His Hands and Feet

My name is Colin and I'm currently serving life without parole. Since 2019 I've been working in the infirmary. In the past thirteen years I've had other jobs within the department of corrections, but nothing compares to this. In a prior life I was a taker. Now I give my time and service to these who need a lot of help. I work twelve-hour days, seven days a week. At times it can be very demanding.

I've seen many people leave this world, but I've also seen many get better. There have also been many chances to share the gospel and build relationships. I was blessed to meet a young man that I'll call Daniel.

Daniel unfortunately got wrapped up in situation that left him paralyzed. Upon meeting him, he had the typical prison mean-mug on his face. He didn’t speak much either. As the days went by, we made small talk. I noticed him reading a Bible, and that eventually led to longer conversations. The mean-mug had faded away.

There's a level of trust that comes with this type of work. Daniel trusted me over time to share the details of what put him in a wheelchair, as well as cleaning him when accidents happened. I reassured him that he was in good hands by giving a listening ear and a servant's heart. On a daily basis I reminded myself to be the hands and feet of Christ.

My relationship grew with Daniel to the point that we would spend hours just talking and laughing. We also listened to sermons by Dr. Tony Evan, each night. He introduced me to Harry Potter movies, on the prison issued tablets, but we didn't make it through all of them.

Meeting Daniel made me grateful for so many things, including my health. There were many nights I cried and gave God praise for the many things and people I’ve taken for granted. Daniel also schooled me on the power of forgiveness, as he has let go of the past and the people who put him in a wheelchair.

Daniel is no longer in prison. Since his release we’ve kept in contact through phone calls and mail. His plans are to get a higher education with computers and robotics. I get to speak to his sister and mom here and there, which makes me feel like family. I usually don't get close to people in prison. They either get sent to another prison, they die, or they go home. Out of the three I'm no longer with them.

Some people say it takes a special person to do hospice work. I don’t consider myself special. I came into the system afraid and clueless to how I would do time. I was a tutor, I worked in the canteen, and now I help others who are ill or hurt from prison violence. The media only shares the half of what takes place behind the wall. When just a sliver of light makes it through a crack in the door, darkness has to flee, so no, I'm nobody special, but to Daniel, I'm his brother.

Colin could share many stories similar to this one, as well as, stories of relationships with patients that aren't good. As infirmary workers, many times, the patients are bitter and take out their frustration on you. It takes a special level of patience to do this job. And men in prison do this job without pay, from the kindness of their hearts. Stories like these should make us pause and rethink our approach to long sentences with no chance for a second look.

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