When we moved back to North Carolina from Florida, we thought we’d found a new home in Winston-Salem, but events and my ego interceded and I found myself convicted of murder following the death of a patient I’d cared for in ICU.  I was convicted and sentenced to prison in February 1988 and thought my life was as good as over.  Convinced that I’d soon be stabbed, shot, raped or who knows what else, I settled into an uneasy ‘life’ in prison without any expectation that I’d ever get out.  BUT GOD (two of my favorite words) had not allowed that seed planted in 1980 to die and began nurturing that all but dead seed into life.  My second week at Central Prison, another prisoner invited me to accompany him to the chapel for a church service.  Not having anything else to do and looking for an excuse (ANY EXCUSE) to get out of the cacophony of noise that was K Dorm, I accepted. 
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As I approached the conclusion of my time in prison, I was transferred to Orange Correctional Center in Hillsborough.  I had lost contact with several over my years in prison, but once at OCC I reached out to Malcolm (still had his address) and wrote him.  He wrote back that he was excited that I was so close and that he would let others know to pray for me.  Within a few months, I qualified for Community Visitor passes, but needed some sponsors willing to take me out.  I’d already connected with one of the Yokefellow volunteers (Bruce Dalton) and had been out a few times with him when the annual volunteer's banquet was held.  The yard was closed to all prisoners, but a guard came to my bunk (where I was reading) and told me that someone wanted to speak to me.  I went into the visitation area (where the banquet was being held) and saw Jim and Cecee Abrahamson; Jim standing with his arms wide open and a great big grin on his face.  We spoke briefly and he promised to start taking me out on CV passes very soon.
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The next Sunday he and Cecee arrived to take me to the Chapel Hill Bible Church (no longer meeting on campus, but in a beautiful building off of Erwin Road).  Many of those in the Sunday School class he led knew me from BC (before Christ) and I have to confess to feeling more than a little trepidation at what kind of welcome I’d receive.  Very soon it became apparent to me that the doctrine of God’s grace was more than a textbook idea to the people there.  The warmth and welcome I felt amazed me after almost 23 years in prison.  In the following year and a half, I continued to bathe weekly in Jim’s teaching as my release date drew nearer.  Days before that happened I was transferred to Wake Correctional since my wife was then living in Wake County and so my parole officer was also in Wake County.  Soon after that, we became regular attendees of the services at the Chapel Hill Bible Church and then members; I won’t claim that I have arrived at being all that He wants me to be, but the atmosphere and teaching there had my roots going ever deeper and my heart filling more and more. 
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Now, with our coming move to Wilmington, it is time to say goodbye or perhaps “Aloha” would be better.  So much has happened and so much has changed in who I was even since surrendering to my King.  New adventures await, but it is with a pang in my heart that we draw this chapter of my journey Home to a conclusion.  We had a saying we shared in the choir at Piedmont Correctional Institution as we concluded rehearsal on Wednesday night; “See you in the morning or in the clouds.”  I guess that’s as good as any way to speak to my family at the Chubby-C. 

Shalom.
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The journey continues…
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For some time I have served with Our Children’s Place; at times I wonder at the value of that service when surrounded by so many who are successful in their own fields while all that I’ve managed to accomplish is to survive almost 24 years in prison and discover that my professional life is over.  One thing keeps me involved with these incredible folks, I have seen first-hand during those 23+years the impact of prison on a family, particularly the children that are bereft of a normal family life.

In some instances the men I met ‘inside’ sired children from several different women, being little more than sperm donors; mostly though there were men struggling with the unforeseen circumstances of how to be a father to their sons and daughters when their interaction with them is limited to the weekly visitation if they are fortunate to be housed in a prison close enough to make this possible.  Since becoming involved with Our Children’s Place, my reading on the subject has revealed factors I’d not thought about before; how these children are worse than orphans in many ways. 

Society’s response to the orphan is often automatically one of concern and support; go to any civic or religious group and ask for them to support the orphaned child and there is an outpouring of sympathy and care for those children whose parent or parents have died.  Their classmates in school, while not really understanding perhaps the loss that has impacted their friends lives, support them and continue to be friendly toward them.  It is as if all of society rushes to the side of such children; we want to comfort them, even to the point of adoption as I have seen over and over in many of those I know at the Chapel Hill Bible Church.

The response to a child of a prisoner is almost always very different.

The child whose mother or father is taken from them in such a fashion (in a few cases it may be both parents) is not the focus of society’s support and concern.  While perhaps not intending such, we look askance at the child of a prisoner; it is as if we tar them with the same brush we have painted their parent(s) and turn away from them instead of turning toward them.  The shame and stigma of having a parent in prison is very real, the cruelty of these children’s classmates toward them is also a reality that they have to deal with on a daily basis and so often those who would want to help do not understand how to do so. 

Recently Sesame Street has stepped into the picture to help us understand the plight of these children through a teaching package they have entitled, Little Children, Big Challenges: Incarceration.  In this we meet Alex whose father is in prison and seeks to avoid his friends who talk of having their dads help them with building toy cars to play with each other.  In this and the accompanying material, the writers and producers seek to educate us about the challenges that such children face daily; in the case of parents who have been sentenced to life in prison, they are orphans in all but fact as they never again will have a normal life with that parent in their lives.

What can we do to help?  I challenge you to go to your local library and ask for the Sesame Street video; watch it to begin to gain an understanding of how the child of the prisoner is an orphan and needs the same support that we provide others in crisis.  Contact Our Children’s Place and ask how to become involved in financially supporting their efforts to not only raise awareness of the plight of these orphans, but to bring community resource to bear in providing as normal a life as possible for them.  

There are different ways we measure time; historically time has been measured by the movement of the sun or moon, the repetition of seasons or tides and even such physiological parameters as the drawing of breath or pulse of an individual.  Historically the daylight hours were divided into twelve equal periods as was the night; the length of these hours could vary over the course of the year.  The introduction of the minute as the 60th part of an hour, the second as the 60th part of the minute did not occur until the Middle Ages, used by Al-Biruni around 1000 AD and by Roger Bacon in the 13th century.  As man’s knowledge and technology has expanded, so have our means of measuring this thing we call time to a degree never thought of by our predecessors. 

We look in a mirror and can measure the passage of time in the lines and loss of elasticity we see in our faces; the sometimes cruel nature of crime is seen there as our youth seems to vanish and friends or family are no longer with us.  Yet time can bring comfort as well; time reveals those who are true friends despite the vicissitudes that often assail us through the years, or the foibles we all too often find ourselves caught up in through poor choices.

Thirty-two years does not seem long when compared with the amount of time that man has walked the face of this place we call Earth.  For myself, it is over one-half of the time I have been alive and that seems to put more emphasis on the importance of this particular measure of time.  Thirty-two years measured in days spent together or apart; breaths drawn in wonder at the love we share or anger at the misunderstanding we all too often can fall into being the broken vessels we are as humans.  Measured in heart beats shared (and how she can often quicken mine when I see her even now) or tears shared; in all these ways and more I celebrate the passage of these thirty-two years since we said, “I do.”  Happy Anniversary my beloved Kathy.  

 

Amazing, really, how God can use some of his critters (even humankind!) to teach lessons to His children.  Once again I venture into the vaguely disturbing and uncertain area of Cat Theology, or to put it differently, what our cats have once again taught me about my relationship with God.

We have three owners, excuse me, I meant to say pets who are all cats and all female; I seem to be the token male in our household, but that’s a story for another time.  They each definitely have their own specific characteristics, but one in particular is the class clown for our family.  Spanky.  As the image shows, she is a black and white mix with an insatiable appetite for all manner of moist cat food, cheese, tuna, eggs (yeah, that was a surprise to us as well) and many other items (she draws the line at some things, but they are few and far between).  We jokingly refer to her as a dat (dog-cat) or other admixture because unlike so many other felines, Spanky will rear up on her hind legs and beg as only a dog can do.  She also slobbers (a lot!) when petted, so perhaps there is some boxer in her somehow?

Anyway, I arrived home from the USO-NC Center at the airport ready for a nap (I've been up since 4:50 and arrived at the Center at 6:00, just minutes ahead of 110 British Paratroopers on their way home from Ft. Bragg.  The next four hours were, to put it mildly, somewhat hectic, but incredibly rewarding to see the faces of these troops respond to our providing for them not only food, but a place to relax while waiting for their rides home.  So, yeah, I was tired when I got home and ready for a nap.  Then Spanky jumps on the bed and proceeds to let me know that it is time for me to pay attention to her NOW! 

There are many ways a cat has to show affection; purring, head-bumping the object of their affection, rubbing their whiskers on you (‘marking’ you as theirs) as well as others I’ve read about but cannot remember now.  Spanky was exhibiting all of the above and more as I lay on the bed trying to sleep.  Why all this affection; why was she so adamant about getting my attention?  She wants something, pure and simple.  Her little mind is so focused upon me as the giver of ‘goodies’ that it is all she cares about and all she is focused upon.

I remember wondering about my relation to God; do I love Him because of His presents or His presence.  Yeah, the last few years have been ‘interesting’, but even in the darkest period, the way God continues to provide and bless Kathy and I is astounding.  So, what if I was still in prison; what if I was unable to do so many of the things that bring me joy, would I still love Him?  Do I pursue Him solely because He can provide or would I love Him if He left me bereft of friends and family.

The answer comes easy to my mind, but part of me hesitates as I struggle to be more honest with Him, with myself and others.  All part of growing toward Home, I guess.  All part of Cat Theology.

Many of you who have followed my ongoing journey are aware of my struggle to find meaningful, full-time employment since I was released from prison in 2011.  After over 400 attempts with little to show for it other than some awesome experience at writing and updating resume's and being more comfortable in interviews, my frustration was reaching epic proportions when a good friend offered a suggestion off hand while he was working with my wife and I at finding a place to rent (another frustrating task for ex-felons).  He asked if I'd ever considered a career in real estate.  At the time I remember telling him that I hadn't and the conversation went on to other topics (like finding Kathy and I a place to live before our lease ran out where we were renting (and told they would NOT renew after they discovered my 'background').  

Sometime later, when no other doors were opening, I approached my friend to ask him how I would get started.  He suggested I contact the Real Estate Commission, which I did and found that here too there was a barrier, but that there was a possibility that I could obtain my license as a once I had passed the requisite Pre-Licensing Class, the NC State Exam for Real Estate Licensure and then met with the NC Real Estate Commission and satisfied them regarding my having the necessary character.  I spoke with Chris Barnette, the instructor for the Go School, and he was cautionary, but positive about my chances.  Many within the community of Go Realty were upbeat and encouraged me to move forward and so I enrolled at the Go School in the Pre-Licensing Class.

I found the material initially rather intimidating (the book alone was bigger than anything I’d seen outside of the Power Plant manuals on the Lafayette!); Chris promised all of us in the class a comprehensive overview of what was necessary not only to pass his exam at the conclusion of the class, but the NC State exam as well.  With three classes per week, the required reading and other material thrown at us, there was more than a little concern that I’d bit off more than I could chew.  While taking the class I’d spoken with Jim Garman and Kevin Woody about if Go Realty would welcome me once I was licensed; both of these gentlemen added to the encouragement I was already receiving, Kevin suggesting I get together with Karen Roberts who was the Broker-in-Charge of the Go Durham office as that would be the closest office to where Kathy and I lived.  I contacted Karen and set up an appointment to speak with her and was once again met with effusive encouragement and support for what we hoped was my budding career in real estate.

Over the ensuing weeks I was encouraged to come by the Go Durham office to help out their ‘Angel’ (Go Realty’s version of an office administrator) with some of the minutiae that she was responsible for (and things that did not require a license such as running to the store to pick up various items, etc.).  Karen had met with all of the agents in the office and asked if there were any qualms about my becoming part of the Go Durham family (really, that is what it is!); when she told me that there was not a single hesitation on their part despite my felony, all welcomed me with open arms, it felt very much like a homecoming!  Apart from my family at the Chapel Hill Bible Church, this had been the first time I’d received such a greeting and I began to have some hope that this dream could indeed come true!

Completing the class (and passing Chris’ exam!) had me pumped!  Chris had told us that if we could pass his exam, the state exam should be no problem and a few weeks later I found that to be true.  After I’d completed the exam I remember taking a deep breath and wondering if there was something I was missing because it had seemed much easier than I’d expected.  I walked out of the testing room and saw the two proctors whispering to each other as something printed out.  The expressions were decidedly neutral and I began to think that perhaps my thinking the test had been ‘easy’ was because I had not known the material and only deluded myself about my chances (yeah, still full of positive vibes from all that D.O.C. taught me).  Anyway, I’d braced myself to put a brave face on it when the two ladies turned to me and said, “Congratulations!”  I blurted out, “You mean I passed?” which caused them both to erupt in laughter and nod yes and show me the document that had just printed out certifying that I had indeed passed the state exam! 

“I DID IT!” I yelled as soon as I was out of the testing center.  Folks looked at this crazy person, but thankfully no one called the police (or I left the area before they arrived?) and I drove to the Go Durham office to share with them the great news.  Now the only hurdle was getting the NC Real Estate Commission to sign off on my becoming a real estate agent; that proved to be quite a hurdle!

There was a great deal of naiveté on my part regarding the hearing; I just assumed that with all the folks from Go Realty in my corner and especially statements of support from Chris Barnette and Karen Roberts, I was a shoe in.  When I was told by the Commission that I would need legal representation, I began to understand that this last hurdle (the hearing) was to be the steepest to overcome.  Chris suggested an attorney known to the Real Estate Commission whose office was in Winston-Salem and when I’d made an initial inquiry and he seemed disposed to help me, so we set up an appointment form me to meet with him and his partner.

Bill Gifford was an incredibly able attorney, but much more than that, he treated me with respect and affirmation and acted in such a positive manner that I again began to think that this was going to happen.  The counsel for the Commission seemed to be indicating to me that his job was keeping from being licensed; this man who’d never met me and only knew me from what he could garner from my record (the old man that I was desperately trying to leave behind) was intent (as events would show) at painting me as a ravening mad man unworthy of even remaining outside of prison walls.  In the weeks leading up to the hearing, Bill and I explored all the negative that was Anthony Shook before prison (and before Christ) and felt that the testimony of several who knew (all too well) the ‘old’ Tony and now knew the new man that Christ had made me into (rather, was making me into remembering that Philippians 1:6 is still my ‘favorite’ verse of Scripture) as well as several in the real estate community (including Chris Barnette) would overcome what was admittedly a rather dark past.

The day of the hearing dawned bright and expected to be hot, but I felt positively positive and upbeat as we drove to Raleigh.  Meeting with those who would testify on my behalf prior to going into the hearing was another dose of ‘let’s get this done!’ but I have to confess to the same gut-wrenching dread whenever I looked into the eyes of the co-counsel for the Commission. I felt like a mouse facing a VERY hungry lion!  This was born out during the hearing; I’ve told others since that it was worse than my trial as this time my guilt was presumed and the Commission’s counsel seeming goal was to dig up every single bit of dirt that had EVER happened that could be directly or indirectly attributed to me. The positive that those testifying for me seemed like a feather in the face of the hurricane of ‘evidence’ provided to the Commission and, not surprising, they elected not to allow me to be licensed.

What helped me keep all of this in perspective was that the evening before Kathy and I had attended choir practice (we are on the choir at the Bible Church) and immediately after the Commission had rendered their decision, we left to get to the church in time for the Maundy Thursday service.  Yes, the decision was not what I’d hoped and prayed for and how I was pictured by the counsel for the NC Real Estate Commission was painful in the extreme to go through, but in view of what others have gone through, of what my King went through for the man I once was who mocked what I thought I understood of ‘religion’ and those weak-minded folk who needed such a crutch; no I had much to celebrate and little to complain or whine about.  As I told one of my friends that evening as we arrived at the church to prepare to sing when they asked how the hearing had gone, “The King is still on the throne!”

So, what now?  I continue to work at a part-time/temporary position I've held for some time now, but it seems that there is a door opening, perhaps, that could lead me in decidedly new directions.  Stay tuned.

Part of my morning routine is to open a link with the Gospel Coalition as I follow a daily devotional/blog by D.A. Carson, but today the title of one of the offered articles caught my eye; God Can Restore Your Lost Years by Colin Smith.  The title alone called to my heart as few other things have recently and I chose to alter my routine by reading it first; this article in addition to some other events recently have filled me with a wonder that God does care for me despite my choices that did lead to far too many lost years.

Some background for those who are new to this blog; it has been an often tragic course I’ve travelled secondary to the choices I alluded to above.  Beginning the destruction of a marriage while in the Navy, then completing the task while enrolled at UNC set the stage even as I embarked on a career as a nurse and paramedic; what seemed as a fresh start and an exciting and fulfilling career was endangered by my own lack of a moral compass and I didn’t have a clue!  My background in the Navy as a nuclear-trained electrician on submarines seemed to fit me to be able to keep my head and focus in emergencies; those abilities came to the fore and were recognized by others as I began my career. Inside I was uncertain and confused at times; I was aware of course that others thought well of me for my abilities (at one point I had a medical center’s helicopter program competing with a large city’s EMS to hire me), but it was empty and without any real satisfaction.  I loved what I was doing and did it well with compassion for those that others looked down upon, particularly when I worked as a paramedic in one city where my partner would deride the homeless to the point that I would always volunteer to care for them while she drove.

Despite this success (I’d been in line for a promotion to shift supervisor at one EMS organization) I felt empty, bereft of purpose or satisfaction and uncertain I was doing something that really mattered!  My relationship with my second wife was, at best, stormy and we were each drifting apart as we sought to fill our own lives away from each other (she later told me that at this point in our lives, she’d considered leaving me).  Then it all came crashing down as a choice I’d made almost a year previously came back to haunt me.

Something I wish I could tell all nursing and medical school graduates as well, as those now practicing, is that without a sound moral foundation they will one day be forced to make a decision (or decisions) that will not only endanger their career, but their livelihood and reputation as well.  I made a choice that was wrong and resulted in the death of a patient; others have painted it as a compassionate choice to end the suffering of a family (the woman in question had been diagnosed as brain dead at some point prior to my caring for her this last time and had been in ICU for months), but I cannot honestly say that this was in my thinking at the time.  I’d like to think it was; in light of subsequent events, however, I cannot categorically state that wanting to end the family’s struggle was even in my thoughts that night.
An indictment and subsequent conviction for murder followed and I entered the prison system without a real expectation of ever coming out or even surviving if I had a release date (I didn’t!).  My sisters and Mom would write me, occasionally visiting (my Dad had died some years earlier), but it was my wife who would be the main support through the years; she said that she’d seen something in me years before and decided to stick around and see what happened after I was convicted.  Friends vanished almost instantaneously with the judges’ gavel striking down when he pronounced sentence and I entered Central Prison.

I arrived there in the early morning in February in the middle of a storm with sleet falling; getting out of the car to shuffle to the door (I was handcuffed and shackled), I stopped for a moment to look up at the wall surrounding this dark place and remember thinking that this was where I belonged.  Honestly, I expected to be killed in a short time; my idea of what life in prison were somewhat vague as the only time I’d ever been in a jail was as a paramedic to pick up a patient.  It was horrific and the first weeks were a blur as I tried to apply the lessons one man had taught me while in jail prior to my sentencing (he’d been a repeat offender and had spent many years ‘inside’ and given me some advice laughingly calling it “Prison 101”).  You never really trust anyone, especially those in authority, and the idea of keeping your head on a swivel (checking six in fighter pilot parlance) at all times, but at the same time, as the commercial once put it, “never let them see you sweat.”  If you act like a victim or others sense your fear, you are toast!

 

Through my years ‘inside’ I did mourn the life I had thrown away and wondered what I would do if I was ever released.  Coming to faith in Jesus gave me a source of hope that was comforting (about the only comfort I received!); many speak of ‘religion’ as a crutch for the weak and I have to agree with them, at least in regard to a relationship with Messiah.  I was weak and unable to even live day-to-day in prison without some source of help and support and I found that help in my relationship with Messiah. 

As I studied Scripture (finding the Bible Broadcasting Network station within range of whatever prison camp I was transferred to was always priority one!) I began a journey that continues to this day.  Having been released a little over three years ago I have adapted pretty well to my new reality, re-connecting with the Chapel Hill Bible Church (this time listening with a new heart and seeking desperately to apply what I learn) and becoming involved in different ways in the community, but still without meaningful work outside of those volunteer activities (USO-NC, Our Children’s Place, Orange County Partnership to End Homelessness, and Job Partners).  Not having a job despite over 450 applications (to date) has been troubling; between my age and my felony I've learned that opportunities are few and far between.  Because of an old back injury while working as an ICU nurse that was exacerbated through the health care offered ‘inside’ I am unable to perform much of the tasks that ex-felons are normally funneled toward (dish-washing, manual labor, etc.) and despite picking up an Associate’s degree in computers while in prison, no one seems willing to hire me.  From office work to garbage pickup for an apartment complex Kathy and lived at for a while (until they found out about my felony), my efforts to obtain work have fallen flat and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find full-time work.

With no prospects and my only regular addition to the family income being my Social Security retirement check (not much because of the 23+ years in prison), I am adjusting to my new reality as house husband to Kathy (at least she likes my cooking!) and find satisfaction in helping others through the volunteer activities.  Recently, however, there seems to be something else stirring in my heart that I have a hard time articulating and so have begun to reach out to those I respect for advice and suggestions.  I’m not sure where this new ‘thing’ will take me or even if it will go anywhere.  Stay tuned and I’ll keep you updated.

Recently a friend from my family at Go Realty was diagnosed with Leukemia and was hospitalized for treatment.  Part of that treatment involved chemotherapy resulting in her losing her hair.  This is bad enough for a guy, but I cannot begin to imagine what this can do to a woman's self-image.

Some years ago, while I was incarcerated, a nephew was also diagnosed with this same disease and, hearing that he too had lost his hair, got together with a group of guys I knew 'inside' and we all had our heads shaved and got a group picture made.  Kathy told me later that the photo of all those 'convicts' with bald heads for him really lifted his spirits.  It was a simple thing to do, hair does grow back (albeit in my case it came back a bit thinner than before), so it wasn't that big of a deal.

This past week during the Go Durham's weekly Huddle, Karen (the Broker In Charge aka Den-Mother...think of someone herding cats) suggested we all get together and purchase some hats for our friend.  Simple thing to do and I was more than willing to help with this effort to help a friend, but me being me I felt that another gesture would be appropriate as well.  

I've been told that I have an ooogly head when it is not covered by hair, so I ask your indulgence while we all wait for my hair to grow back.  I will be wearing a hat almost all the time (it is amazing how much you can feel the air moving past your head when you just walk); may even try some plant food on my scalp to see if that speeds the process along.  Regardless, if it causes some smiles and laughter from my friend, then all the weird looks I'll get will be more than worth it.

Love you Christine!