through the “slow months” of the giving season. Many of you answered the call. In fact, one of you donated $5,000. I told Mikel that the words he shared helped inspire and guide our newsletter. I told him that his words had helped us receive a gift of $5,000. I told him that th

Remember Genesis? The boy who Ethan encouraged when he was feeling down? Who didn’t shower enough and was intellectually disabled? ​ Well, Genesis did something pretty remarkable the other day. He volunteered to speak at our graduation ceremony. Totally out of the blue. Not sure what compelled him to raise his hand. When no one else had the courage to do so, he volunteered. I had no idea what he would say. All I knew was that I was excited to hear it. The day of the gr

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

“Like Elizabeth Taylor said to her fifth husband, ‘I’m not going to keep you long.’” I laughed and settled into my chair. This was going to be a treat. It was a Sunday afternoon in Atlanta. I sat in a prison’s visitation room, listening to the words of a wise man. One of the inmates had asked us to contact John Eldridge, a pastor who had once been the chaplain at Walker State Prison. The inmate hadn’t seen Chaplain Eldridge in some time and was wondering if he’d be kind e

Something was wrong with Hagan. His grades were quickly falling. Easy assignments that he’d previously complete in almost no time were returned to me blank. One of the prison’s staff approached me and pleaded with me, asking me to talk to him before it was too late. As our horticulture class ended that day, I told Hagan to stay after class. I excused my teaching assistant and we sat alone, soft sunlight filtering into the classroom through the razor wire outside. I pull

You’ve probably never heard of Bill Lane. I never had. One day, I get an email out of the blue from “Bill Lane.” He wanted to volunteer with HeartBound. I get these emails frequently. I’d estimate that only 1 in 10 emails results in someone actually volunteering. People are busy and volunteering in prison isn’t easy, nor is it for everyone. I’ve made peace with that. Bill was part of that 10% that followed through by volunteering. He shadowed a couple of our classes at th

There are some fancy formulas that nonprofits use to advertise just how good of a job they’re doing. I’ve researched them, weighed whether or not if it’s worth the time spent to calculate them, and decided, it’s largely not. You could attempt to place a fiscal value on the goods and services we provide and simply put, it wouldn’t be accurate, nor would it portray the true impact of our programs. One such formula, “social value,” is a metric that puts a dollar value on how m