Logan Rogers has waited the better part of his lifetime to come face to face with the man he idolizes.
He spent a day traveling and a night in a hotel just to be here. But no amount of staring at pictures or watching videos could have prepared him for this moment.
Greg Eans/The Daily Reflector |
Inmate Jason Rogers from Waynesville, with his family, left to right, Mikayla, Jason Jr., wife Sherry, and son Logan at the One Day with God camp at Jarvis Memorial United Methodist Church.
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When the time came, he was simply overwhelmed. The rest of the crowd was cheering, but Logan was reduced to tears. After all, it's not every day a boy like Logan gets to see his dad.
But for one day last month, he did. Logan, a year old and barely walking when his father, Jason, went to prison, got to run with his dad on the playground at Jarvis Memorial United Methodist Church. Logan, 3, his sister, Mikayla, 7, and brother, Jason Jr., 5, spent Oct. 27 at the church with their father, an inmate at Neuse Correctional Institute. They laughed and played games; they got presents and balloons. They were among 17 inmates and their families invited to spend "One Day with God."
The camp is a part of Forgiven Ministry, a Taylorsville-based prison outreach founded by Scottie Barnes and her husband, Jack. It is designed to give inmates and their children a chance to reconnect and reconcile after weeks, months or even years of separation.
At One Day with God, inmates and their children pray and eat popcorn. They line up for tug-of-war and let out wrenching emotions. They build crafts and work to create a new relationship.
"I personally think it's close to the heart of God to work with the prisoners and the families," Scottie said.
"Those children are victims of the crime also. ... When I say those children, I'm talking about myself."
Scottie was 4 years old when her father went to prison and 42 when he died there. In the years between, there were times when James Fred Pennell was free, stretches when he would move back home with Scottie and her mother, even work an honest job. But sooner or later he'd be back behind bars and Scottie would be back in the car, riding for hours just so she and her mother could sit across the table from him.
"For two hours you sit at a table and listen to them talk about lawyers and the crime or sexual innuendos or bills that are stacking up," Scottie said. "I know. I've been through that all my life.
"This (One Day with God) is a different day. There's no day like this ever inside a prison."
One Day with God began in 2002, nearly a decade after Scottie started prison ministry. In 2003, the grandmother and former hairdresser was named by the North Carolina Division of Prisons as prison volunteer of the year.
But the inspiration for One Day with God came from a visit to an orphanage in the Philippines and a little boy named Ezekiel.
"Ezekiel had cried every night for years to meet his daddy and know if he loved him," Scottie recalled. "I prayed with him, and I told him I'd prayed 32 years for my father's love, and I believed that God heard his prayer and would help him to find his daddy one day.
"The next day, I was in a prison in the Philippines. I heard an old man hollering to the top of his voice ... and (the officer said), 'He needs to tell you something.' So he interpreted for him and he told me, 'Today I asked Jesus into my heart, and I have a little boy, and his name's Ezekiel.' In less than 24 hours, I went back to the orphanage, took the little boy in my arms and told him that I had found his dad, that God had led us to him. And we threw a big party in the alley. That was the first One Day with God camp."
Since then, the camp has been invited to operate in prisons in 10 states. It has been featured on CNN and has been endorsed by Chuck Colson's Prison Fellowship, a nationwide, faith-based initiative.
In more than 30 years with the state's Department of Correction, George Richardson has never seen anything like the camp.
"There's a disconnect between incarcerated fathers and their children," said Richardson, assistant superintendent for programs at Neuse in Goldsboro. "This provides that link that they badly need."
Jason Rogers hasn't seen his children since he went to prison more than two years ago.
"I ain't seen them in so long," he said, his voice quivering. "They've all gotten big."
With the family living six hours away near Waynesville, he has missed more than Christmases and birthdays. He missed Jason Jr. starting kindergarten and Logan starting to talk.
As her brothers ran on the playground at Jarvis, Mikayla stuck closer to her dad. "Jason had his tonsils out," she announced, catching her father by surprise.
"Daddy didn't know that," Jason Sr., 34, said, quietly. Then, he shrugged, "Tonsils, you don't need them no way," and leaned down to tie Jason Jr.'s shoe.
It is not just the milestones in a child's life that prisoners miss. Marcellus Johnson, 51, said that even though his mother brings his daughter, Shanika, 9, to visit him often, it's no substitute for daily involvement in her life.
"(I miss) just being with her, doing things for her, having her ask me, 'Dad, can I do this?'" said Johnson, imprisoned for property crimes. "I can't put her to bed at night and say prayers."
Patricia Thomas, a former schoolteacher turned prison chaplain at Neuse, said because they cannot be involved with the daily lives of their children, some inmates let prison walls shut their families out completely.
"For some it's like, 'If I don't really think about it, I may not know what I'm missing," she said. "They're just trying to survive.
"In prison sometimes the connotation is you have to be tough," she said. "... (This) gives them an opportunity to bond with their children and to have at least one day not to be seen as an inmate but to be seen as a person, particularly as father."
For the camp, inmates are not required to wear prison-issued clothes, and guards don't wear uniforms. Both wear One Day with God T-shirts, jeans and tennis shoes.
The day before the children were brought to the camp, the inmates came for a program that focused on fatherhood and their role in raising their children even before their release from prison. To qualify to come to camp, inmates must be classified as minimum-custody offenders; camps for medium- and maximum-security inmates take place only behind prison walls. Inmates cannot have been convicted of a sexual offense, and they must have staff approval to participate.
Sonynia Stancill, correctional program director at Neuse, said the inmates had been looking forward to this day for weeks. In addition to remaining infraction free for 90 days, some have been participating in fathering programs offered at the prison.
"They're very excited, anxious, nervous, overwhelmed at this opportunity," Stancill said, adding she had never seen these men smile so much.
Dick Evans, one of more than 100 volunteers who staffed the camp at Jarvis, noticed it, too. He and his wife, Alice, volunteered as mentors for four children who had come to spend a day with their father.
"It's really neat to see these kids and their daddy with such a smile on their face," Evans said. "As I look at their faces, they're like Christmas trees ... just lit up.
"I think the hardest thing for all of us standing on the sidelines is to keep from crying as you're watching them," he said.
It is an emotional day, not only for the inmates and their children, but for the mothers and grandparents, as well. While the children spend time with their fathers, the caregivers meet in a separate area.
Jane Merritt of Christ Episcopal Church in New Bern, a board member for Forgiven Ministry, helps lead "A Day of Hope" for these family members.
"The first time I came, I was really disappointed that I was not a mentor with the children," Merritt said. "But I heard testimonies the first time I was with the caregivers that gave me a totally different understanding of what it means to forgive."
At Jarvis, that testimony came from Sherry Rogers, who drove her children across the state to see their father, even though he was in prison for trying to strangle her.
"My kids love their dad," she said. "Regardless of our problems, it was better for him to be able to see them."
Because inmates don't have a say in where they are incarcerated, Jason Rogers has never been housed in a facility close to home. With three children under age 8, Sherry found it hard to make the long trip for a two-hour visit.
"Every time we plan it, something goes wrong somewhere along the line," she said.
This time, Sherry's car wouldn't crank after she and the children arrived at their hotel. Forgiven Ministry's Jack Barnes got it jump-started and even paid for the repairs.
"The people here have been very good to us," Sherry said. "I get emotional when I talk about it. I guess the hardest part was when Scottie called me; she said, 'I went over to the prison and told him you were coming; he just fell to his knees and started crying.' That made me know that I done the right thing."
Once prisoners are approved for the program, it's Scottie's job to find family members and convince them that they need to come. She is not always successful.
Though 33 children attended the program at Jarvis, three of the 17 inmates waited for family that never came. Curtis Edwards was hoping to see his daughters, ages 9 and 11. It was the youngest's birthday.
He had hoped but not expected them to come, especially since his last letter to his wife and girls had come back to him as "unclaimed." Edwards, 38, went to prison more than two years ago for property crimes; he hasn't seen his daughters in a year and a half.
"I should be moping around and probably on the verge of tears," he said. "It's amazing I'm not. I'm at peace."
He attributed that to the way church members had treated him and the other inmates, through seemingly small gestures, like using china and crystal for the dinner they served, to larger ones, such as allowing inmates to receive Communion.
"These people, they know we're convicts and yet ... there's so many people out there that's willing to care and give," he said. "It's amazing to me to see so many people in there are willing to give away what I took advantage of so much."
Jarvis Senior Pastor Albert Shuler said not all members of the congregation were immediately receptive to this prison ministry.
"There were some who were uncomfortable with the idea of bringing inmates into the church," he said, adding even the early critics have now embraced the program, which has already been put on the church calendar again next year.
"One of the things we don't often do enough is we don't forgive people," Shuler said. "They've made a mistake; they've paid their price. Who are we to ostracize? Our job is to love."
Jarvis member Madoline Murphy said that was a lesson she learned the first time she and fellow member Ann Davis attended a One Day with God camp at Pender Correctional Institute.
"That was one of the best days that I have spent because I learned so much about people," Murphy said. "Just because somebody has had a problem in their life, that don't mean that they've got to pay for it forever. If the judge said it's five years, then they've served their time and they deserve another chance."
That is why Kim Boyette brought Jenny, 11, and Eric, 12, to spend the day at camp with their father. Tim, 44, is serving time for a drug conviction, but he hopes to be out in March.
"I know the man that he is. I just cannot turn my back on him," Kim said. "He's a great person. I'm just not giving up on him."
Since going to prison, Tim has called home nearly every day. Kim brings the children to see him almost every weekend.
"It's a lot better than most guys," Tim said. "Most people aren't that fortunate."
For some inmates, the span between visits is so great that the children no longer recognize them. After being estranged from them for so long, their fathers seem like strangers. But racing around the gym competing in camp games helped make for fast friendships.
"It's amazing how quickly they get past these stilted relationships, how quickly it's back like it used to be," Evans said. "It's a beautiful thing to see."
After getting off to an awkward start, the Rogers family hit it off nicely, with Jason Jr. and Mikayla joining in games and Logan deciding to perch on his daddy's hip. That is where he stayed for most of the day before falling asleep on the gym floor.
When he woke up, it was almost time to say goodbye. That is when the boy who was hesitant to take his daddy's hand decided he didn't want to let go.
"I want my daddy," he wailed as his mother, in tears, carried him to the car. "Daddy!" The cries grew louder as she buckled him into his car seat. Volunteers and inmates fought back tears as the car door closed, muffling the toddler's cries.
Ultimately, spending a day with their fathers should do more to mend the children's hearts than break them, Scottie said. The letters she gets from children who have participated testify to that. One of her favorites came from a 9-year-old boy from Hickory who had spent seven years away from his father before attending one of the camps.
"He said, 'Miss Scottie, I want to thank you for the One Day with God camp,'" she said, quoting the letter. "You see, I've never seen my daddy run. I've never seen him jump. I've never seen him eat. He eats just like me. He pulls the wiener out of the bun just like me. ... He carried me on his shoulders; I weigh 86 pounds. He said if I weighed 186 he would have still carried me because he loved me so much.'
"That's the heart of a child," said Scottie, who was reconciled to her father just a year before he died. He was standing in a courtroom in front of a judge the first time he ever told her he loved her.
Through One Day with God, Scottie hopes to give inmates and their children a chance to share their feelings before so much time has passed. Families end the day by writing love notes of sorts on each other's camp T-shirts. Since the inmates are not allowed to keep them, the children take the shirts home. Some say "#1 son" or "I love Dad."
Scottie remembers one message from a girl who had not seen her father in five years.
"I looked on the back of his shirt, and she had written, 'Daddy this is the best day of my life,'" she said. "That's what it's all about."
Contact Kim Grizzard at 329-9578 or kgrizzard@coxnc.com.
