Home Sweet Home in Prison City
These blogs come to you from Jackson–a city stuck between U of M and Michigan State, not to be confused with the sound-a-like Mississippi version. We have no charming southern drawl here.
Some of you are realizing right now–as you read–that you have never been to Jackson. A crying shame too. You have not seen our lighted waterfalls, tasted our Dare to Be Great sundaes or felt queasy while stuck at a stoplight observing a hitchiker near our prison.
They say Jackson (formerly named Jacksonopolis…a suffix that possibly got dropped when we failed to reach the “opolis” status) was in the running to be the state capitol. Instead, it turned out, we got the state prison. This gave us some cool points for a while, because at least we got to claim to be the home of the largest walled prison in the world. But now, our place in the world is less spectacular, as inmates are spread out in five facilities.
Historically, we’ve also thrown in as a manufacturing city, boasting to be–for example–a world-class producer of automotive air conditioning compressors with magnetic clutch…if that means more to you than it does me. Though now, our industry potential is waning and we are looking for a new identity maybe in Energy or Health. Its up in the air.
Speaking of up in the air, Jackson was also the undisputed location of the first meeting of the Republican Party, which may or may not improve our rankings with some of you. Three other cities apparently share our claim to being the actual birthplace, though, so we feel a little politically ambiguous these days.
Before Michigan dropped to the bottom rung of the economic ladder, I worked at the biggest public school in our city, which houses 1,800 students in a historic building just a block from downtown. But as the district’s belt has tightened, some positions were cut, which left some people–more senior people–scrambling to bump silly little youngsters like me. Hence how I ended up spending forty hours a week at the illustrious alternative school on our city’s more diverse south-side.
I miss my old co-workers (which included my hubby) something bad, but I am not the altogether wrong person to drop into this scenario. If you read Dear Church, you know I’ve got a special affinity for the kids the state calls “at-risk” who may or many not have your hubcaps in their backpacks. Although some days, depending on how many battles I have to fight prior to taking attendance, I have less affinity than others. ;)
Despite the two lockdowns we’ve had during the first two months of school and despite several nearby shootings, including one of my first hour students being shot in her home across the street last month, there is always hope growing up among the weeds. And now I don’t just get to write books with that subtitle, I get to actively look for it alongside my students who face heavier challenges with less resources than I have.
For example, its nice to see some new energy stirring over where the walled prison used to be, thanks to the Armory Arts Village–an artists’ community with 62 apartments and studios. This is the home of my fav lead guitar player and friend, Jimmy Reed (I’ll get you a link to him as soon as we get organized enough to drum up a website. But first, our goal is to get his picture taken for his Facebook profile).
And its nice to know that any place and every place has spiritual potential, truth to be found and applied, fullness to be lived if we search for it. Hence our church, Rivertree, as well as the church where I was formerly on staff, Westwinds, and a lot of others are hoping to continue to be in the middle of what God is stirring in our community, long after the days where the first churches in our town were founded prior to the American Civil War.
*Updated 09/13/09