On getting outside of your comfort zone

In my lifetime, I’ve been out of my comfort zone quite a bit. I remember the first time a black schoolmate was invited to stay overnight with my boys. Over time, it got to be normal with no need for unfounded fear. It eventually led me to be comfortable with the idea and I know we were part of getting some other people out of their comfort zone. Once, I brought a black child to a private swim club we were part of and was asked to accept a refund of my membership money if I insisted on bringing him back. I’m sure fellow church members were out of their comfort zone when our family brought inner city children with us to church.

I was outside my comfort zone when several of my children chose to marry interracially. At first I was uncomfortable because I feared what life would be like for them and for their children in what was then a society that was pretty intolerant about such things. I had some tough moments with some of my family since they also were out of their comfort zone. Questions from acquaintances like “why are you allowing your children to marry a black” come to mind. A threat from a spouse’s parent to disown them if they married one of my children comes to mind.

The results have been rewarding to my wife and I. We’re grandparents to the most beautiful and smartest grandchildren imaginable and we have many true friends of another race. My eyes have been opened to the value of stepping outside your comfort zone.

I say this to introduce another idea that for a time was outside my comfort zone. The idea that you could bring an inmate into your home for a visit. It took some getting used to. I had attended religious services held by my church at Guess Road prison on alternating Sundays. I got to know some of the men in attendance and began to realize we weren’t really all that different. They talked about missing their families. Some had children they hadn’t seen in years. Some thanked God for landing in prison saying they’d probably be dead by now were it not for being imprisoned.

I’ve taken guys out into the community as a community volunteer for some 7 years or so. I’ve met a wide range of guys…probably more than 30. Some are college grads; some cannot read or write. I’ve been impressed by the general level of intelligence and social skills so many have. Some are independent thinkers; some will go along with anything a friend suggests. Many are in prison for drug-related crimes. One killed his wife years ago. He was a Vietnam vet with PTSD (he didn’t realize it at the time) and had no recollection of why he did it, but remembered doing it. No one has denied doing the crime they were charged with, but it is obvious to me from hearing their stories that there are serious problems with our system of justice. A lot of guys talk about getting a job, although many incarcerated as teenagers never had a career. Some have taken job skill training offered within the prison system.

Guess Road is a minimum security prison. Over the years, they have been able to implement some programs that I think will help keep guys from coming back into the system. As a volunteer, after some appropriate training, I can take 1 or 2 guys out into the community to pre-approved locations for up to 6 hours on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. I’m allowed on the camp for religious services. There are 3 levels of classification within the system, each allowing different levels of privilege. At the highest level (3), an inmate can interview for a job and work in the community.

In the US, over 650,000 inmates are released from prison each year. From the community’s perspective, the difference between a level 3 inmate and an ex-offender is relatively minor. Generally, a level 3 inmate is going to be released in a few months or weeks. They can be working a regular job just like an ex-offender.

One of the themes I remember from my Sunday School classes and the sermons I’ve heard over the years is Jesus’ stories about people or things that were lost and the great effort that was made to find or rescue or forgive them. It angered the prodigal son’s brother that his wayward brother who had offended his father was welcomed back into the fold when he “came to his senses”. In many ways, I think as a society we are a lot like the prodigal son’s brother in that we resent good treatment and forgiveness directed toward folks we see as wayward. But, like the prodigal son, I think we need to “come to our senses”, too. The rewards of stepping outside that comfort zone are simply too good for us to be passing up.