Last June, when I was checked into the Graybar Hotel, I read books like crazy. I was probably known among the inmates as the guy who stays on his bunk all day and reads. I did do a little fraternizing over the chessboard with my colleagues from time to time, but by and large my time was passed by reading the slew of books people were gracious enough to send me. I also spent hours upon hours in prayer and Bible study. It was like a 30-day spiritual retreat. Despite the circumstances, I loved it.

Like many things in life, jail is what you make of it. Guys inside talked about "doing your time right," meaning using your jail or prison time constructively, to grow as a person, to get a GED, to learn a trade, etc. While many guys talked like that, not many actually lived that out. Most people in jail are broken, addicted, desperate, evil, manipulative people -- the exact type of people JESUS came to save. By seeing up-close-and-personal realities of unchecked sin, I developed a deeper understanding and appreciation for the grace of God.

Taxpayers don't want to spend too much money on prisoner housing, so the cramped quarters of jail also mean that your physical proximity to other inmates is closer than what most people would be comfortable with; but that physical closeness also means there are many opportunities to actually talk to hurting people. I think JESUS would have enjoyed it.

The "tank" I was in was a 28-man dorm with a common day room, shower facility, and seven 4-man rooms known as "houses." A typical house was roughly 150 square feet, but, due to the way the tanks were designed, one house in each tank was almost twice as big as the six other houses, and it even had a semi-private toilet (the other houses had non-private toilets). I was fortunate enough to be in the larger house in my tank. When one inmate walked into my house for the first time, he said, "D***, what is this, a f***ing suite?"

Over a period of time in jail, you tend to associate with certain people. Of course, I spent a lot of time with my "cellies" (that's jail lingo for "roommate"). The de facto leader of our house was a guy named Alex McKenzie. Alex was half black and half Hispanic, about 5'9" with a shaved head and a muscular build. Like most people in jail, he had several tattoos. Everyone knew him as Alley Cat. Alley Cat was doing 7 months for battery. He was a confirmed Crip (one of the few in my tank since most others were Bloods or Gangster Disciples), a non-practicing Muslim, and an aspiring recording artist. A young man at 28, he had previously done seven years in prison (for what, I don't know), and, thankfully, he always made sure that house rules were enforced (e.g. always flush the toilet while you're urinating; clean the sink with a rag after you use it; keep the place swept on a regular basis; etc.).

Alley Cat was a sort of lone wolf. He'd gamble with the other inmates, talk to them quite a bit, joke around some, and spend time watching TV with them, but, by and large, he stood apart from them. (The way he put it, "I'll f*** with them, but from a distance.") Like most guys in the Slam, he didn't have a problem with using violence to make a point or to correct something he thought was wrong (he once beat another inmate when the inmate refused to pay a gambling debt: a hamburger lunch tray), but he wasn't a bully. He was highly respected because he was seen as a leader.

Alley Cat told me there were three rules anyone needed to know if they were to survive being locked up: "Mind your own f***ing. Mind your own f***ing. And mind your own f***ing." (In other words, mind your own business.) He was right. I liked him a lot.

Experiences like getting to know Alley Cat, spending hours upon hours in the Word and prayer, and seeing day-to-day jail life up close and personal really made a lasting impression on me. As we wait for news from BC, I find myself often thinking of all the Lord has brought us through the past 10 months. The ride isn't over yet, but His faithfulness is always comforting.