Remember Those in Prison
When men and women who have been convicted of a crime are incarcerated, the sentence almost always extends beyond the prisoner. Spouses, parents, and children all “serve time” with their loved ones behind bars, suffering silently as they pay the price together for past misdeeds.
Every race has a finish line. But what happens when that line gets pushed farther out making it virtually unreachable?
That’s how it can feel for men and women entering society after completing their prison term. Though their “debt to society” has been paid, payday never ends since many former prisoners find themselves wading through a “second prison,” further locking them into a life with limited choices.
In some ways, the races seemed like any other 5K competitions that take place every weekend across the country. The runners laced up their shoes and stretched in preparation for the run, affixing their bib numbers and hoping for fast times.
It is becoming harder and harder for who have never had a criminal record to think that they can isolate themselves from those that have. Even if there might have been a time when crime was restricted to certain neighborhoods or classes, the growing conviction and incarceration rates makes it increasingly rarer that an individual would not be in contact with a friend, a neighbor, or a family member who has a criminal past.
For many men and women with criminal convictions, the road to move beyond the past and become contributing members of their communities is filled with hurdles and potholes. In addition to the stigma associated with having a criminal record, there are numerous legal impediments that prevent these people from obtaining work licenses, voting in elections, or even advancing to job interviews.
These prisoners are wonderful examples of redeemed individuals working to restore themselves to their communities through morally rehabilitative in-prison programming.
'I was soon to discover that in God’s economy, I was right where I was supposed to be.'
As the newly appointed executive director of the Colorado Department of Corrections, Rick Raemisch spent the night of Jan. 23 in solitary confinement at a state penitentiary.
The appalling murder of Tom Clements, the executive director of the Colorado Department of Corrections, appears to be part of a growing trend of violence against criminal justice officials. Since the beginning of the year, brazen attacks have also taken the lives of the Kaufman County, Texas, district attorney, his wife, and a lead prosecutor.
"God opens doors that man wants to shut.”