I’m not going to actively promote this post but I want the information to be out “there” at least, and I want to be the one to tell my story.
First of all, I haven’t been very good about a regular posting schedule and I’m not sure I ever will get to the point where I can post 4 or even 5 days a week. Can’t imagine I have that much to talk about everyday. Plus, who really wants to be just that much more noise on the internet? There is SO much out there, repeating myself over and over would only be a disservice to those hardy few who actually want to hear what I have to say.
While I haven’t been posting, I have been busy consolidating and typing a lot of notes. Last year I read over 200 books, taking notes on almost all of them, and I still get in at least one a week. It’s a lot of work but I love the challenge of consolidating and connecting ideas.
How can anyone find time for over 200 books? Well I ended up with a lot of time on my hands and here we come to the storytelling/confession part of this post.
From March 2008 to March 2009 I was in prison down in Sheridan, Oregon. This was not a proud moment, but it ended up being one of the most positive experiences of my entire life. I learned more from that one year than most of my life combined (more than just how to make wine from tomatoes, yes it is possible). It gave me time to reflect, to read, to learn, to decide my character, course, and purpose. I wish it didn’t have to happen but I’m glad everyday for the positive experience.
For those who are still interested, the short version of how I got there is this: I was working at a bank and generally loathing my life for no good reason. I had no purpose, no greater story to hold on to, and I floundered every day. I was miserable. Then one day I ran across some accounts that belonged to two gentlemen who passed away a few years ago. No one had claimed the money yet and it was about to be turned over to the government. I did some searches online and found no family for either gentlemen. Then, that part of us that we don’t like to express, that we never talk about, took hold of my thoughts. I decided to take the money, rationalizing that no one would miss it, and I told myself this was a “gray” area. Never was I so wrong.
Eventually I was caught and taken into custody, embarrassed and relieved all at the same time. It was never my life ambition to be a thief and criminal, and my conscience was killing me.
After some time I was sentenced to 18 months, 12 of which was served in a prison, 4 in a halfway house, and 2 off for good behavior. This was actually a lower sentence than I deserved and I was one of the few people in the system to get a lowered sentence.. The sentencing judge, Ronald B. Leighton, saw the person in front of him rather than the crime I committed. He actually said if it was up to his wishes, he wouldn’t send me to prison at all but there needed to be a deterrent for potential future criminals.
Now I am on supervised release and continuing on with my life. My wife, Megan, is the most supportive and wonderful woman, a Noble Wife to be sure. She has stood by me through all of this and has never wavered in her support. Our son has been the same, understanding and thoughtful, he has taken my experience to heart and I think he will be a better person for it in the end.
Some people would see this whole section of my life and say it speaks to who a person really is, that I’m not a good person. They wouldn’t say it out loud (ok, some might) but a lot of people would think it at least, or feel it to be true. I think of it as a terrible and destructive series of choices that was made right in the end. God turned it around in the end and I am a better person for accepting what I have done and making the choice to live right.
This isn’t a story I am proud of, and one I have been dreading to tell. But the ending is positive and happy. And now I am creating a new story that perhaps wouldn’t be as rich without the old stories. What do you think?
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