Dear God,

Remember when you asked Adam about eating from the tree? And he said, “The woman YOU put here with me, she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it.”?

Sounds like me don’t it?  I know me being a failure wasn’t your fault at all. I just don’t understand. Anything. “You’re supposed  to know my heart. And know all the hairs on my head.  So I highly doubt you missed the tears. Even if I don’t know how to pray right there is no way you couldn’t have heard one.

Supposedly you’re touched by our feelings. How could mine have touched you and you leave me lost and alone. Alone except for the enemy. Alone except for all the people I’ve hurt.

I became what I  hated and fought. Please Jesus be touched. Please. It wasn’t the woman you gave me. It was the calling. I thought it was from you. Please help.

My own beard and hair are streaked with gray. I don’t recognize myself much in the mirror. Good. I’m dreading the point at which I have to shave. I came in weighing 320 lbs.  Went to medical for vitals to be read. Getting paperwork straight. Current weight is now 260. I don’t believe it. Blood pressure low. Pulse 128 bpm. Have horrible dizzy spells so bad I almost fall out of bed when I roll over. I think in addition to destroying my short term memory my little spell of drug abuse might have messed up something a little more serious. 260. I always thought my skeleton must weigh at least 180.

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All things work together. I’m praying for you. Trust in the Lord. I can do all things through Christ. Read the Bible it will strengthen you.

I think people stop using cliches after someone uses one on them during a crisis. I have a beautiful Brand New BIBLE. Took a lot of trouble getting it to me. When I’m at my lowest I take it out for a little help. I look at it like its an instruction manual for a Russian nuclear sub. Written in Russian.

I guess I’ve lost my mind more than I realized. I don’t even know how to use the Bible anymore. Try letting it fall open to a scripture. Did that. The building specs on the badger skin coated tabernacle didn’t really lift my spirits. Nor did UFO’s seen by a naked profit.

I’m reading through even the New Testament and words are blurring together and my mind is loose and ungrasping. I don’t know anything.

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Song 7 – Written by Branden E. Carter Jr.

This is to some one who liven on the road of groly. Now I know your teiling your stroy how you made it over. Befor you went away. You where a freind to me. You will always be within by heart each night an day. But now I just got to whate. An stay on my knee’s an pray that tomorrow will be a batter day.

Now I can know how much life mines to me. The time that we have is not lone but your love will live on after your gone. I pray that some day some one will think that way about me someday.

God has you in His arms knowing that on one can do any harm. So that you can sang your song in the home that God has made for you in the land of groly. So one day we can teil our stray togrether How we over come. The stromes an the rain of the panful ways of life.

Their where some good days alone the way. But now where hair to stay on the road of groly. We will teil our Stroy on this day of groly. Now we live on the road of groly.

By: Branden E. Carter Jr.

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My former pastor (and I use that term in the most liberal sense)told me that I had a problem with authority. His brilliant protege (younger than me) promptly agreed. I thirded the motion. I did and do.

Enduring schools I dealt with a teacher who stood me up in front of the class and showed them my misspelling of my middle name. They laughed. I didn’t. She stood me up and showed them  the book I was reading and they laughed about “Pipi – Longstocking”. They laughed. I cried.  They laughed more. I was eight.

Another had a wonderful program called “Fun Fridays”. If you didn’t get “three check marks” by your name in one day then the week on Friday you got to watch a movie and eat popcorn and drink red Kool-Aid. With my bad attitude (many people called it A.D.D., she called it ‘bad attitude’.) I hardly made it to ‘Fun Friday’. One week I was able to pull it off. With her own words “you need to be made an example of” she gave me three check marks that Friday morning.

Not content to sit me  in the back where the bad attitudes were usually set, she brought me to the front of the room. Next to the T.V. Facing my classmates. They laughed. I turned red. I was nine.

One screamed at me for twisting my hand in the light coming from the window. I had done my work already but she was upset about something. She told the class that I might be retarted and should be in Special-Ed. I cried. They laughed. I was ten.

And on and on and on.  I was taught to trust  and obey those with authority. They abused it. Church wasn’t much better. Sunday school teachers pinching the backs of my arms or twisting my ear in front of all the other kids. Angry sometimes at a parent or family member they came after the ones who couldn’t defend themselves. Wasn’t just me.

I seen chuch ushers slam kids to the ground and put them in headlocks. Young teenagers I was thirteen when they left me and a kid from the bus-ministry to paddle  8 hours by ourselves. “Sink or swim” laughing.  Our canoe was capsized under a tree branch and the kid ws stuck underneath.  A nearby power boat came to our rescue and saved him. Oh boy how they laughed and laughed when the boaters brought us to the church van. Being laughed at hurts worse than being punished in the face over and over. Those bruises heal, but I can still hear the laughter.

Cops who lie, lawyers who cheat, pastors who “only keep you around for your money”. Yeah, I guess I do have a problem with authority. And my bad attitude.  IMW

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I don’t know anything anymore. Nothing any more. It’s hard to be humble and gentle when you’re incarcerated. All the time hearing people talk about the horrible stuff that got them in trouble. And making it worse hearing their desire to get back out and do it again. Everyone in here is innocent. I think I’m the only one who thinks I’ve ever done anything wrong.. Two guys got into a fight today. Upstairs by my bunk. Raymond and Brad. I tried splitting them up and holding them back. Raymond stabbed Brad in the face with a broken plastic spoon. Everyone wanted them to fight so I let go and went into a toilet stall.

Brad beat Raymond up. Both were bloody. Blood all on the floor by my bed. Raymond kept calling Brad ‘nigger’. An older black man was here for a couple of days to testify in a trial. He was locked up somewhere else. I sat in the toilet stall and cried while I heard the yells of encouragement to the two fighting. When they were done I cleaned Brads mouth up from all the blood with a wet towel. I apologized for the word nigger being used. To the older black man as well. They were both taken into isolation. My nerves and soul are just being trashed. More and more. I’m not even in a position to reach them or have a desire to. I don’t know I just don’t know. I’m real sad.  IMW

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I was always Sure of Prison

Everyone thought I was crazy for being so sure that I was going to prison. I’ve known since I was a child that I would spend time here.  Was it because of all the teachers who kept telling me I was rotten and would wind up there?  Or was it somthing I just knew? Maybe.  I was certain beyond anything months ago. I had everything. And for two years I kept praying, “God please take everything from me. Take it all and let’s see if I’m still going to love you. Make sure I’m serving you for the right reasons?” Every single day I would pray that. Lost my home, my career, my reputation, all my belongings, people who claimed they were my friends. And my wife. I didn’t count her because she was part of me. Don’t pray stupid prayers. Even the disciples had to ask Jesus how to pray.

Then like the idiot I am I kept praying that same prayer. So I lost my health. And short term memory. And basic motor skills. My hands shake. Badly. Then like the idiot I am I kept praying that same stupid prayer. God you forgot my freedom. Hey Mrs. Jones! Ya forget our test today? But I know the sweet Lord very well. So I knew he would take that too. And he did. God answers prayer. Every single prayer. It just might not be the answer you want to hear. And I think I asked for too much. Because it hurts. Dear God it hurts. Losing the other half hurts worse than anything. But I haven’t left God yet. But it hurts terribly. Beyond anything I could imagine. Maybe forever. Probably forever.

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William is or was the other black guy in our cell. He was really orange though. Or a dark yellow, maybe burnt ochre. Like Sinbad. He would sing sprirituals all night. Loud. And it echoed. They “kited” him out. He talked about his court case 24/7 when he could find a willing (or unwilling) audience. He “allegedly” raped a 14 year old girl. I would want to believe him. Except he talked sooo nasty about women. I threw up in my mouth a couple of times. Nasty. But he did give me  his Bible. He didn’t use it. Ever. Except for a pillow. Or to wave at people when he was quoting scriptures to them when he was mad.

Scriptures about the mighty warrior Adam. Or Eli in the belly of the whale. Or Noah and Goliath. Ad nauseum. But he was nice to me. And gave me all kinds of inspirational talks. Gonna miss him.. And his stories. He sang back up for Mavis Staples. He knows Snoop Dogg and T.I. (rapper). Would have gone to Bernie Mac’s funeral as an invited guest but was in prison. (he’s innocent and a millionaire but has stayed in jail for 8 months). Owns a lime green Jaguar to match his lime green suit and alligator shoes. etc. etc.  Was a Force Recon Marine. And is legally blind. I asked him (God forgive me) if he fought under Rommel when they ousted Patton in Kuwait during the first Gulf war. Of course he had He had just finished his hand to hand combat training in Cambodia. Everyone here hated him, Except me.  He has been in for so long and is such a pain he has been moved from every cell at least twice. A – J. And 2 weeks stints in isolation. He had been kicked out of our cell before. No one wanted him to sleep by them. He slept in the bunk next to mine. He said I was his best friend. Of course. I was the only one not talking bad about him when he left. I told them that he had been good to me. And nice. That he didn’t really annoy me. They said it was because I was such a good Christian. But I’m not. If I’m still a child of God then I’m his worst. I miss wife.

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When you can’t Pray…

What do you do when you can’t pray to do the right thing anymore?  When you’re convinced  that God is intentionally ignoring your prayers? Because I failed  Him. And the oldest  institution established. Because I lied to Him. I told Him I wanted Him to take everything. He used my own failing to do it but He did it. When you don’t trust Him or in Him. When the only dreams you had were destroyed. And used to beat you mostly dead? When the only thing you feel is pain and the only emotions you have is hate? When it feels like you’re already in hell. No contact with God and every moment and eternity of pain. What do you do then? When you have no hope, no promise from God, no assurance, no faith.

Nothing to hold on to and no strength to do it any way? No way to end it all yet. What do I do. I don’t know. What do you do when there is blood on your hands that you can’t get off? When everyone tries to destroy you and their lies become truth. I don’t know. Even if I knew it couldn’t help God hates me. He hated Esau and I’m far far worse.  I miss wife.

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Infection

I’m very sick with what seems to be another bout with staph infection. My left arm is swollen and purple from the elbow to wrist. So much fluid the skin is beginning to crack. Very hot to the touch. I have to keep it curled up to my chest. This makes geeting my socks on and other usually simple tasks somewhat more difficult.

Mr. Johnson comes over and wraps his blanket around my shoulders because I’m shivering from chills. Mr. Johnson or “Old Timer” is here for his 7th prison term in 10 years. He was arrested with guns (stolen) and meth. He lent me the blanket right after he got done yelling at his ex-wife on the payphone, using awful language and threatening to cut her head off and shoot her in the stomach with ‘OO buckshot.

He says he still loves her. I’m unsure how I view OUR friendship now. Raymond bent over and helped me put my socks on. Thats as close to foot washing  as I’ve seen in 5 years. They are compassionate and all come around me to check on me. They still think I’m a good Christian despite my attempts to convince them otherwise. I think now it’s just because they’re not used to someone not using filthy language.  I miss wife.

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