I asked Daniela, “What did you see inside that prison that surprised you the most?” She had just volunteered with HeartBound for the first time and used to work for a nonprofit up North, so she’s seen a thing or two. She paused carefully before answering. “It was abundantly clear that nearly everyone in that prison had some sort of disability. Whether developmental or physical or psychological.” I nodded. One thing I’ve learned is that prisons exist for people wh

I wasn’t sure the day would ever arrive. I had been preparing juveniles for baptism for over three months. When the conversation started, an inflatable pool of water would have been refreshing, a cool dip on an Indian summer day. When the day finally arrived, the ambient temperature was 50. The breeze was stiff. The occasional mop bucket of 160-degree water from the prison’s indoor plumbing would hardly put a dent in the frigid water coming from the outside tap. Circumstances

A quick funny anecdote for you – if you want to become a certified volunteer with the Georgia Department of Corrections you have to go through volunteer training. One section that they cover is what to do if you’re taken hostage in prison. Here’s what you are told to do - you should eat grass so you either soil yourself or throw up. No one wants to hold a hostage that’s sullied themselves. Two days after this training, I was in prison and told my students about the traini

Henry Adams writes, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” I’ll let you in on a secret, I didn’t read this quote myself, a student of mine in prison slipped it to me. A revelation of sorts came to me recently. My students in prison, though they live together, eat together, shower together, spend 24 hours and 365 days a year together, don’t actually know each other at all. I believe there are two major reasons for this disconnect: Pe

“My name’s Kevin and I’m an alcoholic.” It was a rainy Tuesday evening in the visitation room at the Atlanta Transitional Center. Fifteen of us were arranged in a circle. We’d gathered together for HeartBound’s new drama program at the Center. Twelve residents and three volunteers sat anxiously, feeling each other out, trying to figure out how this thing would go. Winn, our volunteer instructor, had told us all to introduce ourselves and explain why we had joined the prog

He solemnly whispered that he had failed his GED exam by three points. I asked what happened – this young man is quite bright and usually a good student. He responded despondently, “I gave up. Couldn’t do it.” Just at that moment, another horticulture student, Chance, walked up to us. This young man has been incarcerated since he was 13 and by all measures, Chance shouldn’t be succeeding academically like he is. He’s a former gang member facing a lengthy sentence. He never

“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

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

“I’m going to preach to you today directly from the word of God,” Ryan said. “If it wrinkles your collar, don’t be mad at me, be mad at God.” He continued, drawing a deep breath. “Count 1: Malice murder. Count 2: Malice murder. Count 3: Possession of a firearm by a convicted felon.” Ryan continued all the way to Count 13, reciting each of his convictions by heart. My jaw hit the floor. This man standing before me, a man I call a friend, had committed each of these

Something really unique happened in prison the other day. I’ve previously shared a story about a student who revealed in one of his papers that he had faced the death penalty and had been spared thanks to the efforts of his public defender. In case you don’t recall or missed that newsletter, I reached out to the lawyer (who’s since retired) and wrote her a letter of appreciation explaining just how much of a wonderful human the young man she had represented had grown up to

So often, it is not well with my soul. The world we inhabit is broken, marred by sin. Just this Tuesday, I walked into a prison and the first words I heard were: “You know that Ethan kid of yours? He tried to kill himself twice this weekend. Slashed his wrists and neck and then pulled out the stitches.” I had to stand and absorb this grave news without flinching. I had no time to process. I was there to teach. I had to go on. Ethan is by no means a good student. I couldn’

Almost three years ago I received a phone call from Omar Howard at the Atlanta Transitional Center (ATC). One thing I love about Omar is that he cuts straight to the point and doesn’t spend extraneous time dallying on the phone. He asked me plainly, “You know anything about bees? I got a bee guy here.” I paused; it was a strange question. I had a job in college where I helped maintain seven beehives so sure, I knew a thing or two about bees. “Yeah,” I replied, “Put him on

I did not like Carmen when I first met him. Something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but he just did. Whenever he tried to join one of our existing programs at the Atlanta Transitional Center, I would politely tell him that he’d have to wait until we finished the current class and started another. My strategy worked – until it didn’t. This fall, we launched a new program, Alpha, at the Center, open to every resident. Alpha is

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

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 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

“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

I met a friend for dinner recently who asked me about my work. We discussed the different programs HeartBound sponsors, why we do what we do, the usual stuff. Finally, she asked the million dollar question, “So what are your students in prison for?” I was honest in my reply, “Not good things. There are men convicted of murder, others of armed robbery. They’ve done some horrible things, but I don’t think those things should define them.” She flippantly replied, “Yeah, I don’t

The book had been sitting on my shelf for too long. The time had come. I had to finish this thing. I almost dreaded the task. The font was too small, and I had to strain to read each sentence. The story was too personal. I didn’t want to know what lay ahead. Also, it was a really long book – I knew that if I picked it up, I would have to finish it. The author was counting on me. My teaching assistant for the horticulture class at Burruss Correctional Training Center has spen

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