Remembering Jody's Daughter

Understanding prisons and the people who are held within them isn’t always easy.

What I’ve generally found is that the incarcerated carry a lifetime of trauma. Abusive childhoods. Drug addictions. A litany of tragedies that led them to crime and incarceration.

Sometimes the trauma is visible – scars, tattoos of pistols or drugs. When I walk through the men’s prisons where HeartBound serves, I see trauma almost immediately. Many of the men wear harsh faces and limp while they walk.

Working at the women’s prisons though – it’s hard to imagine how the women ended up in prison. Many of them are the sweetest, kindest people you’ll ever meet. They’re mothers who love talking about their children. They’re avid readers who love talking about the latest Sarah J. Maas book. They’re five feet tall, a hundred pounds. How could they have ever committed a crime?

There’s one lady in our gardening program that I’m thinking of as I write this. We’ll call her Jody. Jody speaks with a high-pitched squeak. I don’t even think she’s five feet tall. She wears glasses and is terribly shy and quiet.

Every time I look at Jody, I can’t help but wonder, what could you have done to end up here? If you could see this woman, you’d wonder too. She looks just like any other person you’d see shopping beside you at the grocery store.

Jody is at a prison for women serving less than a year for drug offenses. The average sentence seems to be about nine months. There’s rarely any violence or trouble at this facility. It’s a quiet place way out in the country.

Jody recently came up to me after our gardening class. Her voice was a soft whisper.

“Mr. Spencer?” I had to bend low to be able to hear.

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Depends,” I replied.

(I’ve learned that one of the rules of prison is to never make a promise you can’t keep. Thanks for teaching me this one, Mom!)

“My daughter died a year ago. Her birthday is in a few days. She died of a fentanyl overdose.”

I glanced at my watch. It was late in the month. The birthday was rapidly approaching.

“Could we plant a memorial flower for her? Something to remember her by?”

My heart ached. Now I had a better guess as to why she was in prison. After her daughter’s death she likely spiraled and turned to drugs and alcohol to cope.

“Of course, Jody. Of course. I bet she’d like that.”

My life has been fairly charmed. I’ve never navigated any real trauma. My parents have shielded me from the horrors that this world can offer.

I don’t know how I’d respond if I lost someone I deeply loved. I don’t know if I’d cope with drugs or alcohol. I hope I have the support system in place to help me navigate the unknowable.

Some people like Jody might not have that support system. They might not have the resources to get help. They might not have the space to heal.

It’s easy to judge those in prison. They’ve made mistakes – been caught, found guilty, sentenced. They aren’t like you and me – so-called “free worlders.”

But at their very core, those in prison are the same as you and me. Being immersed in this work, hearing their stories, seeing their pain, this experience has allowed me to realize this truth. Knowing this truth has changed me. When I see the homeless beggar on the corner, I don’t see someone begging for change to buy drugs or food. I see someone coping with pain. The pain of past trauma or the pain of living on the cold, hard street. I see someone begging for relief.

My challenge to you is this: let us each try to let go of our preconceived notions. Let’s try to give each other the benefit of the doubt, see the goodness, and give the same mercy to others that we so desire for ourselves.

Next time you see someone in the headlines for some crime, please see them as more than a headline. Stop and imagine the person behind the headline - the human, the mother, the father, the son, the daughter that they are.

Someone sold Jody’s daughter that fatal overdose. In all likelihood, they are probably still free while Jody is incarcerated. Justice is more complicated than we would like to believe. There are no winners in prison. Everyone loses.

We can’t just throw up our hands and give up. We can’t just lock people away and expect them to get better on their own. As I’ve quoted in an earlier newsletter: “Institutions don’t change people, relationships do.”

We can’t bring Jody’s daughter back. But we can plant something beautiful to remember her by. We can help Jody heal. Maybe then the cycle of drug use and incarceration can be broken.

Your donations make this work possible. Your dollars buy the plants and soil and tools that help us honor Jody’s daughter. Your gifts support programs like Little Readers and Project ART in prisons and addiction recovery facilities where many other Jody’s reside. Your prayers help us serve those in need.

Thank you for your willingness to come alongside us as we minister to men and women like Jody. I promise you, they appreciate your kindness more than you can imagine. You are bringing hope to a place that is seemingly hopeless. You are bringing the Light of the World to those who dwell in darkness. God bless you.