FanStory.com - The Pretty Parking Lotby Chewster

It was a cool February morning in 2015 when I pulled into the parking lot of the women’s correctional facility in Florida. As with the day before, I went straight to the warden’s office to coordinate my day of video recording. The warden’s administrative assistant knew how busy my schedule was, but decided to ask me something anyway.

“Would you like to record the release of an inmate?” she asked. “She is being released to a faith-based group who will provide a place for her to live.”

Turns out these folks from a Baptist Church a few hundred miles away had a home ready to receive certain, select female offenders, offering not only food and shelter, but extensive rehabilitation. Yeah, I had a lot on my plate, and though I’ve spent much of my career shooting video in prisons, its not often I have an opportunity to document the release of an inmate. I was immediately on board, and the administrative assistant went about securing the necessary permissions and clearances. While waiting, I was able to get briefly acquainted with the two good women who were there to pick this inmate up, a forty something-year-old, we’ll call Judy. The lead mentor was a well-spoken, kind woman I pegged to be in her sixties. She and her thirty something partner would be driving Judy to her new year-long home several hours away. The administrative assistant soon told me I had the green light from the Florida Department of Corrections, and I hurried to meet up with Judy who was at the facility’s gate house. With the Baptist women waiting just outside of the gate house, I was allowed inside to begin video recording Judy. When I stepped in, she had just begun the process of her final release.

A pretty, shoulder-length brunette, I was a bit surprised by Judy’s tender, kind demeanor. She was almost shy, but held an unassuming confidence. She was most gracious in our introductions, and I thanked her profusely for allowing me to video record her release. Donned in pink sweats and jogging shoes, she looked youthful, perhaps in her early thirties, but I knew better, due to the administrative assistant’s briefing. Judy was being released from prison after serving time for 20 plus years.

I asked Judy questions as I recorded video with the camera on my shoulder: “Are you excited?”, “What are your plans?”, and the like. She was nervous to be sure, her hands trembled and her voice at times was a little shaky, but she was quick to smile, easy with gentle, excited laughter, and intelligent in her replies. She exuded joy, and I couldn’t help but grin at her near giddiness. I spoke to her as the officer in charge of the gate, a woman behind a glass partition to my left and Judy’s right, went about paperwork and meticulous verifications you’d expect to take place at the releasing of an inmate.

Lingering around her during this whole process was Judy’s escort. We’ll call her Officer Jones. Compared to Judy, Officer Jones was all business and most serious about it. She seemed hardened and unimpressed by much of life, carrying a cynical air about her that was generally off-putting and unpleasant. However, Jones’ disposition didn’t seem to faze Judy much as she continued through the release process and responded to the occasional question from me.

Finally, the gate officer went rapidly through a final list of verification questions. Inmate number, name, birth date, place of birth, social security number, that sort of thing. Then she asked:

Having pivoted slightly to face the officer behind the glass, Judy quickly answered the ‘where’ of the question, but didn’t quite hear the rest.

Though I could only see Judy from the side at this point, I saw enough. Judy’s face fell and she began to cry. She struggled to speak. When she finally found her voice, it was filled with emotion and mournful regret.

“Second-degree murder,” she managed as her tears flowed. The gate officer nodded and silently went about putting the final release forms in order. As Judy continued to silently cry, Officer Jones, from where she stood a few feet behind, watched Judy carefully. Jones slowly stood and walked to her. Though I knew this was an intensely personal moment, it was also powerful. Usually sensitive to people’s privacy, at this moment I felt an unusual compulsion to keep recording.

“You okay?” Officer Jones asked quietly, moving to Judy’s side, her voice softened with concern.

“You done, done your time, y’all” Officer Jones continued. “Leave it behind, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Judy answered again, nodding, still wiping her eyes and staring into the glass.

Officer Jones stood by Judy’s side, as she gained control of her emotions and took heart from the encouragement. And I realized that this officer was nothing of what I’d assumed. When all was said and done, she cared, and I realized her perceived aloofness at times was a part of her professional demeanor in dealing with convicted felons every day of her life. I should’ve known better than to pass judgment the way I did. I was proud of Jones, and proud that we worked for the same organization.

She saw, as I did, that this woman was no throw-away soul, second-degree murder or not.

After a time, Judy moved past the weight of her confession and the excitement of the moment seemed to ease back into her heart as the final checks and cross checks were finished. The smile returned, and her eyes shone once again with delight. Momentarily, the gate officer informed Judy she was free to go. Judy graciously thanked that officer, thanked Officer Jones, and without further adieu hurried out the door of the gate house, spreading her arms in a rush of joy. She began to nearly sob as she ran into the arms of those Baptist women waiting for her. They received her with unabated love and acceptance, as all of them cried together.

“You’re a free girl,” the older one said, holding her close as Judy continued to cry. “It’s gonna be fine,” she continued. “You’re already so loved.” Overcome with emotion, Judy just kept weeping. Finally, she stepped away and looked up into the sky, taking a deep breath.

“Fresh air!” she exclaimed. “It smells so good!” She laughed and cried, as more people approached her along the walkway to the parking lot, mostly staff who had gotten to know her over the time she served at the facility. There were many tears shed as everyone wished Judy well and encouraged her to go out and conquer the world.

Not accustomed to seeing life from the outside, Judy kept glancing back at the fence, as if trying to come to terms with the moment. After 20 plus years of being locked up, one can only imagine what she felt. Yet in the midst of taking it all in, she also kept her delight in the beauty she saw around her.

“Everything’s so pretty!” she nearly burst as she took in her surroundings near the Baptists’ car.

Remember: We were just in a prison parking lot. But her perspective was derived from 20 years worth of captivity. An appreciation of beauty in all her simplest varieties. In a way the vast majority of us will never understand.

Later, in looking more closely into Judy’s story, I learned she was an accessory to a cold-blooded killing that she never meant to be a part of. She wasn’t even out of her teens. But she did nothing to stop the crime as it happened, and she was the reason it did. Call it a lover’s quarrel settled in the backwoods of Florida. And whatever regret she felt then, it was obvious regret still filled her heart, to the point of mournful shame and heart-wrenching remorse. Even after 20 years of paying her debt to society, the fact remained that she still did whatever horrible thing it was she did all those years ago. And she knew it. I couldn’t imagine the demons that haunted her due to some rash, misguided decisions made when she was so young.

I wondered at the delightful soul before me as she watched a picture snapped with a phone.

“Are you serious?!” she asked, as the Baptist ladies took photos to text to a whole support team of fellow Baptists back in their home.

“They’ll see these pictures in an instant?” Then she giggled. And her eyes kept filling with wonder as she took in the first signs of the changed world she’d been locked away from for so long.

I wondered at the grievous, most serious act of murder, something I’d always considered the most serious of sins: Whether in God’s eyes, or society’s. Yet, my heart was light as a flood of emotions washed over me. I must never discount the seriousness of taking a human life; but, in the end, as a believer, I must let God be the judge. Let Him make the final call on salvation. After all, that’s His call to make and His call only. Me? I’m to love and accept and reach out: There are no throw-away souls.

You see, no family came for Judy, neither friends from her previous life. In her incarceration and desolation, she was truly alone. I learned she even had left behind an infant daughter who was now a young adult in college, and not ready for a relationship with her convict birth mother. Not knowing the story of the girl, and not wanting to pass judgment, I just looked at what Judy did have: Baptist angels from half a state away. People doing the work of the Lord, leaving the ninety and nine to save the one, and putting all of their effort and resources into her rescue.

As I watched Judy settle in for her long drive ahead, and the unknown home that awaited her, I grinned as she was handed a small six-ounce water bottle. Something I didn’t realize would be a novelty to a person joining the modern world after twenty years.

“What is this?” she laughed. “This is so cute!” I grinned wider, delighted by her simple joy. And found myself fighting back tears of my own.

Judy waved to me as the car carrying her to central Florida and her new home drove away. She grinned from ear to ear and I waved back, not stopping the recording on my camera as I kept them framed in my lens until they pulled out onto the road running by the prison. I sighed as I took the camera off my shoulder, realizing just how spent I was. And a certain hope filled my heart. If God remembers Judy, then surely He does the same for me – every time I drift from the path I’m trying to stay on.

As I toted my camera back to my full day of shooting ahead, making my way to the warden’s office through a prison parking lot made pretty through the eyes of a joyful soul being rescued, I’d like to think that I was still grinning.