Humility

“in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” Philippians 2:3

“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” I Peter 5:5

Sitting at the desk in my cell, I finished another letter to my children. Suddenly, movement was called over the P.A. system. I looked over at my clock radio to check the time. It was noon, time to pick up my canteen in the Core building. I did a quick scan of my room, which was clean but not so neat. Unmade bed, papers, pens and envelopes spread across my desk; time had gotten away from me. Movement between buildings lasted 5 minutes. I still needed to put on my shoes and glasses. Prison rules dictate one must leave a cell neat but I had no time to tidy up! Feeling rushed, I grabbed keys and badge, dashing out of my room.

Jogging down steps to the day room, I made a beeline for the sign out book. Women were filing out of Tubman, eager to eat lunch or pick up their own canteen. Quickly I signed out, adding my name, OID, current time and destination in the book. Joining the women I walked quickly, not wanting to be last. It was the beginning of June 2016, and the weather was beautiful. Flowers had popped up around the property.

A fast 15 minutes later I was back at Tubman, carrying my bag of canteen. Signing back in, I noticed Sgt. Laabs in the hallway by my room. He oversaw our living unit, and five years earlier, had given me LOPs (Loss of Privileges), often. An LOP effectively grounded a woman to her cell for a set number of days.

At the time I’d mistakenly thought Laabs was a stickler for the rules, giving everyone a hard time. Since then, I’d begun to suspect something different. Laabs seemed to be testing new arrivals. His goal? Learning an inmate’s attitude towards authority. Sgt. Laabs would give every new arrival an LOP. If he could not find a legitimate reason to write someone up, he’d make something up. LOPs were delivered as yellow tickets outlining the offense. Inmates were asked to sign it. Over the years I’d watched as women angrily argued their LOP, also watched as other women silently signed without complaint (even when they had done nothing wrong). Women who didn’t argue were unlikely to receive an LOP from him again, even if they deserved one. Women who did argue would become his targets, relentlessly punished for everything. My first year here he’d relentlessly punished me.

That changed one day in the summer of 2015. I sat in the dayroom visiting when suddenly I recalled a missed appointment with my caseworker. Each morning the prison posted a list of appointments for each inmate. We were responsible for attending them and if we failed, we received an LOP for “wasting a staff member’s time.”

“Oh shoot! I’m supposed to be in Bethune!” I cried. Movement had closed 5 minutes earlier. It was too late. What could I do?

I jumped up and ran to the staff desk. Sgt. Laabs sat, busy with paperwork. “Sir? I just missed my appointment. I’m sorry.” He looked up. I rushed on, “Do you want to give me an LOP?” There was no point trying to escape it. Might as well get it over with.

He jerked his head ‘no’ in surprise. Waving me away he said thoughtfully, “I’ll take care of it.” In the years since he’d never given me an LOP again.

Now I passed Sgt. Laabs in the hall. He held room inspection forms and appeared surprised to see me. My heart sank. I nodded and ducked into my room, where I noticed a failed room inspection form on my desk. The form noted an LOP would be waiting for me at the staff desk. I grabbed it and headed back out of my room. Laabs remained in the hall. Usually, I am at work right now but I had the day off. I wondered how to get out of this.

“Sgt. Laabs?” I said, holding out the form, “I was only gone for 15 minutes. Why did I fail?” I knew very well why I’d failed; you cannot leave the building with your room untidy. Maybe I hadn’t learned as much as I thought, trying to wheedle my way out of discipline.

“You left the building,” he replied, waiting. He did appear sorry for me.

“Yes,” I answered, “but I didn’t go to work. I have the day off.” I stared at the floor.

Sgt. Laabs sighed as he responded, “You have to make your bed before you leave the building.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. I looked up again, and that’s when I made an insincere promise. “I will never do it again,” I vowed.

Weeks passed and I  adopted a new coping strategy – excessive cell cleaning. Using a toothbrush I cleaned between every cement block. Using a nail file I scratched all the rust off the toilet until it shined. Every drawer was emptied, washed, and organized. As a result I’d become quite proud. Now as I headed to work. I passed Monica’s cell. She had the door flung open. A host of cleaning supplies littered the doorway. “Julie,” I heard Monica lecture from inside, “you are so messy! Unlike you I love cleaning.”

Monica performed this ritual monthly. It was pure performance. Looking in as I passed I thought, ‘What a clutter! What a fake!’ I smirked and kept walking. I could faintly hear Monica holler at Sue, her neighbor to the right, as I left the wing, “Sue, you are no better than Julie! You are all so messy!” I rolled my eyes and patted myself on the back for being better than Monica.

Work that day was hectic. Ms. Schaibly had recently retired and I had a new boss, Ms. Jerry. She was quite different in personality and style, even brash and abrasive at times. I thought about quitting when she started, but stuck it out. Right away things became difficult for me when Ms. Jerry overhauled much of the curriculum and students became confused. As I graded papers each day I waited for Ms. Jerry to notice the trouble brewing. She did not notice. I didn’t know what to do. In the past I handled problems by ignoring them, hoping they’d resolve themselves. This doesn’t work, by the way. They always grow worse, not better. I imagined speaking up at this point in any problem and being asked, “Well why didn’t you say something before it got this bad?” I would have no good answer. The worse things got, the more it seemed it was my fault for not speaking up earlier, even if I hadn’t started the trouble to begin with.

The Bible talks about fearing God, not men. Today I decided to try something new. After waiting longer than was wise to speak up to Ms. Jerry, I did speak up. I was scared and had to summon my courage, “Ms. Jerry, the students are not doing well with the new curriculum. I have a list of issues I’ve noted.” I held my breath.

Her response surprised me, “Thank you for telling me. I’m surprised it took this long for a problem to occur! I was expecting them to pop up sooner.” I sighed in relief.

I returned to my desk and finished grading papers began to read. ‘The Bible says God hates the proud people,’ I thought. “Who are these proud people?” I asked Jesus. ‘Certainly isn’t me,’ I answered myself. While I waited for Jesus to tell me I had another question, “Jesus, why don’t I feel terrible about all my sin? I feel nothing. What’s wrong with me?”

Jesus answered, “Humility is something every person needs. Ask Me for it, and I will teach you.”

So I began to ask God for humility. I didn’t want to be anything Jesus hates. I was almost sorry I’d asked Him. Lessons began right away at work.

It was time for the class spelling test and it was my turn to facilitate it. Standing in front of the class I began reading off words and the sentences they were in. Halfway through I turned and noticed one of the spelling words written on the blackboard. Ms. Jerry had put it there at some point prior to the test. Without thinking I said, “I can’t imagine what Ms. Jerry was thinking putting that there.” I laughed and erased it. Ms. Jerry’s head popped up from behind her desk to see what was happening. Her face darkened.

Half an hour later Ms. Jerry asked to see me in the hall. I had forgotten all about the test and my comment. Out in the hall she towered over me, nose bent to nose, and spit out, “You need to know your place and get in it!”

Previously I would have reacted with rage. I was surprised not to feel any. Instead, I found myself nodding my head in agreement. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but I’d been praying for humility lately and agreed that I was often out of line. “I’m sorry,” I said. Studying my face for sincerity, she was satisfied. She nodded as if the subject were closed and went back into the classroom. I was so shocked not to feel battle ready after such a comment that it took me a moment to follow her.

Returning to my cell after work I performed my usual routine. Each cell door in the hall has an inset window with a small ledge. Dust collected on these ledges. As I walked by I would use my finger to clean each ledge of dust. When I got to Monica’s door I ignored the dust with a smirk. I enjoyed cleaning every ledge but hers.

Back in my room I sat to read. Jesus drew my attention to the crucifixion story. Reading how He was tortured and killed I did not feel great grief. Again I cried out, “Jesus, what is wrong with me?”

“Remember Monica’s window ledge?” Jesus asked me immediately.

Confused, I was slow to respond. ‘What does that have to do with my question?’ I wondered.

Jesus, noting my confusion, explained, “Your attitude is smug and unkind towards her. You demonstrate that when you enjoy leaving her window dirty.”

How true! I didn’t see a connection though. If I didn’t feel terrible about “serious” sins in my life, if I didn’t feel awful imagining Jesus’ death for me, how could such a small sin make me feel anything?

“Holly, if this was the only sin you ever did, it would be enough to separate you from My love and a relationship with Me. Do you understand why I died on the cross?” Jesus asked.

“So I can be saved and go to heaven,” I quickly answered Him.

“No Holly,” Jesus corrected. “It is true you can be saved and go to heaven as a result of My death and resurrection, but you’re thinking of how you benefit. What was the benefit to Me? What did I want to get out of it for Myself?”

“For Yourself? I don’t understand,” I responded.

A mental movie appeared in my mind. I was at the mall surrounded by strangers. Jesus was at my side. He said, “Pick a stranger and spend 15 minutes talking to them, then return and tell me at least 3 things that person wants for themselves in life.”

I imagined the conversation with a stranger. I supposed any person might desire a home, a job, a car, a family, children, a vacation, a raise…the list could be endless! I could create a list longer than 3 things if given 15 minutes. “Yes you could,” Jesus said, knowing my thoughts. “How long have you known Me?”

I used to believe I’d known God, or at least about God all of my life. Not anymore. I did think I’d come to know Him this past year, though. “That’s longer than 15 minutes!” Jesus said in response to my thoughts, “So list 3 things I want for Myself in life.”

Mouth hanging open, I had no reply. I’d spent my whole life imagining how I could benefit from Jesus. I’d never considered He might want anything other than what I want. I didn’t have an answer. My eyes wandered the room as I thought, and I spotted the dictionary. “Look up the word ‘person’,” Jesus said just then.

Thumbing the pages I found, “Person: A being with qualities such as agency, self-awareness, consciousness, rationality, and the capacity for relationships.” I looked up Agency, “Agency is the capacity of a person to act intentionally and make choices that influence their life or environment. It includes: goals, desires and decision-making.”

Jesus was a person with goals and desires! Why was I blind to this? What were His goals and desires? He answered my thoughts, “I died so that a relationship with you, Holly, would be possible for Me.”

I was astonished. Another movie flashed behind my eyes, my son Tom stood before me, looking at me sadly. Jesus asked me, “What if Tommy died for you instead of me? What if he chose to die to save you? What if he volunteered to be tortured and murdered to save you?” As each question hit, Tommy’s face registered love for me, resolve to do something difficult for his mom, grief that it was necessary. Then he turned and began walking away from me, heading towards a cross. His name appeared written on the sign above it.

My heart pounded. My stomach twisted in horror. Then Jesus said, “What if the only sin you ever did was this ‘small one’ against Monica. Death is still the punishment, the price I paid for you.” Still watching my mental video I saw Tommy turn again to look at me. A voice cried out from the sky above, “She only committed one sin, a tiny one, but she enjoyed it. She’s still enjoying thinking about it. Will you still pay the penalty for her, be tortured and killed to save her?” The answer was written in Tommy’s eyes. His lips firmed, resolve steeling his expression. He nodded, and went to save me with his life.

Tears sprang into my eyes. “I’m sorry!” I yelled. “NO! I’m so sorry!” I felt crushed by the import. I was so petty! Tommy kept walking away as I sobbed, his form replaced by Jesus. “Jesus!” I cried, “I’m so sorry I did that to you.” I wept. I was devastated by the consequences of my sin. “Thank you for saving me,” I whispered.

A month later I was once again busy in my room right up until movement was called for canteen. Again I had the day off and my room was messy. Sgt. Laabs was not on duty this day, so I threw on my shoes and left my room a mess as I headed for canteen. Fifteen minutes later I returned, to find Sgt. Laabs at the desk. ‘Oh-no!’ I said to myself. He was talking to the officer on duty, who had room inspection forms in his hand. Sure enough, an LOP was waiting for me. I was embarrassed as I realized the truth. When I had promised Sgt. Laabs “it would never happen again,” I’d really meant – “I’ll behave when you are working.” These were prison rules, however, and I was trying to avoid discipline, not actually do the right thing. I made a note to write Sgt. Laabs an apology, and committed to doing better.

“Sir, I want to apologize. Recently you gave me a failed room inspection for my unmade bed, and I told you it would never happen again. Today it happened again. I realize now I’d not made a commitment to do right, I only meant to avoid discipline… …I want to thank you for holding me to this standard. I realize this attitude could get me into worse trouble when I leave prison, where failure to follow rules while on probation can lead to worse punishment than an LOP. I want to do better. I will do better.”

 I began praying to Jesus, “How many are my iniquities and my sins? Make me know my transgression and my sin.” (Job 13:23)