GOD IS ABLE

The day I walked out of my cell after a week-long lockdown, I had my head in the clouds. Why? Prison was before me, and I was exhausted by what I saw. The clouds were my thoughts, and what I had on my mind was either writing another screenplay or a fiction series.

The next college semester was a few weeks away, and I did not even know what would be offered. Since I had freedom of thought, rather than calculating what 3! x 6! added up to, I contemplated an exploration into a new Marvel character that arrived after reading about the Phoenix Force searching for a new host--and I had a movie idea about a brother who partnered with his sister to take down a drug lord. Now as I relished all these ideas, I remembered my brother telling me this: "When you tell God your plans, He'll laugh at you." That meant my life would be heading in a different direction.

Haneef, my little brother who had been in my life for fifteen years, told me he had a new essay for me to edit. Normally I would check it out, then give my advice on what he needed to do to spice the essay up; however, when I began reading it, I froze: the essay was actually a letter about me. This shocked me, because someone saw me for the man I fought to become.

As an incarcerated man who felt that I was doing my all, but not having my moment in the sun; being seen for more than my worst. Well, Haneef did. So much so that he wrote about who he recognized me to be: more than an incarcerated man. One who inspired him to follow his heart and utilize his spoken word at the Black History event at Nottoway Correctional Center. I even helped him get his books published, as well as his articles published on Death Row Soul Collective (a Facebook page). This made me emotional, which caused me to place Haneef's tablet down and cry. I never assumed I profoundly impacted others, because as men incarcerated, we held our emotions at bay...always. But here was a letter written about me by a friend who really loved me.

I found Haneef on my way back from dinner and told him thank you, and I love you. My emotions ran all over him as he smiled and told me he wanted me to get out of prison--it's my time- and he closed the letter with a plea to the Governor of Virginia granting my clemency. We hugged, then I spent the rest of the evening typing his letter on my tablet and emailing it to Death Row Soul Collective to see what they could do with it.

Life had a strange way of showing you why others leaned on you. The next evening, I had outside recreation, and my plan was to sit on a picnic table and stare at the waning sun as it colored the sky. As I sauntered to a picnic table, I found Haneef sitting with one of his HVAC workbooks. We acknowledged one another with a handshake, then I sat with him. Something was off with his energy, and I asked him what was up. Someone had called him a rat (a snitch).

In prison, when that word was uttered, you had to act quickly. Meaning putting hands on the individual...but Haneef hadn't. So,o he sat outside, needing to gather his thoughts, and wanting me to help him out. I yanked a blade of grass from the ground and held it to his face and balled up my free hand, showing him that too. This is what I said:

"Your problems are this blade of grass; you're the fist. If you let the grass knock you down, then you're not the strong brother I love and respect. So, who are you?"

He responded, "I'm the fist."

I blew the grass away, then patted his back.

My life seemed to become a constant therapy session, because the following night I was sitting with a bisexual named Jae. He was head over heels for an intake who was openly gay and a junkie. Jae wanted love, the kind you see in a Disney movie, but this intake was about his addiction and Jae needed to see that. So,o he opened the door about the intake and I explained my point of view: "Do not open a door with a junkie, because you'll get hurt, and with your 10-year sentence to do, you'll be broke and wondering why you ever fancied the intake." He thanked me, but who knows if he'll listen to an old head like me?

The next morning, I am up reading my Bible. This was a routine that I made important, but also watching a church program. Bill, a good friend of mine, started watching TBN and explained that he wanted to begin his day with something more positive on his mind than the world news of madness and sports. Since I respected him, I followed suit, and man oh man, did I get my blessing for the day.

The televangelist talked about being disabled in one's life because their finances weren't where they liked, or that they're disabled due to a loveless marriage, or they're disabled over a job they do not want. He explained that God gives you the ability to get up and go. Go find that money, go correct your marriage, go find a better job. Well, a paraplegic watched that sermon and wrote the televangelist and shared that he was disabled in his wheelchair, but because the televangelist told him to go live his life, the paraplegic said he now lives in his wheelchair. The paraplegic also said this: "You said to go and live, because I am not disabled. Do you know what those two words spell when you put go and disable together? God is able."

I climbed off my bunk and smiled throughout my day, because I am able to. Life could be miserable, but I'm seeing who I am in it--and I love it. No matter what, I'll continue doing what I can for others, and the next time I get sad, I'll remember what the paraplegic shared: God is able.