Kathleen Jackson’s Testimony
From the book “Bind the Testimony”, containing 19 testimonies of the Lord’s transforming power within the walls of San Quentin Prison.
Photograph by Larry Ricksen
1 Peter 3:15-16 (NLT) . . . And if someone asks about your hope as a believer, always be ready to explain it. But do this in a gentle and respectful way.
“UNTIL NOW”
MY QUEST
After close to forty years of living with the loss of my daughter Jane, in 2007 I found myself entering the gates of San Quentin State Prison in my continuing quest to understand my purpose in life. Although I was not saved at the time, God, in His infinite patience, led me to prison, knowing, in His infinite wisdom, that it would be here that I would find peace and joy by accepting Him into my heart. When I was teaching English 99A for the Prison University Project (PUP), God sprinkled parts of Himself into my consciousness using three of my students, Ed Johnson, James Cavitt, and Orlando Harris as His vessels. During that class we compiled a book which included a piece of writing from each participant. It was only then in a poem entitled “Flow” that I was able to put on paper the trials I went through when Jane died.
Following are excerpts from this poem:
“The worst prison is the death of one’s child. You can never get away from it.” (From the film “I’ve Loved You for so Long”)
Did you hear me, Dr. Dimmler?
Did you hear what I just said?
It’s one hundred and four, Doctor,
One hundred four
The number on the thermometer
Her father has just read as
Jane lies listless on the bed
Yes, I’m listening, Dr. Dimmler,
Liquid aspirin, morning call
Wait, please don’t hang up
Is that all?
She is flushed, room is hushed
Deafening to my ears
Bringing tears
Yes, I hear you, Jerry Patton
Doctor friend from up the street
Pinch her nose I tell her father
Get the mirror, mouth to mouth
Look for vapor on the mirror, give her air
Nose, mouth, mouth, breath
Mouth, nose, breath, breath, mirror
Nothing’s there
Thanks for being here, Dr Patton
Shot to give her a jump start
Bloodless, noiseless, helpless
Puncturing both Jane’s and my heart
Her life we seek; I do not speak as
They bundle her in a blanket
Husband, doctor, small child gone
And I alone sit by the phone
Remembering her as if she were
Still cooing, giggling, toddling
Arms outstretched, button nose
I reach for her, too late, too late
Her eyes forever close
Startled by the phone’s shrill ring
Jane’s image in my head
I don’t pick it up
I can’t bear to hear
What is painfully clear
Jane is dead
Too soon I stuffed the pain inside
And didn’t ask why me?
But I knew there was a reason for this shattering twist to what
I had thought was my reality
My faith assured me Jane was at peace
And yet as her mother I was not
Something kept nagging
Urging me to explore
How to be in the world
Informed by the death of our child, our small girl
What direction to take
What decisions to make
That would bring peace to others, make the world a good place?
So I continued to do
What I knew:
To provide my three children a secure, happy home
To give them love and support
To raise them to be kind, to always pay mind
To the issues of others
To not stand apart
And especially to follow their hearts
The urging continued; I could not take a breath
Without seeking direction and the meaning of Jane’s death
***
Feeling deeply now the heartache
Most humans go through
I spent time with the stressed, the non-blessed, the oppressed
The homeless, the aging, drug addicts, the poor
Errant youth, the abandoned, those afflicted by war
I taught school, went to school
Set up projects, sat on boards
Trying to make a connection and gain some direction
To soften the pain that long lingered inside
To make sense of the fact that my young child had died
***
Do you see me, Officer Johnson,
As you check the cars that pass?
Here’s my license, get my brown card
Please, I need to be in class
I walk toward the sally port
Shadows of the gun tower darkening the bay
On the uneven pavement C.O.s garbed in green
Tell jokes and laugh as they’re leaving the scene
I sign in, get ‘inspected’, shut the gate
Hear that sound I’ve heard often in movies, on TV
That always sends shudders through the depths of me
I walk by the pond, see its chipped, peeling paint
Halted by the hospital with new facade and steel fence
Cruel barbed coils, rusting doors
I hurry down the hill and enter the yard
Filled with men doing push ups, chin ups, and curls
Playing dominoes, chess, card games, guitars
Shooting hoops, playing tennis, walking, running on the track
I breathe a sigh of gratitude
I am back!
For I know in this environment of
Grim, endless wire
Gray buildings and alarmed guards
Ready to fire
Beat the hearts of brave humans
Who ask, “How’s your day?”
Who greet me with grace
And the grin on each face
Allows me to be
Free while imprisoned, imprisoned while free
Though it’s less than two years I’ve been coming inside
During each blessed day since the death of my child
It was you, it is you who have served as my guides
Although I’ve just met you in person I can see
Through Jane I knew you and through Jane you knew me
You entered my heart on the day she was gone
Unaware you were there your spirit cheering me on
It is you men in blue who have healed, made me strong
Left to flow I now know this is where I belong.
I wrote this poem four years before I was saved. What I understand now is that for over forty years God had been with me, protecting me and helping me discover and follow His purpose for me. And now He has taken me by the hand through the gates of San Quentin, knowing that through my friendship with the men in blue, through seeing the love and hope they experience in Christ, I would discover the blessings of becoming a born-again Christian. Just as He has done for many others, God, and only God, has enabled me, through the men in blue as ministers, to find utmost joy in my re-birth.
MY RE-BIRTH
John 16:24 . . . “Until now, you have asked for nothing in my name. Ask and you will receive that your joy will be made full.”
I remember well watching my granddaughter Jane being baptized in the Perry’s swimming pool. At the end of the ceremony Pastor Bill asked that those of us who wanted to bring Jesus into our hearts, who wanted to be saved, raise our hands in the air. At the time I thought, ‘There is no way I will make that commitment. I don’t need to; I don’t need Jesus; I have what I need and I am fine just the way I am. That was in 2005. So how does it happen that today I am moved to write a testimony to my love of the Lord?
As I look back over my life, I see that God had His arms around me time and time again. He forgave me for my sins, which I kept repeating, and He spared me several times when my foolish behavior endangered my life. Talk about patience! God never faltered. And for the past fifteen or so years my daughter Colleen and her family had prayed for my salvation, garnering friends and members of their church to pray for me as well. They, too, showed patience in the face of defiance.
At the time that these prayers were slowly, imperceptibly softening my heart, in 2007 I began volunteering at San Quentin State Prison. For some reason, which of course I understand now, I gravitated to the men in blue who were Christians. Despite their often intolerable situations, they were happy men and exuded their love for others. Whenever I asked them what gave them such joy, they would always tell me it came from the Lord. Eddie Johnson, one of the students in an English class I taught at San Quentin, would say to me at the end of every class, “God bless you. I will pray for you.” Although I would thank him, I would think to myself, “That’s very sweet, but I don’t need God’s blessing or anyone to pray for me. I am fine without that.” In the same class Orlando and JC would sneak a bit of scripture into our discussions, subtly planting that mustard seed.
One day JC suggested I attend a Kairos on the Outside retreat. I knew about Kairos as many of the men I worked with had attended retreats inside SQ; and when they talked about these weekends they radiated the joy and the love they experienced during the retreats. Kairos is a Christian prison ministry that supports the incarcerated and their friends and families all over the world. Although I wanted to attend, I had doubts about whether I could contribute positively in a Christian setting...I, who had left the Catholic Church some twenty-five years previously and who hadn’t prayed since then, believing I had no connection with God. I, who thought a number of my Christian friends were hypocrites or weak individuals who needed a crutch; I, who believed I was strong enough to deal with the challenges of life and certainly didn’t need God’s help. But something urged me to sign up. So I did.
On the second day of the retreat, after testifying about the power of prayer, one of the facilitators told us to find a quiet place alone and talk to Jesus. I was stunned. Talk to Jesus? I had never done that. Instead, in my Roman Catholic training, I had learned the ‘proper channels of communication’ with the Almighty. I was taught that there was no direct line to our Savior.
So I had no idea how to talk to Jesus. But being a dutiful person, I found a small meadow that was covered with brown grass and had several benches along its rim. Lying down on one of the benches, I closed my eyes and began. “Hello, Jesus. As you know, we are to talk with you, and since I’ve never done this before, I hope I do it right. The first thing that pops into my head is “I love you”, I am in awe of what you did for mankind, that you gave yourself to the Father, dying on the cross in order to save mankind. But not just dying, dying...rather going through excruciating pain and humiliation so that God would forgive our sins. Whenever I see pictures or sculptures of you on the cross, I feel anguish and pain, to think that you suffered greatly to save selfish sinners like me. I don’t feel worthy of your forgiveness, Jesus; there are many who are much worthier than I. Yet I know that you are so loving and compassionate that you will listen to me and direct me, that you will take my hand and beckon me to follow you. It feels beautiful to think of our holding hands, which, at the moment we are doing. And I know now that you are always with me, that you will always take my hand, and that I have nothing to fear.”
On that bench, in the meadow, in Oakland, California, I continued our conversation until I realized that it was time to go to the next session. Opening my eyes, I half expected to see the grass a bright, spring green because of my epiphany. Although it was the same soft brown as when I lay down, I was not the same person. I had talked directly to Jesus, and he had listened. I was exhilarated and knew then that I would continue to be with the Lord forever.
A month later, in the Big God Ministries Church in Mill Valley, California, I found myself raising my arms to the sky to receive Jesus into my heart, just as Pastor Bill had asked us to do six years before...praise God. I was baptized in March of 2011 and now worship in the Garden Chapel at San Quentin. I used to dread going to Mass on Sundays, but now when I awake I feel gratitude and joy that I will soon be worshipping with the men in blue, that I will see God’s radiance and power in their eyes, and feel Jesus through their music and words.
Being a believer has given me blessings I never expected. Although I have always had a wonderful relationship with my daughter Colleen, I have found a deeper connection to her and with her. I love being able to ask her about scripture, about concepts, and to just plain share the joys of our faith. I am closer to some of my friends as well, Mary, in particular, who, like Colleen, never gave up on me. I feel peaceful knowing I can trust that God will take care of me and will guide me. Each morning I am excited to see what He has in store for me that day. I understand that God is at work in me, around me, above and beside me. I love the way He works to help us gain our best selves and to reach His Kingdom. Even though it may be painful, I welcome the grief, the pain I sometimes experience, knowing that He is reminding me to place my complete trust in HIm. He constantly reminds me to be humble, to cherish the gifts of others as well as those He has given me, and not to be envious. And when I have trouble with this, He gives me another sign, and stays after me until I submit, until I give myself over to Him.
Kathleen’s Introduction to “Bind the Testimony”
“Whether they are sorrowful or joyous, miraculous or mundane, stories have the power to bind us together and draw us to God.” - Bret Lott, author and professor
Imagine sitting in a circle of fifteen men, men dressed in sky blue shirts and navy-blue pants that have “CDCR Prisoner” stamped in bold yellow letters down one leg, men of varying ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds, men whose crimes include burglary, kidnapping, and murder. In my wildest imagination, I could not have pictured myself as part of that scene, and yet I have been sitting in such a circle at San Quentin State Prison, facilitating the Christian Creative Writing Class, for over two years, loving every moment and marveling at the men’s intensity. On a particular Friday morning in September of 2013, the men and I prayed in and began the work of our class. After commenting on a piece of writing one of the students had shared, our conversation turned to a discussion of ways we could glorify God through our writing. James piped up: “I think we should each write a testimony of how we came to Christ and put them all together in a book!” The fifteen men in the circle looked at one another and at me and grinned. And that was the genesis of Bind the Testimony.
Up until that time, the men had been writing in various genres: fiction and non-fiction stories for teenagers, particularly those who fall into the category of ‘at risk youth’; devotionals; poetry, snippets of their pasts; and commentaries on the relevance of scripture in modern day life. Fred Barber, an outside friend of a class member, had been performing the saintly duty of putting the men’s individual pieces into booklets which we distributed at the San Quentin Protestant and Catholic Chapels and at the Alameda County Juvenile Hall. Although we had become a close community, we had not written anything as a group; yet it was a natural for us to glorify God through our individual testimonies and then compile them in a book, giving the reader as many perspectives as there were authors. Sitting in that circle surrounded by the men in blue, men who were originally my students but had become my teachers as well, I thanked God for showing us a way to spread His love, His wisdom, and His creativity through our written testimonies. He had given us a means not only to praise Him, but to demonstrate to the reader how He can and does change people, regardless of their circumstances. My heart was full; I was excited about the prospects and found myself looking back on how God, in His wisdom, had placed me in that circle of men in blue.
The first time I walked through the Sally Port at San Quentin, in 2008, I had no idea what to expect. But while in a Prison University Project (PUP) English class listening to the inmates discussing a reading and the papers they were writing, I felt completely at home. I had no sense of danger and was neither fearful nor intimidated. To the contrary, I was stimulated by their conversations and their engagement in the academic work. And that was that. I was hooked and felt right at home; I knew I was where God intended me to be.
From that night on, some six years ago, I spent as much time as I could at San Quentin, first tutoring and teaching English for PUP and then becoming involved in various self-help groups. Although I was not a Christian when I initially came to San Quentin, I gravitated, though not exclusively, toward those men in blue who were believers. I was drawn to them because, despite their imprisonment, they were happy, warm, caring individuals striving to make amends in whatever ways they could for the harm and the grief they had caused because of their criminal lifestyles. Not long after I gave my life to Christ and became a member of the San Quentin Garden Chapel of Christian Fellowship, inmate Kenny Brydon asked me to co-facilitate a Christian Creative Writing Class. God put it on my heart to accept Kenny’s offer, though I was at a loss as to what I could contribute. Yes, I had taught writing for many years; it was my passion. But Christian writing? That never entered my mind. Once I added a Christian element to my writing and taught others to do so, I became even more passionate about teaching writing, God-inspired writing, that is.
The Christian Creative Writing Class at San Quentin has evolved into a community of writers whose purpose is to exalt God and sing His praises to believers and non-believers. Our stories are as diverse as the authors who tell them. Some are accounts of men who have known the beauty of Christ’s work since they were children but found themselves straying from Our Lord at some point in their lives. Others are of men who suffered a life of sin and depravity yet were embraced by Jesus once they repented. In class, when they share their stories, their testimonies of how they have found salvation in Christ Jesus, the authors, as well as the other group members, are deeply, emotionally affected by the pain, the sorrow, the joy and the subsequent healing that these stories evoke. On behalf of all the authors, we thank you for reading our testimonies, and we pray that God will use them to touch your lives.