Sent With Hope

In my first post, I said this blog would at times reflect my quest to manage a non-profit. Here's some reflection...

Helping people has long been a passion of mine. I actually like to do it. This is one of the top reasons I became a teacher. Every day, I help young people in many ways. It is equally satisfying to open a frantic student's locker, as it is to teach a new concept.

Until my life was catapulted in a different direction, I had never given much thought to non-profits. They were there, I knew about them and admired them, but never considering having one of my own.

After that fateful May day, I knew I needed help. Where does one turn for help in the twenty-first century? That's right... Google. I googled and googled and googled. Search after search came up empty. There was nothing of substance to help either myself nor my children. It completely frustrated me, but I put it aside and focused on helping myself.

Over the next few months, I talked with many people. They hugged me and helped me and supported me. Through the power of Facebook, I connected with an old friend from junior high. Her life's mission was to help people. She reached out through non-profit work. In fact, she runs a very successful non-profit. Talking to her made the cranks in my head start churning. Why couldn't I start and maintain a non-profit?

So, it was back to Google I went. I read countless articles about launching non-profits, managing non-profits, and read about people who'd done it successfully. I read so much it hurt my eyes.

Then, I said it aloud, I was going to have a non-profit. And, remember, if I say it aloud, I am going to do it.

After nearly a year of thinking and organizing and deciding and researching, I have a definite plan.

My desire is to help mothers, fathers, and most importantly children who are in a similar situation as we are. On any given day, there are two million American children with one, sometimes two, parents in prison. They have an alarmingly high rate of becoming a criminal offender themselves. These children are all but forgotten by support groups, non-profits... society.

Our non-profit, as it is mine and my children's, is Sent With Hope. Our mission is to provide a connection for families with a loved one in prison. We will provide donations of books, games, and puzzles to correctional facilities and hopefully in the future, help young people write letters to their loved ones.

Children with a parent in prison travel long distances to visit their parent for only a few hours. Many prisons have restrictions on how often they can visit. Once there, most prisons are not "kid friendly". There is often nothing or very little in the visitation rooms to make their visit more pleasant.

My idea came about the first time I visited a correctional facility. The entire experience was... for lack of a better word... institutional. As I sat there, I could not imagine how children could "thrive" in such a setting.With nothing to "entertain" them, how did families manage to pass four hours with little children? How did they have a bonding experience? Then, I thought about the vast amounts of books, games, and puzzles I had sitting at home, not being used anymore, and wondered why those things couldn't come here.

My own childhood had been filled with nights around the table playing games, or coloring an afternoon away, or spending time working complex puzzles. My children loved to do these things, and every time they did, it was quality time spent with them. I thought that these things could help families have quality time, albeit inside such a institutional place.

I went home and contacted several prisons to see if they would accept a donation of books, puzzles, and games for their visitation room. Many gladly accepted the donations. I called on family and friends to clean out their homes, and instead of passing things along to Goodwill, to pass it along to me. My garage quickly filled with books, puzzles, games, crayons, and coloring books. They told their friends, and I received more donations.

My children helped me load boxes and take them to the USPO. We sent approximately six boxes, and it got too expensive for me to do it alone. So, I stopped for awhile and really thought more about making this a legit non-profit.I knew I wanted to do it, but I began having doubts that I could... and that it would even matter.

We visited the correctional facilities many times since then. We watched many families playing with our donations. We saw children snuggling with their daddies, reading books together. We saw parents helping children fit puzzle pieces together. We saw children coloring pictures for their daddies. Most of all, we saw families gathered around tables, simply being families. We saw families forgetting they were inside a prison. These images told me it mattered, but on the other end of this is the institution. And, if they didn't appreciate all of this, where would that leave the non-profit?

Two days ago, my plan was solidified. At the end of our visit, a guard told me the warden wanted to speak with me. Immediately my stomach sank and I asked if I was in trouble. She chuckled and said she didn't think so. We were led down a long hallway to the warden's office. I explained it to my children as though we were going to the principal's office. Their Gramma is a principal, so they could make the connection. Had the children misbehaved? Did I make a guard upset? Had we taken too long in the bathroom? There are so many rules in prison, I couldn't imagine what one we'd broken.

Stepping into the warden's office was like stepping into an entirely different building. For one, it was very colorful. The walls were painted a deep cranberry color, which was such a contrast to the institutional gray colored walls outside his office. There were photographs everywhere and a large comfortable couch along one wall.

The warden stood up behind his desk and in a very soft drawl greeted us. He told me he was very happy to meet me. I concurred. He motioned to our most recent bag of donations and warmly thanked me for them. All the nervousness sank away. I slowly exhaled. He told me that he was very interested in my non-profit (I'd written him a brief letter about my desire to launch it in the new year) and that he planned to share that information with a woman at the state level who coordinated all the facilities. I was beyond thrilled! I grabbed his hand and thanked him over and over. I felt like we could go on and that I just might have a successful non-profit.

We left the facility and a new zest grew inside my chest. I could not wait to get home and get to work!

In the next few days, I will file all my paperwork with the state. In the next few months, I will, with the help of a good friend, create a website. I will also be shipping out more boxes filled with delightful things for all those children to enjoy. And, I will keep you posted about all these adventures. Until next time...

The Degree I Didn't Earn in College

I am the type of person that when I say I am going to do something, I do it. First, I plan it all out in my head. Sometimes this take minutes, sometimes years. Once the plan is made, I say it aloud. Now, once I say it aloud... and someone has to hear it... I believe it is "out there...in the universe" and therefore, must be taken care of. It is my way of making promises and keeping them.

Now, from the time it is said, to the time it actually gets done, again, sometimes minutes, sometimes years.

The summer between my senior year of high school and my first year of college was by far the best summer of my life. There was a vibe to that summer that can not accurately be described. It was the last summer of being a child and the first summer of being an adult. It was the summer I actually felt my life change.

One hot summer night, my two best girlfriends and I went to a "party in the field". This is ironic because we truly lived no where near "fields", we lived smack dab in the middle of suburbia. But, this party was far enough away from our civilization to be deemed a "party in the field". I don't remember much of it, except it was when I decided I wanted a boyfriend.

This probably sounds very silly. Here I was, eighteen, and deciding I wanted a boyfriend. Plenty of girls I knew had had boyfriends. Some of them had had them since eighth grade. But, I wasn't like a lot of girls. Sure, I liked boys. I drove my parents crazy with my boy talk, and boy phone calls, and boy pictures. But, in reality, they scared me a little bit. The whole concept of one boy ogling over you, and carrying your books, and calling you every night, and then kissing you... just made me nervous.

At the party in the field, I remember there being a bonfire. Friends of ours had a band, and I remember them playing endless songs. One boy in the band made my heart beat quicker than it had ever before. He had long, shiny hair. We danced around the fire. I liked the way he held my hand, and later walked us back to our car. On the ride home, I told my girlfriends I wanted to date him. I wanted a boyfriend.

Twenty years later, I can not remember his name. 

Less than two weeks later, I left for college.

My college was a small, religious school. Not long after classes started, talk of a certain degree filtered through halls, the dining room, the bathroom. Everyone was talking about which girls were there to get their M-R-S degrees. Now, my parents had sent me to school to earn a bachelor's degree, and I naively wondered if I had signed up for the wrong courses. It took my quite awhile to understand what that degree was.

Once I figured out that some girls were there to simply find a husband, I scouffed at the absurdity of that notion. I was not paying all that money just to find a husband. And, I didn't. I found a boyfriend.

Not a month into school, I met my boyfriend at a friend's college. Like it was just yesterday, I remember the first time I saw him. We were walking back to my friend's fraternity house, and my soon-to-be-boyfriend walked up behind us. He was tall, dark, and handsome. His deep brown eyes glimmered from the reflection of the streetlights. With his hand tucked under his backpack, casually slung over his shoulder, he quietly said, "Hi" to us. In that moment, I knew that boy would change my life.

And, he did. In many ways... both beautifully and tragically. The rest of our story is for another post.