Jail ... part 2

“When a man does a piece of work which is admired by all we say that it is wonderful; but when we see the changes of day and night, the sun, the moon, and the stars in the sky, and the changing seasons upon the earth, with their ripening fruits, anyone must realize that it is the work of someone more powerful than man.”

— —Chief Standing Bear

I have learned a lot-Someone more powerful IS in control.  I knew that.  But it is still always good to see HIM-my GOD-YHWH- in action.  I have also learned about friendship and about support. 

 I have learned that some say they support-yet hold the knife, so you should not turn your back on them...(remember the saying keep your friends close and your enemies closer?  It is true.) 

I have seen that you will get support from those who want to see the midwife laws changed-who will fight with all they have to do just that.  I have learned that you get support from those who want to see the government out of the family’s private business-and who do not want to regulate midwifery, but just want the government to stay out of the people’s business. (Wouldn’t that be wonderful?!) You will get support from many, for different reasons, but you will receive it from all over the world.  It has been amazing.   I have ‘met’ many, on line, many wonderful people. I thank all of you for your ongoing encouragement. 

The prayers from those people who support me--- have also been such a blessing.

Going thru this, going thru something tough-standing up for others and their rights ---it does make me think-

--how many of you would stand up for what you believe to be wrong, how hard would you try to make changes-, to take that stand-no matter the price you may pay?  

 I have been called a freedom fighter, a warrior, a law-breaker, a true friend, a strong woman, a woman of faith---a fighter for women, a fighter for families private rights, a trail blazer. 

 The day of my first hearing: 

My daughter and sister counted about 180 people in attendance and in support of me-even though the newspapers only reported 100 supporters who showed up on that day.  All of those people showed up in support and I thank them for that support. 

  GOD is still in control, and HE has exposed the hearts of many.  I am thankful that HE has not left me.  HE is still in control of my life and I pray HE uses all of this for HIS glory. 

     So here is the rest of my story:

The cement is cold.  The strange thing is it actually feels good on my back and neck. My head is pounding. My blood sugar is way off, I can tell.

I think about how I will have to sleep this way.  I am
 not sure I can rest while lying down on this hard (steel) bench. It is actually more comfortable sitting up like this. The little mat they give you to put on the steel “bed” is not even long enough for a child.  I would have to curl up into a ball to fit on it. I think about the freedom of having as many pillows as I want at home, and how that is not possible here. I do not even have one pillow.  If I am to be here for some time-I will miss those simple freedoms.  The thin mat is only about an inch thick, not thick enough to provide any type of comfort.  It is also a weak mat, meaning, it does not seem to hold up so basically provides a barrier between the steel bed and me, of the thickness of a sheet.

Tears flow again….and I think of this:

“There is sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.” 

Washington Irving

I also remember this verse:

 Psalm 56:8 says:

You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.

I think about all of my freedoms that are now restricted, taken away, and all because I am helping women with their rights to choose.  I battle for rights for women and their families.  Now the truth will come out as to if they in turn, will be supportive of my sacrifice. Or at least supportive of me personally- their actions will expose all hearts. 

 I am a warrior.

 I have often been alone in my battles. 

I have always been willing to work in the trenches, even if I am alone, for years. 

The mission work I did was often alone.  I almost always-sat alone sorting clothing, I often went alone-driving across the country to deliver the items---

  I sat once before our pastor and elders of our church, arguing with them as they questioned me.  They did not support me and what I was doing-because they did not see the numbers of those saved....  Sometimes its about trust before the harvest comes in.  I got that. I always did.  Others, did not. 

I told them I would go alone then. I am accountable to GOD first. I would not allow men, even if elders, to put themselves before GOD.  GOD speaks to me-I listen.  If I always go alone, I would rather blaze the trail than follow the crowd in blindness.  I KNOW what GOD said to me-and I alone am accountable for following HIS will or not.

 I sit here alone.

GOD whispers to me-no you’re not alone.

I rest.

I pray.

I rest again.

The door opens and there is the female police officer I met before--here to ask me something.  I again ask about: -- my pants that are too tight, and ask about a bible.  I ask again about my insulin. 

I do not receive my insulin, I do not receive a bible and I do not receive a change of clothing that will fit better.

This happens a total of about 4 times.

I do not know what time it is.  But I know I am not given a lunch. I am not hungry, but as a diabetic-I have to eat something, even just a little-to maintain a proper blood sugar balance or my body does bad things to my sugar level.  I also know I am not given my insulin or able to test my blood sugar.  Stress does a number on my blood sugar….it is probably the cause of my headache.   My blood sugar is way too high because of the stress---but I cannot do anything about it.  They will not let me.

I sit in solitude.  

The LORD tells me some things, and some of it is not good-like the fact that some whom I have called friends/family- will leave me as a friend.  HE warns me of that.  But HE also tells me HE has not and will not ever leave me.  HE has called me, and I am to continue to trust HIM, not to depend on humans, but only on HIM and to listen closely.

HE tells me-other things, things I am not allowed to share with anyone at this time.... But HE warns me of what is to come with some....

So there I sit.  Waiting for someone to bring me news, to bring me pants that fit, to bring a bible, to bring a note pad and pencil, to bring my blood sugar supplies and insulin….I sit and wait-for hours.

The room has no window to the outside.  There are no bars; it’s not like in the movies.  This is probably what they call a holding cell.  There is no way to tell what time it is by the sun since there are no windows.  It makes me wonder how dark it is in here at night.  

Will they keep the light on all night? Do I get a say in that?  If they do, that would be too bright to sleep.  But with the light off, it would be complete darkness.  I doubt that it would be as dark as if you’re in a cave….I have been in a cave and had the light off, that is true darkness—I wonder if that is the way it is in hell. 

But for this cell, I am sure the light from on the other side of the door will shine under the door.  Funny the things you think about at a time like this.

The door is a heavy door, thick steel.  It has a small window-about the size of a foot wide by a foot tall.  It has a steel door on it that they can open and shut to look in at us.  It has a covering on the side of the cell so the prisoner cannot reach the officer, but allows the officer to look in at the prisoner.

I hear something at the door, and that little door inside the door opens, and an officer I have not yet seen today, asks me if I am ok.  He is obviously in a hurry, and begins to shut the little door prior to my answer ---when I yell out a loud “”NO””

He opens the little door back up, and asks what is needed.  I tell him my leg is swelling enough that if I do not get a different pair of pants I am going to have a big problem.  I also ask for a bible ---again. He does not give me any more time to ask for anything else, before he is shutting that little door-so I do not get to ask about checking my insulin or anything for my blood sugar.

About what seems like a half an hour later, I hear the door opening-the big door-and that officer stands there with an article of clothing in his hands.  He says that he only has one large size, and that they are very large, telling me they will probably be too big-and there is no belt to hold them up. 

He then throws them towards me purposefully to land on the floor. He could have just placed them on the floor at the door (I understand for safety reasons they cannot walk in and hand them to me nicely, but the attitude behind the action-was rude).  He tells me that I can place the others on the floor when I am done changing. 

I ask about a phone call to which his reply is that he will try to get the phone.

Once he shuts the door, I change into the other pants.  they are in fact, way too large.  They are so large that I have to constantly hold them to keep them from falling down.  With no underwear on, that would be rather embarrassing, yet, they watch me use the bathroom so I guess I have nothing else to hide. If I would have to walk anywhere, they would fall down, and I guess the cops get a kick out of that-or they would try a bit harder to be sure your wearing something that fits. The sad thing now, the older tighter pair kept the feminine pad in place, these new ones, it just falls out onto the floor.  I do not want to pick it up and use it again, its hit the filthy floor.  so No pad now to wear.  

Again I sit and wait.  No bible yet.  No anything.

They finally bring food.  
It is a mess of starch thick noodles mixed with a sauce and some mystery meat, (all things a diabetic can NOT eat) then white bread and corn.  Really? All are things that I as a diabetic can NOT eat.  Especially all together in one meal! With the way my blood sugar is (although I do not know the actual reading it is since they will not allow me to check it) I can tell my  the migraine headache I have had that it has to be well over 350 close to 400.  If I eat this meal, it will kill me.  It would cause me to go into a diabetic coma! There is an apple and milk, so I ask the female cop who brought me in the meal if they have anything else like fruits and vegetables or just cheese or meat.  She looks at me like you're kidding?  She tells me no, and asks me what I usually eat.  I tell her organic vegetables, fruit and meat---she again looks at me like I am nuts and says no.  I tell her this meal will kill me.  She leaves and comes back with a carrot stick that has been sliced so thin so it looks like there is more than there really is.  I eat the carrot stick, apple, and drink the milk.  Not the best but better than the rest of the junk.  I will either loose weight here or die.  I had asked this female cop earlier about my medicine and checking my blood sugar but again, they bring nothing so I can do that.

Finally a phone comes. 

Now when I was put in this cell, remember they did not allow me to wear underwear or a bra.  After all, I might hang myself with them.  (If I really wanted to –I could do that with the pants and shirt too!)

But they bring me a phone, hooked up to a cord…a really long cord that reaches across the cell with some left over going out under the door.  I guess they are more worried about me hanging myself with my bra than this phone cord!  There is enough cord here to wrap around my neck about 20 times.  I could strangle myself instead of hanging myself.

  That is just stupid.  Really? Worry about a bra but not this?  I am surprised they do not give a cell phone with no cord!

I call home.  It cost 10 dollars for 5 minutes.  Finally Scott answers. 

We cry.

I tell him remember anything I say or he says they will use against me, so do not say anything.  They are after all, taping the call.  It is not that I have anything to hide, but still-they will twist things.

Scott tells me everyone is there, (our children and their families) and they are all trying to figure out what to do.

The call ends all too soon.  Then I am all alone.  I sit for a long time.  It seems like a long time. 

They do not come to get the phone, so I sit with the phone.  Again, they must not be worried about the cord, not like they are about the bra and underwear.
 

After some time, just holding that phone, I call again.  It is the being lonely that is tough. I know I am spending a lot of money to make that call, but I need to hear my husband’s voice again.

 

Despite all of this, I have peace, true peace from GOD.  I know HE is in control.  I am not.

I am on the phone for that second time, and the door opens.  The police officer says I have bail.  I am very excited…I had thought I would not have bail until Monday sometime.  I ask him how much, and he tells me a $10,000. dollar bond.  That means $1000.00 to pay now.  He asks if I have it, and I say yes.  He looks sort of surprised, like he thought I would not have that much cash or something. Teachings from christian men like Larry B and Dave Ramsey has paid off. 

(they dont take checks, visa, mastercard or american express!)

I tell scott, and he asks what he is to do.  I tell him I need a bondsmen, so ask Jeannie who is at my house right now, as she knows what to do (she has been arrested and knows how to help us with the decision of a bonds man)

I tell Scott where the money is, and how to get it, and tell him to hurry.

I sit and wait now, but the wait is easier. I am getting out and will sleep in my own bed tonight.

Later I hear the door open, and the officer tells me I can change (in that little bathroom, I changed in when I first got here) and that I am going home.

He escorts me out, thru a series of steel doors.  I see my husband and son Nathan, and the bonds man.  I want to hurry out of there…just get away from that place-to just run.... 

I sign the necessary papers….I am not really listening to the others talk.  My mind is thinking of how I can really almost smell freedom.  I know what that means now.  I walk around the room and I look around on the walls in this room.  One bulletin board has (I count) 78 photos of criminals   ---all sex offenders ---for just this county. With a county of 37,000 people that comes out to be one KNOWN sex offender for every 500 people in this county. 

I know that some may actually be innocent, but still I think-why go after a midwife with that many sex offenders in the area?  Dont you have a lot to do to keep track of them?  If there are really that many that are in this county that have been ‘caught’, think of the ones who have not being caught.   Plus, the drug dealers!  The meth labs!  Really…spend the tax money going after the drug dealers and criminals that hurt women, children, with drugs, beating them, all of that. 

No, instead the streets are safe having one less midwife. 

I walk back to where my son and husband are signing the final papers.  I am now in their hands….instead of being a ward of the county, I am now a ward of my husband and son.

We walk out the door of the jail and across the parking lot. I want to run, but I walk...

 I look over and I see the sun setting….the sight is beautiful, I turn and walk to the truck and I cry….

Jail part 1...

Jesus doesn't give us hope by changing the circumstances, HE restores our hope by giving us himself.  And HE has promised us to stay with us until the very end.

WARNING:  This story has very personal things in it.  If you are easily offended about such things, do not read.  This post has nothing to do with farming.  On March 31st, 2012 I was arrested for being a midwife. This is my story:

Sitting in my pajamas the early morning coffee brewing is putting the smell of fresh ground coffee in the air. My husband sits beside me, as I check emails…the sun is up, and we enjoying the green of spring outside the window with birds who greet us with their morning songs.

It is Sabbath.

We make breakfast, a bit late, but enjoy fresh farm eggs, with cheese, mushrooms, onions and peppers.  My husband always fixes me breakfast on the weekend, it is his way to show me appreciation and love.

We hear doors slam.

My husband stands up to look and says, there are cops here. I ask what?

I sit stunned. He goes to the door. I hear him arguing with them and my heart sinks. I will not panic. But I have to think.  But I cannot. I get up and go to the bedroom, and know they will see me as I run past. But my thoughts are- I need to be dressed.

My other thought- I want to disappear.

I am in my bedroom, I wander. I pace. The door is slightly open, and I hear my husband refusing to "turn me over". I hear the cop argue back.  I do not want them to come in my home by force. So I will have to go, I know that.

I grab my bra, and then think-- I cannot walk into the bathroom, they will see me thru the window. I can’t do that. But I need my personal stuff. I crawl on my hands and knees into the bathroom. I sit on the floor; I have to get 'dressed'-so I put on my bra and underwear. I need a feminine pad. I crawl to the cub-board under the sink and get one.  I do not want to stand up and have them ‘watch me dress’.   It is now I think I wish I would have closed the shades.

My husband comes into the room and asks what he should do. I say I have to go.   I sense he wants time with me, to just sit and hold me because he is afraid.   But we do not have that time.

I put my black pants on, and then choose a black shirt. I wear black a lot, I consider myself to be in mourning because there is too much in this world that is not right.  Too many people are going without and being treated poorly, too many people are hurting, too many people are lost.  So I wear black, to remember to be in prayer for the hurting, needy and lost people.  It reminds me to pray consistently-without ceasing.  I once heard that the singer Johnny Cash did this too, I find that interesting. I have done this for a long time; I am mostly in black every day.

I sit on the bench at the back door. I ask the police about my medications. I am told, yes I can bring them.

 I ask if I do not bring them, will they provide them for me. I am told: Probably yes, at a cost. Money, what is money at this time of my life I think....I ask to at least bring my insulin. Yes I can- I am told.

They say I need to put them into a plastic bag. I am told I can go get that, but the officer will have to step into the house to be able to ‘see’ me at all times. I look at him then look away –I am quiet for a moment, and I want to say a cuss word, and ask him if he thinks I am stupid, (once you allow them into your home it is like waiving your rights to your home being searched….-they are sneaky.   He does not say: well if you let me in to follow you so I can see you at all times, It also allows me to search your home….stupid officer)  but instead I just say:  no, I am not allowed to do that.

I wait for my husband to return from getting me a pair of black hose socks to wear. I place them on and slip on my shoes, also black.   He goes to get the plastic bag for my insulin.

I ask to take my morning insulin, and am told to go ahead. One officer (ok- they are  playing the good cop bad cop thing,)so the bad cop says, how do we know she will not take too much.  I look at him and shake my head and say, I am not out to kill myself.   I will not ever forget his face. Full of anger and hostility.    I see nothing but hostility and anger.  I think GOD has revealed his heart to me because I am to pray for him.  Right now, that is difficult for me to do. But I tell GOD, yes, I will do that. 

I ask the officer: “do you really have to look at my belly?” as I give myself my morning insulin.   And then I turn and give myself insulin. I tell them it takes a while; I have to wait once it is injected for a minute.

I hand over my meds.

I turn to say good bye to my husband.

I am numb.

I do not feel fear; I do not feel anything at all.

They tell me I will be arrested.  My rights are not read to me.  I ask if I will have bail, I am told yes and I ask what it will be, and I am told they have that information at the jail. (later I find out they lied)  We walk out; I stop, and undo a safety pin that is in my shirt in front, it is holding the shirt together so it is not too low in front.  I do not like cleavage showing, so often I will place a safety pin in the shirt to keep it closed.  They are confused about what I am doing; I mumble it would probably be seen as a concealed weapon.  When we get to the car I ask the cop to check the back of the shirt too, I sometimes put safety pins there too, for the same reason.  He is still confused, but he checks.  He then asks what he is looking for.  I tell him if he does not see a safety pin, there is none there.  Really, do they not listen?

It is like I am in a daze. I am numb.  The ‘good’ cop says he has to place hand cuffs on me. But he says he is double locking them, so they do not tighten up. I ask him if I can continue to hold my Kleenex in my hands, he says yes. I am hand cuffed from the front. He then says he will allow me to sit in the front seat. He says he does not usually do this, but will for me. I think it’s probably so that the little camera in the car can pick up a better shot of me and what I will or may say. 

 We leave.  Again, I feel numb.

I turn to look at my husband standing on the back deck talking on the phone.  I wonder who he has called first.  I also wonder when I will see him again. I pray.  GOD tells me to stay strong and rely on HIM-I know, HE has this in HIS hands. 

You know were not to text and drive, right?

 Yet this cop turns to the computer and puts in information steering the car with his knees. Hummm , if I was texting and driving in Indiana, I would get a ticket. A cop can use the computer and drive…no ticket. Double standard.

I pray for my safety as he types on the computer as his knees steer the auto.

I cry

 I hate that the tears are flowing. I do not want this cop, or anyone else to think 'they' have won. Tears make them think that-I am sure. I think of my mom, she would be hurt to know a daughter was arrested all for helping people.  I was raised to help people, taught to help people no matter what.  My parents always helped others, always reached out to others, that is what I was taught.  I think about my mom, and it makes me sad.  I think how lonely she was the last year of her life. I hate how the church, and the towns people all ignored her in the end; with only 3 families coming to visit her in the last year and a half…I hate that. I hate that she was lonely and cried to me each time I went to visit her, asking why no one would come to see her or if I was gonna take her to church now.  I am so sad about that and right now, that thought and sadness consumes me.  My church failed me, failed her.  This thought is something that later I will think on, when I find out the truth about many that I thought was my friends/church family. That causes more tears. I tell him I am in mourning, and that accounts for most of the tears. He does not ask me any questions.

I tell him that she died of alchemizer’s. He does not ask me questions.

I want him to know I am a person.  He still remains quiet.

I want to appear to be real and personal to him. He is cold.  And I am to pray for him.

I ask him how many children he has. Two.

I ask him if his parents are living. Yes.

I tell him to cherish them. He says thank you for that information.

I again, ask him about bail. He says when were there they will have that information.

He lied.

Why would I think a police officer would be able to be trustworthy and not lie?

We arrive at the jail. He pulls into a garage. And then they get you out of the car. I guess that is for their safety. Not mine.

I walk into the jail. Another officer removes the hand cuffs then he leaves the area. They tell me to sit down.

I wait.

The other young officer looks familiar to me who sits behind the desk.

I am given clothes by a female officer, who first pats me down-very personally.  The clothes are too small but I am expected to squeeze into them anyway. They hurt my legs and hips. I am not allowed to wear any underwear or a bra.  They actually hurt. I was told to remove the pad I was wearing, and they give me this tiny one, one that is so short it is probably for a 12 year old little girl’s body-and when I ask how I am to 'use it' since they are not allowing me to wear any underwear I am told just put it in the pants. Right.

I then come back out of the changing room where you might think you were changing privately, but they have a camera in there to watch you. So they watched me change my clothes and also use the toilet that was in there.  I wonder if they get a charge out of that, if they sit and just laugh.

I am told to sit again. I am asked a lot of health questions. I ask the young officer, do you know M****e? 'Yes he does, it is his mother. Why?  I tell him I am sorry about his father, (who died just this last year) He again asks me how I know him and I tell him ‘I watched you grow up’.  And we went to church together.’ He asks if I still attend there.  I tell him yes. (at the time of writing this, I still considered this to be my home church, but no longer)

I am taken to be fingerprinted. It is on a machine, like a copier. Only he cannot get it to accept my finger prints. I believe it is because GOD is telling me; ‘you're not guilty of anything.’  GOD reminds me: Men will be able to hurt you, but you stay strong, you follow ME, you listen to ME.”   And about the fingerprints HE tells me this:  “You will not be able to be fingerprinted. Because you are innocent.”  

Approx. ten minutes later, the cop finishes. Each finger print and each palm print that was rejected. He had to type things in manually.

 Thank you GOD for your ability to allow me to smile during all of this.

I am escorted to a cell. 10 blocks by 5 blocks. It has a thick steel bed, and a 1 foot by about 8 inch table which is also steel that is bolted to the wall. The steel seat for the table is also bolted to the wall. All three are dirty.  Not just dirt, but sticky yuk-gross.

 Hepatitis lives for 7 days on dried yuk. At least the aids virus dies when the 'yuk' is dry, but hepatitis….I am at risk if the person that was in here before me had that or some other disease.  I have been in situations during mission work, and GOD protected me, I pray now to HIM and ask HIM to protect me now.

I look up into the corner, there is the camera, they can watch me dress, undress, use the toilet, eat, sleep, what ever.  I wonder if the men cops get a charge out of that. Gross.

I am brought a bed roll.  A thin mat, with a towel and a blanket in side.  The mat is dirty, with dried food on it.  The towel has holes in it and appears so old and gray (it appears that it used to be white) I bravely smell it, thinking if it smells bad-it is dirty.  It has no smell that is bad, so hopefully it is clean, and just old.  The blanket, well it is full of holes and is raggy and thin, fraying badly.  It is not big enough to cover one of my grandchildren.  It is so thin you can see thru it.

The not knowing, the not knowing if it is day or night time, not talking to anyone, not being able to read anything, or write down my thoughts.  That is what is difficult.
I sit quietly.
Alone in the cell.
In silence.

I am thirsty.

I want a drink and look at the sink, there is a drinking fountain on it.

 I notice in the sink, there is phlegm. A huge chunk of thick phlegm, very sickening gross. I run the water for a long time, as I try to wash it down, but it will not go. I have no glass for a drink.  I am expected to drink out of this sink, it has a fountain, but with the phlegm that was on it first-I am just not sure.  I have nothing else to do, so I work to get the thick phlegm to wash off from the fountain and down the drain…., it will not wash down the sink because it is too thick.  But eventually I get it off the fountain part, and after running water over the fountain for a long time, hoping that the germs from the phlegm is washed off-I take a drink.

Each time they come in, I ask for a bible, I ask for clothes that are larger, and I ask about my insulin.  They have not fed me lunch, and I have not had my noon insulin.

My leg is swelling where the pants are too tight.  I try to sit to get pressure off from the leg, it does not help.  Standing does not help either.  It hurts.

 They will not bring me a bible.  They will not bring me lunch, nor my insulin nor other clothing.  I have asked 4 times at least through out the day- so far.

The pants continue to cut off my circulation in the bad leg and knee I had surgery in. My lower leg is beginning to swell and I have +1 pitting edema now.

I have asked each time they come in for whatever reason I again ask for different size pants. I have asked each time for a bible or some paper and a pencil. I have also asked for a cup to get a drink of water.  I wonder again about lunch –even though I am not hungry, I need to maintain my blood sugar at an ok safe level, which means protein and healthy foods every 2-3 hours.  Snack like.  Plus my insulin-I need that.

I wait.

I do not know how long I have been here.

I am told when I ask, no there is no bail set not until you see the judge.

I was lied to.

That means I am in here for about 48 hours or more. My heart sinks. I wonder if I can make it. I know I can, but my leg? I will be in big trouble if it goes that long.   I cry. The rough toilet paper is hurting my nose. I am not sure if I can handle that. No lotion either.  I can do ok sleeping on this hard bed with a dirty mat and thin blanket, and NO pillow-but rough toilet paper to blow an already sore nose? It would be ok to use for everything but for blowing a nose that is so sore for allergies and now crying too much.

I have a migraine, the kind that makes you ill….I pray, I cry and I pray. I listen for that still small voice...but I hear nothing-so I pray again, and then I focus.  I Need to just be still-be silent-and listen-then I hear YHWH say to me----rest daughter  

I have a headache. It is my blood sugar which is too high from the stress,  I know that.  This is how I feel when it is so off.  

I press my neck against the very cold cement blocks and I close my eyes. 

Rest.....

To be continued...