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

“Wiggle your toes,” I said. Ahmeze laughed nervously.  “Come on, try it,” I implored.  He took a deep breath, then proceeded.  The assignment was simple – write a poem, one page or less, and incorporate at least one of the plants we’ve learned this semester. You see, every week when I teach horticulture, I bring a USB with me that has a PowerPoint slide that contains our “Plant of the Week.” The students look at pre-loaded images of a plant – its flowers, leaf shape, and habi

Paul Simon sings, “You’ve got to learn how to fall before you learn how to fly.” Well, there I was, learning how to fall, although at this particular moment, I certainly didn’t want to be falling. I was helpless, quickly plummeting to the ground while attached to an utterly useless 9.8 mm rope.  It was Sunday, I had arranged to pick up Tom early in the morning and then take him to lunch afterwards. We’d then visit the rock climbing gym and go climbing. What could go wrong?  T

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

I count many incarcerated people among my friends. I see these friends every week; we exchange thoughts on life, incarceration, religion, goodness, evil, and plants. We discuss the books we are reading, debate the merits of “plant-based pizza,” and write down our hopes and dreams for the future.  One of my friends has spent over two decades in prison. This past week, he shared a message with a group of 40-or-so “free people” and 48 “incarcerated people” at Walker State Prison

“Dear Old Me,” H. said. I was confused, the assignment was supposed to be a poem. It appeared that this student, H., had mixed up the assignment with an old one where the class wrote letters of wisdom to their younger selves. I wanted to stop him; he was supposed to be reading a poem he wrote to the class, but I let him continue. I think God was telling me to shut up and listen. “Dear Old Me,” he began. Afterwards, I asked for a copy of his speech, which is below. I know you

Each Little Readers packet costs $15.10, which includes materials, labor, and shipping expenses. If you would like to sponsor a Little Readers packet for a family, you can do so at  https://givebutter.com/HBMLittleReaders .  Here’s a short story about Ash and how HeartBound’s Little Readers is changing lives.  “Ash” is the mother of two young boys; she is currently pregnant with her first girl. Ash is currently incarcerated at Helms Facility in South Atlanta, the only correct

“We are not statistics. We are humans that have made mistakes, that deserve the same shot at life given to everyone else.” I am consistently amazed and humbled while teaching inside prison. I am a college-educated, mid-20-something who’s never known want or hunger. I graduated in the top ten percent of my high school and colleges, received accolades in school, and worked as a teaching assistant in grad school. I’ve read hundreds of books, subscribe to the print edition of the

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

We're often asked, what causes crime? As you might have noticed, politicians on the campaign trail have “crime” on their minds. Republicans and Democrats alike tell voters that they have the solution, that they alone can make our streets safe again. Crime rates are falling nationwide but according to polling, Americans still believe  crime is on the rise . Perceptions matter and the reality is clear – people don’t feel safe.  Part of HeartBound’s mission is to break generatio