As I look through pictures from the prison visit, I'm brought back to that feeling I get when I walk into any prison (and it's been three now): fear. It starts with the guard at the front gate that sternly instructs us to empty our pockets in exchange for a numbered laminate. Then we move, as a group, into a holding area with a iron gate that cannot be opened until the back side of the gate is securely locked. Once inside, I feel a thousand eyes peering at me (why are they here? what do they want?) and I try to make myself as small as possible so they know I am not a threat. I wait for my instructions on what I can photograph, who I can show... and even then, I pray that the women will grant me permission with their own eyes.
Considering I'm the visitor and can leave anytime I want (accompanied by a armed guard, of course), I wonder if this fear is actually more deeply rooted in my own inadequacies. Why AM I here? What DO I want? And what could I possibly offer them? Luckily, the women from the Magdalene program, who I am fortunate enough to work with, can speak on my behalf. Tara, tells the women to never give up because she was once in their shoes -- literally, in TN State Prison for two years. Katrina reminds them not to be fooled by the faux glamorous lifestyle that others may brag about. Becca speaks of beginning Thistle Farms with one candle and how all it takes is one idea or one thought or one person to really make the difference.
As each woman spoke her simple truth, I felt my fear melt away and turn into a tiny morsel of hope. I thought of my mistakes and my poor choices and my shortcomings and wondered why I am still loved. I thought of the women gathered in this place with their own pasts, and wondered why they are still loved. I can't quite grasp the concept fully, but somehow the tiny morsel of hope becomes the light at the end of the tunnel, the thing that never gives up each of us, an unconditional love greater than any fear we might have.
On a otherwise quiet bus ride, I listen to my friend,
Amy Fletcher's, song, "
Why You Love Me" and look through my finished pictures. I am tired, but I am comforted by tiny morsels of hope.
