The kind of kindness that touches my heart the most is charity.
Very recently, a dear friend of mine — someone I met in D-Dorm, Bay 4, on 27B at Bibb County Correctional Facility in the Alabama Department of Corrections — showed me that kind of kindness. I asked him for a top-up so I could buy a pair of diabetic wellness shoes. He gave it to me, and I was able to purchase them. Though the shoes were used and a bit worn, they are much gentler on my feet.
I’ve always felt a sense of paternal care from him — almost like he’s being the father I need. It hits close to home because he came to prison without having the chance to be the father he wanted to be to his own son. He scolds me when I need it, compliments me when I earn it, and tries to teach me important life skills — everything a real father is supposed to do for their son.
His kindness reminded me of a time in my youth.
Growing up poor, with an alcoholic father who spent most of his earnings on beer, meant I often had threadbare, ragged, or falling-apart belongings. I was too full of pride to admit when I needed help. People could ask me if I was okay or if I needed something, but I would never tell them the truth.
I remember having these floppy, saint-like shoes that looked more like Tom Hanks’ shoes in Cast Away. Mine were held together with duct tape. I felt embarrassed wearing them, knowing people talked about them.
One day, at First Freewill Baptist Church in Hamilton, Alabama, I wrote a prayer request asking for a new pair of shoes. Long story short, God provided — through the people of the church.
Years later, I learned that angels don’t actually read prayer request cards. People do. They read them and give what they can, according to their budget.
Still, regardless of how those shoes were provided, my Father in Heaven took care of me when I humbled myself and asked for help. It’s funny how, as adults, we tend to forget our childlike feelings to the point that we resist charity and avoid showing humility.
When my fatherly friend helped me with the shoes, I felt both happy and sad at the same time.
The best way I can describe that feeling is remembering the first time I held my infant niece — seeing her total reliance on me to care for her and hold her with love.
