Behind Bars By Bruce W. Robida

 

In March 1998, I was arrested and incarcerated for an offense that I did not commit. In fact, the District Attorney eventually dropped the charges, and my attorney recommended that I sue the person who was responsible for having me falsely arrested, which I chose not to do. But those details are unimportant considering some of the details of the nearly forty-eight hours that I spent behind bars. This is a story about how I believe God turned a bad situation around for not only my good, but for the good of others. The names of the men that I encountered were changed because I can’t remember them, but these are real people, and this is a true story.

After being released from handcuffs, I was led down a series of hallways, walking against a wall within a narrow path that was outlined by a painted line. The idea was that we (prisoners) were not allowed to go on the other side of the line. As I went deeper into the jail, several locked bars would open up so that we could pass through and then they would close and lock behind me. Finally, I came to a room where I picked up a bedroll and two bed sheets. The bedroll was a thin mat, probably not more than an inch and a half thick, and just long enough that my feet would not hang over the edge. Then I was led to a steel door that had a small window about a foot square. The Jailer unlocked and opened the door.

Inside, was a large room with several cafeteria style tables with the seats attached. A TV was on and blaring, and more than eighty prisoners were milling about. The wall that was opposite the door that I had just come through had some windows along the top which were frosted so that you could see light, but not what was outside, and there were bars on them to keep us in. The walls on the left and right had twelve steel doors each, which were all opened. These doors led to individual cells. The Jailer closed the door behind us and led me to one of the cells on the left. As I entered the cell, he told me to place my bedroll on the floor. There were two beds in each cell like bunk beds, one on top and one on bottom. The jail was overcrowded so each cell contained three prisoners. Being number three, my bed was on the floor. There was also a small window with bars, which was also frosted so that you could not see what was outside. I later found a small sliver that I could see through so my only view outside was of a local cemetery. The cell also had a stainless steel sink and toilet. These were located at the foot of the beds, where you had no privacy when you had to do your business. Doing my business was just as uncomfortable for my cellmates as it was for me. After I put down my bedroll, the jailer walked away and out of the larger room, leaving me to wander about on my own.

I walked out of my cell; bewildered that I would be experiencing something that was inconceivable to me. How could I of all people, end up in jail? As I walked around that room, I prayed, “God, what am I doing here? What good could possibly come from my wasting time away from my family, behind bars?” I began to think that God must have a good reason for allowing this to happen to me. I asked Him, “If I am here to speak with someone, please let me know who it is.” I became convinced that I was there to speak to someone about God. I told God that I would not approach anyone, but that He would have to send the person to me. I did not want to assume that my mission was to speak with someone about Him, but I was open to doing it if God wanted me to. As I looked around, I saw a man reading a Bible, one that was issued by the jail. I heard others talking about God, and even heard a big brute of a man explaining the plan of salvation to someone. I was amazed at all of that, and wondered how I could possibly contribute. I could easily have participated in the different conversations that I was hearing, but remembering my prayer, I was relying on God to send someone to me.

During this time, I also began to wonder who my cellmates were. There was no one in the cell that I had just come out of so I had no idea who would be in there with me. There was one guy that stood out because he was the most unkempt person in the entire place. His hair was long, dirty, and all matted, as though he hadn’t washed it in years. I later found out that he hadn’t showered since he arrived some three months earlier. Of all the people in the place, I did not want him to be one of my cellmates.

Soon, a prisoner came over to introduce himself to me. His name was Jake. Jake was in his late forties. He was about my height and weight, and looked much older than he really was. He was there because of habitual drinking and driving. Jake said he saw the jailer lead me to his cell. He said he had been there for several months and only had one more to go before being released. When I asked him who our other cellmate was, he smiled and nodded toward the one person I did not want it to be. It was William, the guy with the long, dirty, and matted hair. Minutes later an announcement was made, “Lock Down”. It was time to go into our cells. The steel doors were closed and locked behind us and wouldn’t be open until the next morning.

Jake, William, and I were in our cell getting ready for bed. Jake introduced me to William. There wasn’t much in the way of conversation, but the usual question was asked, “ What are you in for?” I tried to explain my innocence, and their reaction was, “Yea, that’s what they all say.” I laid down on my mat with a sheet below me, and one folded so that I might have some sort of pillow. I don’t think I slept fifteen minutes the entire night. The TV went off at eleven O’clock and some of the prisoners were irritated because of a basketball game that was in progress (you know, March Madness). They let their feelings known by yelling through their doors as if that was going to change the minds of the jailers. The lights never went out, and some of the prisoners never did get quiet. The noise in that place was constant.

The next morning, trays of food were brought into the cells and the doors were left open, but we were told to stay in the cells until a jailer said we could get out. The trays had no silverware or anything to drink. My cellmates had their own plastic spoons and cups. I asked where I might acquire such things, and Jake said, “You have to know the right people.” He then walked out of the cell (even though we were told not to) and within a couple of minutes had a spoon, cup, toothbrush, toothpaste and soap. He gave me these things and told me to keep them because he couldn’t guarantee that he could get them again. We were then allowed to go into the larger room to eat and get something to drink (they had Cool Aid or something similar in containers on the tables).

After breakfast, I looked for an opportunity to get a shower. There was only one shower and by my estimation, there were more than eighty prisoners in that block. The overcrowding was so bad that each cell contained three prisoners (that’s seventy-two), and there were many bedrolls on the floor around the large room against the walls. Some prisoners did not even get into a cell.

While waiting for a shower, I tried to get the attention of the jailer who had been walking around the room. All I wanted was a Bible that I could read rather than waste my day doing nothing. Every time I would get in front of the jailer where he knew I was speaking to him, he would look right through me as though I was not there. I never got the jailer to acknowledge me. I told Jake that I was trying to ask the jailer for a Bible, but was constantly ignored. I thought Jake must have some influence since he got me those other things before breakfast. Sure enough, he brought me a Bible as well. He told me that he believed in God and all of that, “But...”.

After my shower, I went into my cell and sat on my bedroll (it had to be rolled up) and began to read my Bible. The door was open because they were all supposed to be opened, and I could see people walking by and looking in, but they would just keep on walking. I was glad that at least I had something productive to do. I don’t even know what I was reading when William came into the cell (you know, the guy with the long, dirty and matted hair). He sat on the lower bunk (which wasn’t his) across from me and asked me a question. “Are you a Christian”? “Yes I am ”, I said. He asked, “I mean are you a born again Christian”? I said, “Yes I am, why do you ask”? He then began to tell me about his life and how he ended up in this jail. Through tears he explained to me how he had been there for three months, his wife had left him and there was no one who was willing to bail him out. He told me that he didn’t even have a lawyer yet and he didn’t know when he was going to get one. He asked me if I would be willing to help him when I got out, at least get a public defender to look into his case. I told him that I would do that, but I didn’t know what else I could do but pray for him. Then he began to talk about his life before drug addiction. He was a youth leader in his Church and had influence over his students. He told me about how God used him in those days, and again, through tears, he began to praise God just for who He is. His hands were raised high into the air as he continued to praise God, saying things like, “Even if God does nothing to help me, He is so good”! We had Church right there in the cell as others began to look in and come in to see what all the commotion was about. It was then that I realized that God had answered my prayers to send someone to me rather than going to someone myself. If it were up to me, I would not have chosen the guy with the long, dirty, matted hair.

Just then, the jailer came into the cell and handed William a letter. It was from a public defender. She told him that she would be representing him, but she had no idea when they could get before a judge. He would have to at least wait until then before he could be released since there was no one willing to bail him out.

Again, he began to give God praise, and I even told him that I thought his praise is what led to his finally receiving a public defender. Then he paid me a great compliment. He said, “I have been here for about three months. I’ve tried to talk with other prisoners who told me that they were Christians, but no one was willing to listen to me until now”. Tears began to flow down my cheeks because I knew that I was only doing what God wanted me to do. This was the reason for my being here. Then he began to give God some more praise, and it went on for about another thirty minutes until the jailer yelled to him from the entrance to the larger room. “William, You’re being released! You’ve got two minutes to get your stuff”! What! Did we hear right? He got up and looked out the cell door. Someone came to the cell and confirmed it. “Get your stuff man; they’re letting you go”. As he gathered his things, we made our way to the exit of that large room. I told him to remember what caused his release. I told him that it was no coincidence that he was being released after all of the praise that he had just given to God. I told him that I would pray that he would be freed from the life that had led him to jail in the first place, and that he would once again have a positive influence on the youth of his Church. This time, he could speak from experience. I gave him my phone number because there was no time to get his. I asked him to call me when he gets on his feet. He left, but I haven’t heard from him since then.

By this time it was early afternoon, and I was feeling great. I hated the fact that I was still there, but the praise and worship that I experienced, and then witnessing what amounted to be a Paul and Silas experience was worth the trouble that I was having to put up with. My wife came to visit me that day, and I spent most of the remainder reading the Bible.

Later that night, another prisoner joined us in that cell. Since my bedroll was already on the floor, I decided to keep it there. But Jake would not hear of it. He placed my bedroll on the top bunk where William had slept and said that I earned it. Before we went to bed we talked about my faith. Jake listened intently as I told him about my faith in Jesus. It was obvious that Jake wanted the peace and joy that I had, but he still didn’t know how to get it. I can relate to that because I experienced the same thing in my younger years. I could tell that Jake felt unworthy of being born again. Nothing I said gave him that assurance that I had that I was truly a child of God; that he could be also. As I tried to sleep that night, I didn’t realize this until morning, but Jake stayed awake all night weaving a cross out of some thin plastic strips that he had made out of a piece of trash. It was white and about an inch and a half tall by about an inch across and a quarter inch thick. When the jailer came in to bring us breakfast, he went over to Jake to confiscate what he had in his hand. After he took it from him he asked what it was made of. Jake told him about the plastic that he had made into strips and how he spent all night weaving it into a cross. He asked for it back, and reluctantly, the jailer returned it to him.

After breakfast, I was in the shower when I heard the jailer call my name. I had an appointment with the judge. I was led away to face the judge in handcuffs. The courtroom was full, including one of my own children. I hated the idea that someone I knew might be there, watching me in handcuffs and white coveralls with large letters on my back that read, “PRISONER”. My hair was still wet from the shower as the judge looked over my case. My attorney convinced the judge to release me on bail, so I knew that I would be home within a matter of a couple of hours. After I returned to my cell and told Jake that I would be released soon, I tried to encourage him to seek God. Within two hours, the jailer called my name and told me to get my stuff as I too was being released. Jake would not allow me to roll up my own bed or even carry it to the door leading out of the block. It was as though I was some kind of prophet deserving of the highest respect. Here was a man who I probably wouldn’t give the slightest consideration to on the outside, who took care of me from the time I entered the jail until the moment I left. It was there that I learned that God is no respecter of persons, so neither should I be. It was a humbling experience. I will no longer look at a person’s appearance before I decide to give him my attention. I will no longer look at a person’s faults before I decide to give him the time of day. My time behind bars was well spent, and I wouldn’t trade those hours for anything. I learned a great deal about myself and about God and how we should be willing to treat each other with respect no matter what the situation is. Those two days gave me a perspective on life and on people that I otherwise would not have had. I prayed for William who once was a workman for God. I prayed that he would return to the life that he knew before his drug addiction. I also prayed for Jake. I prayed that God would bless Jake because Jake blessed me by helping me during my two days in jail. I also prayed that he would leave the life that led him to jail, and that he would continue to seek God until he finds Him. I ask you to join me in these prayers.

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