Yesterday, I mailed a letter to an inmate at the prison in Corona, CA.
I did it as an act of faith, but I’ll be honest, I’m still not sure it was the right thing to do.
Last year (2020, what a crazy year), it seemed like the failings of the criminal justice system kept popping up in my reading. I follow Sister Helen Prejean on Twitter, who was famously portrayed by Susan Sarandon in Dead Man Walking. She continues to fight against the death penalty and I have started following and supporting her efforts. I also follow the Equal Justice Initiative which fights against the death penalty and educates on the history of slavery and the injustices in the legal system. I saw more articles about it since it was an election year and there were district attorneys and propositions and judges on the ballot.
More than that, as I continued to participate in my small group’s Bible study, and finally did my own study of the book of Isaiah. I began to notice how frequently Scripture talks about caring for prisoners. It never says to care for the not guilty who have been wrongly convicted, or proclaim freedom to those whose sentences were unnecessarily punitive. Scripture repeatedly calls for care for the incarcerated and doesn’t seem to care whether their incarceration was justified or not. I thought maybe this was God telling me to care for the incarcerated, too.
But how? And, who? And why me? Most people I know are, at best, indifferent to criminals, and disgusted or outright hateful of them, at worst. I don’t know anybody in jail. I don’t know what they need or how a middle-class, cisgendered, Christian white mother could possibly help. When I searched the internet, I found recommendations for places to donate – help with bail so people didn’t have to be in jail awaiting their trials, help fund initiatives to outlaw the death penalty, help pay lawyers whose clients cannot afford the help they need because they are children or refugees or newly emancipated foster kids or just plain poor. There’s so many to choose from and I was instantly overwhelmed.
I also found two sites that help inmates find penpals. Maybe I could do this? Everybody loves mail and I’m writer…sorta. But, I’m a really inconsistent letter writer. Heck, I’m an inconsistent friend in real-life. What would I say? I thought maybe God would tell me in time. So I promised to pray about it all through Advent 2020 and wait to listen to the Lord. Well, I waited and I prayed about it but only occasionally, and I still didn’t know for sure.
In January, we started studying Jonah and it seemed like maybe I needed to take the next step and stop being paralyzed by the lack of clarity on the plan or the incredible lack of experience or knowledge. I found the website writeaprisoner.com and began to explore how to become a prisoner’s penpal. Turns out, many prisons require real mail, not email, and a real address. I researched post office boxes, but they cost $129+ for the smallest size for a year. So I asked my church if I could use their address. They happily agreed and I panicked. They called it a ministry and I felt a weight on my heart. I don’t want to start a ministry. I don’t want accountability. I expect this to fail because I really don’t know what I’m doing. But I guess I know the why. I know God cares about our prisoners and I believe He wants me to care, too. Logically, becoming a penpal is the next right thing to do. How can I care if I don’t actually know anyone in jail? How can I help if I don’t learn what their needs are and what they want and how they think? How can I minister if I’m not in relationship with those who are dealing with these issues first-hand? So I wrote a letter. I limited my search to women about my age. There were several, but I kept coming back to one who is a mother of three. I didn’t get any divine revelation about whether she was the “right” one or confirmation that writing to her was what God wanted or what to say. She may not write back. Like I said, I expect this to fail. Maybe I should write to one of the other women. I don’t know.
I struggled to write the first letter. I decided to tell her the truth of why I was writing so she could make an informed decision about whether or not she wanted to write back. I felt nervous and insecure. Then, when I sealed the envelope and addressed it and put on the stamp, I felt oddly peaceful. It’s just a letter. She’s a woman like me. Maybe it will end here. Maybe it will lead to another letter. Maybe it will lead to friendship and maybe that friendship will be messy. Maybe it will be a blessing. I really don’t know. For now, it’s just a letter.
