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’s why. They kept pushing my court date back. Every time I thought I was getting my day in court, the day moved. I was starting 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 told me that if I left on July 17th, my next court date would be August 5th, I didn’t need a sponsor, a pastor, or a coin toss. I said yes. Anything was better than jail. 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 Behavioral Health, and I want you to understand what I found there.
My own room. No roommates. Nobody snoring, nobody shouting down to the fifth floor, nobody asking if I was going to eat my cake.
A large screen TV. 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’m not going to describe jail showers to you. Some things are better left in the log’s archives. Let’s just say I stood under that water like a man who had been baptized for the second time, or the third, depending on how you count.
And food was brought to me every day. Real food. Food that had clearly been made for human consumption. I checked.
That food came from a great chef named Tish. After the jailhouse diet, Tish’s cooking felt like a standing ovation for my taste buds. If you’ve read Log Six, you know I once ate a hard-boiled egg with the shell on it. Tish would never have allowed that. Tish had standards.
And then there was the sun.
I had gone forty-five days without seeing the sun. Forty-five days. That’s long enough to start wondering if the sun had moved without leaving a forwarding address. At Montgomery Behavioral Health, it set over the horizon every night, and I watched it like it was the season finale of my favorite show. Every single evening. Same show. Never got old.
It was a beautiful place. It was a beautiful thing.
Now, I’d love to tell you the story stays that tidy. It doesn’t. Because I brought a stowaway with me from Jefferson County: a massive hernia.
Here’s the cruel joke. For weeks, I couldn’t 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’m just not always in on the joke right away.
On day one, I had to be rushed to the hospital. Day one. Most people take a day or two to settle in, unpack, learn where the ice machine is. I went straight for the emergency room tour.
They took care of me, they brought me back, and I got on with the business of getting better. I completed sixty-eight days in a row. Sixty-eight. I’ve never done sixty-eight days of anything in a row, except maybe 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 back. Sometimes I voluntarily 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 let me tell you about 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 when I explained my life choices.
There was my case manager, Jamee. That’s J-A-M-E-E, spelled right, because Jamee kept my whole situation straight when I couldn’t.
And there were the nurses, Stormy and Rachel. Stormy is a great name for a nurse, by the way. It’s either a warning or a promise. In Stormy’s case, it was a promise. Stormy and Rachel took very good care of me.
They were all very cool people. Every one of them treated me like a human being, and I won’t forget it.
Here’s the part that surprised me most. I learned about social emotional learning, and all the things they teach in those courses. I’ll be honest. I used to disagree with a lot of it. I’d have argued against it at a dinner party. I’d probably have delivered one of those magnificent closing arguments I wrote about in Log Three.
But sitting in those courses, I picked up knowledge and wisdom I didn’t expect. Turns out, learning to name what you’re feeling is a lot easier than letting it drive the bus. Who knew? Apparently everybody but me.
I’m not saying I came out a licensed therapist. I’m saying 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’s growth. Slow growth, but growth.
On September 29th, I walked out of Montgomery Behavioral Health. I left with a whole host of new friends, new experiences, and a lot more wisdom than I walked in with. I also left with a deep appreciation for sunsets, showers, and Tish.
Looking back, I 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 didn’t wait for me to deserve it. He just moved me, the way a good shepherd moves a sheep that’s wandered into the wrong pasture.
And He sent people. That’s how He usually works. Not with thunder from the sky, but with 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 I’m grateful.
And to my court date, wherever you are tonight: I hope you’re resting comfortably. I’ll see you when you’re ready. I’m a much more patient man now. Sixty-eight days will do that to you.
“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
