After my stint in the Jefferson County Jail, my public defender came to me with an offer. Would I be willing to go to Montgomery Behavioral Health? I jumped at it. I jumped so fast I nearly left a cartoon outline of myself in the cinder block wall.
Here is why. They kept pushing my court date back. Every time I thought I was getting my day in court, the day moved. I began to suspect my court date was in a witness protection program. Nobody could find it, and nobody would tell me where it went. So when they said that if I left on July 17th my next court date would be August 5th, I did not need a pastor, a sponsor, or a coin toss. I said yes. A bus station bench would have been better than jail. A dentist’s waiting room with no magazines would have been better than jail.
Then I got to Montgomery, and I want you to understand what I found. My own room. No roommates. Nobody snoring, nobody shouting down to the fifth floor, nobody asking whether I was going to eat my cake.
A large screen television, in my room. And I held the remote. Me. No floor manager. No hierarchy. Just a man and his remote control, the way God and the Founding Fathers intended.
My own shower. I will not describe jail showers to you. Some things belong in the sealed archives of the log. Let us just say I stood under that water like a man being baptized for the second time, or the third, depending on how you count. If you read Log 7, you know I count generously.
And food was brought to me every day. Real food. Food clearly made for human consumption. I checked. It came from a great chef named Tish. After the jailhouse diet, Tish’s cooking felt like a standing ovation for my taste buds. Tish would never have let me eat an egg with the shell on. Tish had standards.
Then there was the sun. I had gone forty-five days without seeing it. Forty-five days is long enough to wonder whether the sun moved without leaving a forwarding address. In Montgomery it set over the horizon every evening, and I watched it like the season finale of my favorite show. Every night. Same show. Never got old. No reruns, technically.
It was a beautiful place. I would love to tell you the story stays that tidy. It does not, because I had brought a stowaway from Jefferson County: a massive hernia. Here is the cruel joke. For weeks I could not eat because the food was terrible. Now the food was wonderful, and every time I ate, the hernia acted up. God has a sense of humor. I am not always in on the joke right away. Sometimes it takes a few business days.
On day one, I had to be rushed to the hospital. Day one. Most people take a day or two to settle in, unpack, and locate the ice machine. I went straight for the emergency room tour. They took care of me, brought me back, and I got on with the business of getting better.
I completed sixty-eight days in a row. I have never done sixty-eight days of anything in a row, except possibly worrying. During those sixty-eight days I kept going back and forth to court, and the court date kept getting postponed. Sometimes they pushed it. Sometimes I agreed to stay the trial. Either way, my court date and I were like two ships passing in the night, except one of the ships kept rescheduling.
Now the people, because the people are the best part of this story. There were counselors, Raven, Nick, and Jasmine, good people who listened, taught, and somehow kept a straight face while I explained my life choices. There was my case manager, Jamee, spelled J-A-M-E-E, because Jamee kept my entire situation straight when I could not. And there were the nurses, Stormy and Rachel. Stormy is a great name for a nurse. It is either a warning or a promise. In Stormy’s case it was a promise. Stormy and Rachel took very good care of me.
Every one of them treated me like a human being. After the floor I had been sleeping on, I noticed. I will not forget it.
Here is the part that surprised me most. I took courses in social emotional learning. I will be honest. I used to disagree with a great deal of it. I would have argued against it at a dinner party. I would probably have delivered one of those magnificent closing arguments I mentioned back in Log 8, the ones I always win and never enjoy.
But sitting in those classes, I picked up knowledge and wisdom I did not expect. It turns out learning to name what you are feeling is a lot easier than letting the feeling drive the bus. Who knew? Apparently everybody but me. I had been letting my feelings drive the bus for decades, and they did not have a license.
I did not come out a licensed therapist. I came out a little humbler, and a little more willing to admit that people I disagreed with might know a thing or two. That is growth. Slow growth, like a tomato in October, but growth.
On September 29th I walked out of Montgomery Behavioral Health with a host of new friends, new experiences, and a good deal more wisdom than I walked in with. I also left with a deep appreciation for sunsets, showers, and Tish, in no particular order, though Tish might be first.
Looking back, I can see God’s hand in it. I went from a concrete floor with no sun to a room with a view of the horizon. He did not wait for me to deserve it. He just moved me, the way a good shepherd moves a sheep that has wandered into the wrong pasture and is standing there looking confused. I was the confused sheep. I have the wool to prove it.
And He sent people. That is how He usually works. Not thunder from the sky, but a chef, a few counselors, a case manager, and a couple of nurses who show up and do their jobs with kindness. To Tish, Raven, Nick, Jasmine, Jamee, Stormy, and Rachel: thank you. You took good care of me when I needed it most. And to my court date, wherever you are tonight: I hope you are resting comfortably. I will see you when you are ready. I am a much more patient man now.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.”
Psalm 23:2–3 (KJV)
— JC
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