STORY BLOCK: Preacher Man (continued)
October 25th 2006 12:12
Story Block: Rated R (profanity, sex, violence)
Preacher Man continued........
The dining hall was overflowing with inmates. Morales, Shamey and inmate Johnson, a young black man sat a table together eating their dinner. Inmate Mills, a much older inmate with a Santa Claus face joined them. After quick introductions, Mills turned to Morales.
“Well, I hope you will come join us at the chapel. By the way, can you sing? I'm the choir director and I can always use another voice.”
“I'm not much of a singer...But I love to witness and preach.”
“Well...you'll have to do most of it in the dorm. They have chaplains and they aren't to hip to us getting up saying anything.” Mills replied.
“Yeah, they're probably afraid of what we might say.” Johnson added.
“Well, maybe I could do something in the dorm...I used to hold prayer groups at my last institution.” Morales said.
Shamey looked at Morales. “I'm not much for church...never was, but I'd come.”
Johnson nodded, “Yeah, I'd come and hear what you've got to say.”
Morales smiled to himself at this warm reception. “It's not what I've got to say...it's the word of God.”
Morales and the other men stood up and walked out of the dining hall.
Sergeant Cole, a black male about thirty five years old, and Tina Hustead, the forty year old case worker sat in the unit office drinking coffee and talking.
“What do you think of that Morales guy?”
Tina shrugged her shoulders. “Well...he's interesting...I don't know for sure. He seems to have settled into the dorm quite well. Why, have you had a problem with him?”
Cole took a long drink of his coffee. “Not a problem, really. What do you think of this religious stuff?”
Tina shrugged again and Cole continued, “I think it's kind of weird that he could come into this dorm and in three weeks have half the people in the dorm praying with him in groups.”
“Prayer groups?”
“Yeah, he has prayer group every night and half the dorm joins him.”
Tina looked surprised. “No shit! That's not necessarily bad, is it?”
“I just think it's weird...I think he's weird with his soft voice and strange manner.”
Tina pursed her lips and conceded, “Well, yes, he does have a rather strange manner about him, but I just haven't really paid that much attention I guess.”
Cole took another drink of coffee and then spoke, “Well, pay attention...I think he’s up to no good.”
The dorm area was quiet considering the number of inmates in there. There were, at least, thirty five inmates sitting on bunks and on the floor. Morales is stood in the center of all the inmates. He had his Bible in his hands as he preached. “If you believe, anything is possible. Give it to God and he will fill you with his healing love. He has filled me with his spirit. I am a tool for God to heal. Does anyone here need healed?” Morales looked around the room. An inmate raised his hand. Morales walked over to the young inmate.
“What ails you my son?”
“I've been to the infirmary four times about my feet...it's some kind of infection. They just give me cream and it don't work.”
Morales stooped in front of the inmate. He pulled the inmate's tennis shoes off and then his socks. All the other inmates watched in silence. The correction officer working the dorm came to the doorway and stood watching. Morales set his Bible on the bed next to the inmate. He held both of the inmate's feet. He closed his eyes and squeezed the feet. Suddenly Morales began shaking all over and then he went limp. He looked up toward the ceiling. “Thank you, God...thank you, God!
The inmate looked confused. Morales wiped sweat from his brow. Inmate Shamey ran to Morales' side and handed him a jug of ice water. Shamey reached up and wiped Morales’ brow with his hand.
Morales looked deeply into Shamey’s eyes. “Thank you, Shamey...I think I need to rest.”
The inmate's dispersed, whispering to each other. Morales went to his bunk. Shamey followed Morales and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Morales.
Morales searched his face for a clue. “You okay?”
“Um...hmm...I'm sorry.”
Morales patted Shamey's knee in a fatherly way. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
There were at least a hundred inmates at the Chapel service. The pews were packed. Chaplain Rodak, a young, nice looking man, wearing black with a white collar was at the pulpit speaking. “Now, is there anyone who would like to witness to God's love? If so, please rise.”
In the middle row, Morales stood up. The Chaplain waved his hand to Morales, signaling him to go ahead. Morales cleared his throat. “Thank you...I am a changed man. I am a changed man in God's love. Once I was a sinner...a loathsome example of a human. I was a prisoner to money...to women...to drugs. And that prison was far more devastating...far more dark than this place could ever be.”
There were several "amen's" from around the room as Morales continued, “People didn't want to be around me...not even my family would have anything to do with me...I was pathetic. When the judge sentenced me to prison for the blood on my hands...I hated him. But, what I didn't know at the time was that I hated me. I washed my hands, over and over...but the blood wouldn't come off.”
Around the room, heads were nodding and the "amen's" became more frequent. At the front of the chapel, Rodak looked angry, but did not interrupt.
“And then one day, I heard a voice. Now, it wasn't speaking out loud...it was in my head...and the voice said, "I love you, Morales...and all you need do is ask for forgiveness and accept Christ and you will be saved...Well, I thought I was losing my mind, but I couldn't shake it, so Did it. I asked God to forgive me and to love me and suddenly...I felt strange...in a good way...I was filled with the spirit and life has been wonderful ever since.”
Morales stopped only long enough to take a breath and then he concluded, “I am no longer in prison...not even here...once you find God...they can put you behind barbed wire...but they can never incarcerate your soul!”
A thunder of applause broke out. Some in the room were crying. Chaplain Rodak reached for the microphone at his podium. “Inmate...what is your name?”
“Inmate Morales, sir.”
The chaplain's frown slowly turned into a smile.
At the conclusion of the service, Morales stood outside, surrounded by several inmates. One inmate, a very young looking guy named Ricker, stood off to the side of the crowd and watched. Morales saw him and made his way away from the crowd and walked up to Ricker. “I can tell you have something to say...please say it.”
Ricker blushed and looked at the ground. “I...uhh...I want you to help me. I need to get my life together like you have.”
Morales nodded his head and then put his arm around Ricker's shoulder. “God will help you...we'll talk later.” Ricker smiled and nodded. Morales and Ricker parted. Morales returned to the crowd of inmates.
The dorm room was dimly lit by night lights. There was only the sound of light snoring around the room. Morales sat up on the edge of his bed facing Shamey. He lit a cigarette and took a drag. He slowly reached over to Shamey and stroked his face gently. Shamey opened his eyes. “What are you doing?” asked Shamey in a whisper.
Morales shook his head. “Just giving you love.”
Shamey sat up and scratched his head. “I don't go that way, Preacher Man...and anyway...ain't it a sin?”
“Do you love God, my son?”
Shamey responded without hesitation, “Yeah...but....”
Morales interrupted, “Do you believe that I am filled with the spirit of God? You saw me heal that boy.”
Preacher Man conclusion...will be posted on Friday
Preacher Man continued........
The dining hall was overflowing with inmates. Morales, Shamey and inmate Johnson, a young black man sat a table together eating their dinner. Inmate Mills, a much older inmate with a Santa Claus face joined them. After quick introductions, Mills turned to Morales.
“Well, I hope you will come join us at the chapel. By the way, can you sing? I'm the choir director and I can always use another voice.”
“I'm not much of a singer...But I love to witness and preach.”
“Well...you'll have to do most of it in the dorm. They have chaplains and they aren't to hip to us getting up saying anything.” Mills replied.
“Yeah, they're probably afraid of what we might say.” Johnson added.
“Well, maybe I could do something in the dorm...I used to hold prayer groups at my last institution.” Morales said.
Shamey looked at Morales. “I'm not much for church...never was, but I'd come.”
Johnson nodded, “Yeah, I'd come and hear what you've got to say.”
Morales smiled to himself at this warm reception. “It's not what I've got to say...it's the word of God.”
Morales and the other men stood up and walked out of the dining hall.
Sergeant Cole, a black male about thirty five years old, and Tina Hustead, the forty year old case worker sat in the unit office drinking coffee and talking.
“What do you think of that Morales guy?”
Tina shrugged her shoulders. “Well...he's interesting...I don't know for sure. He seems to have settled into the dorm quite well. Why, have you had a problem with him?”
Cole took a long drink of his coffee. “Not a problem, really. What do you think of this religious stuff?”
Tina shrugged again and Cole continued, “I think it's kind of weird that he could come into this dorm and in three weeks have half the people in the dorm praying with him in groups.”
“Prayer groups?”
“Yeah, he has prayer group every night and half the dorm joins him.”
Tina looked surprised. “No shit! That's not necessarily bad, is it?”
“I just think it's weird...I think he's weird with his soft voice and strange manner.”
Tina pursed her lips and conceded, “Well, yes, he does have a rather strange manner about him, but I just haven't really paid that much attention I guess.”
Cole took another drink of coffee and then spoke, “Well, pay attention...I think he’s up to no good.”
The dorm area was quiet considering the number of inmates in there. There were, at least, thirty five inmates sitting on bunks and on the floor. Morales is stood in the center of all the inmates. He had his Bible in his hands as he preached. “If you believe, anything is possible. Give it to God and he will fill you with his healing love. He has filled me with his spirit. I am a tool for God to heal. Does anyone here need healed?” Morales looked around the room. An inmate raised his hand. Morales walked over to the young inmate.
“What ails you my son?”
“I've been to the infirmary four times about my feet...it's some kind of infection. They just give me cream and it don't work.”
Morales stooped in front of the inmate. He pulled the inmate's tennis shoes off and then his socks. All the other inmates watched in silence. The correction officer working the dorm came to the doorway and stood watching. Morales set his Bible on the bed next to the inmate. He held both of the inmate's feet. He closed his eyes and squeezed the feet. Suddenly Morales began shaking all over and then he went limp. He looked up toward the ceiling. “Thank you, God...thank you, God!
The inmate looked confused. Morales wiped sweat from his brow. Inmate Shamey ran to Morales' side and handed him a jug of ice water. Shamey reached up and wiped Morales’ brow with his hand.
Morales looked deeply into Shamey’s eyes. “Thank you, Shamey...I think I need to rest.”
The inmate's dispersed, whispering to each other. Morales went to his bunk. Shamey followed Morales and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Morales.
Morales searched his face for a clue. “You okay?”
“Um...hmm...I'm sorry.”
Morales patted Shamey's knee in a fatherly way. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
There were at least a hundred inmates at the Chapel service. The pews were packed. Chaplain Rodak, a young, nice looking man, wearing black with a white collar was at the pulpit speaking. “Now, is there anyone who would like to witness to God's love? If so, please rise.”
In the middle row, Morales stood up. The Chaplain waved his hand to Morales, signaling him to go ahead. Morales cleared his throat. “Thank you...I am a changed man. I am a changed man in God's love. Once I was a sinner...a loathsome example of a human. I was a prisoner to money...to women...to drugs. And that prison was far more devastating...far more dark than this place could ever be.”
There were several "amen's" from around the room as Morales continued, “People didn't want to be around me...not even my family would have anything to do with me...I was pathetic. When the judge sentenced me to prison for the blood on my hands...I hated him. But, what I didn't know at the time was that I hated me. I washed my hands, over and over...but the blood wouldn't come off.”
Around the room, heads were nodding and the "amen's" became more frequent. At the front of the chapel, Rodak looked angry, but did not interrupt.
“And then one day, I heard a voice. Now, it wasn't speaking out loud...it was in my head...and the voice said, "I love you, Morales...and all you need do is ask for forgiveness and accept Christ and you will be saved...Well, I thought I was losing my mind, but I couldn't shake it, so Did it. I asked God to forgive me and to love me and suddenly...I felt strange...in a good way...I was filled with the spirit and life has been wonderful ever since.”
Morales stopped only long enough to take a breath and then he concluded, “I am no longer in prison...not even here...once you find God...they can put you behind barbed wire...but they can never incarcerate your soul!”
A thunder of applause broke out. Some in the room were crying. Chaplain Rodak reached for the microphone at his podium. “Inmate...what is your name?”
“Inmate Morales, sir.”
The chaplain's frown slowly turned into a smile.
At the conclusion of the service, Morales stood outside, surrounded by several inmates. One inmate, a very young looking guy named Ricker, stood off to the side of the crowd and watched. Morales saw him and made his way away from the crowd and walked up to Ricker. “I can tell you have something to say...please say it.”
Ricker blushed and looked at the ground. “I...uhh...I want you to help me. I need to get my life together like you have.”
Morales nodded his head and then put his arm around Ricker's shoulder. “God will help you...we'll talk later.” Ricker smiled and nodded. Morales and Ricker parted. Morales returned to the crowd of inmates.
The dorm room was dimly lit by night lights. There was only the sound of light snoring around the room. Morales sat up on the edge of his bed facing Shamey. He lit a cigarette and took a drag. He slowly reached over to Shamey and stroked his face gently. Shamey opened his eyes. “What are you doing?” asked Shamey in a whisper.
Morales shook his head. “Just giving you love.”
Shamey sat up and scratched his head. “I don't go that way, Preacher Man...and anyway...ain't it a sin?”
“Do you love God, my son?”
Shamey responded without hesitation, “Yeah...but....”
Morales interrupted, “Do you believe that I am filled with the spirit of God? You saw me heal that boy.”
Preacher Man conclusion...will be posted on Friday
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