Segregation Unit

I'm not sure why she came to mind this evening while I was preparing dinner. But, every once in awhile she pops into my awareness and I spend a few moments with our experience.

It was a snowy night in 2001 in Gig Harbor at the women's state prison. One of the women I visited on a regular basis was suddenly in the segregation unit. Making my visit to her was the first time I'd ever been in the solitary unit building. It actually sat parallel to the Chapel, but at first glance the two worlds couldn't have been more different. I signed in and waited for an officer to take me to wherever I would meet with her. He showed up and took me into a very small booth and closed the door behind me. Next, she came into the booth in full shackles on the opposite side with the glass between us. There were very small holes along the bottom of the glass for us to talk through. As she entered the booth she put her cuffed hands back through a small opening in the door as it was closed. With the door locked, the officer on the other side unlocked her cuffs and then she sat down.

She told me about the fight that landed her in segregation, who did what, how she didn't do anything, how long she might be in there, how hard it was to lose all of her privileges, and she was so close to getting out. She needed help getting in touch with a Pastor in Marysville. She gave me his name and number and I told her I'd try to reach him on her behalf.

We weren't allowed very much time and as it was getting shorter I asked what she wanted to hear from the Bible. She gave me a text and I read it to her through the glass. For prayer I placed my right hand on the glass and she her left. I prayed for her strength, safety, and sanity. The officer opened the door behind me and escorted me out. I signed out of the building and stepped out into beautiful, huge, delicate snowflakes drifting down.

I just happened to turn to my right and saw her framed in a small window. She was still sitting on her side of the booth. They hadn't yet come to take her back to her tiny, solitary cell. Her hands were still free. Looking so afraid, so alone, so forlorn, and so small she waved good-bye. I raised my right hand and made the sign of the cross through the snow to her. She bowed her head.

Through the big flakes I walked back to the Chapel for the remainder of that night's chaplain work. On the way back I realized there really was no difference between the Chapel and the segregation unit. God's grace can permeate any wall, any handcuff, any glass, any building, and any heart.