J wrote a song.
(Actually, J writes a LOT of songs.)
This one is special for a number of reasons.

As many of you know, J is the Inside Co-Founder of PrisonCare, Inc. This song is special, because it's the first one we have been able to share with PrisonCare's friends.

Once the song is officially released on 3.25.23, you will be able to listen to it on the PrisonCare YouTube channel, or download the .mp3 for free here on our website. 

Here's the story behind the song:

J says he originally wrote this exploring the idea of the "hopeless romantic."
The one always dreaming of love, but finding that it never quite seems to play out as happily ever after.
And the song is still about that.
If you are a hopeless romantic, the lyrics will no doubt resonate with you.
Hopeless romantics are the ones who hang in there.
They keep waiting, hoping that that special someone will stay. 
And sometimes, they break in the process.
A broken heart is a risk you take when you dare to hope for love.

But now the song means more.

Look below the surface imagery of romance, and you'll find the heart that beats inside perhaps every incarcerated individual --

A heart that hopes to find its way to acceptance, to LOVE, even, from people outside the fence. 
People serving prison sentences are known for the worst thing they ever did. 
And for many of them, that becomes and remains their identity for all time, no matter how much they change, how hard they work to experience true rehabilitation, no matter how many years they serve.
Even if they do the work and become someone who would never again do THAT THING, they fear that it won't matter. 
So they wait, the hopeless romantic, dreaming of a life in which you and I will stay in their lives, will not distance ourselves from them for fear of catching something wicked. 
And often, they break in the process.
A broken heart is a regular part of the process of redemption.

But these lyrics are not only about the people wearing prison uniforms.
There is also an image here of the Correctional Staff.

They entered this profession for good reasons.
To provide for their needs, perhaps for a family. 
To keep society safe.
To do something positive and important in the world.
But many of them are waiting right alongside the inmates, wondering if anyone on the outside will ever really CARE about what they are doing. 
Will you and I ever include a float dedicated to COs in the city's law enforcement appreciation parade?
Will we ever recognize the need for regular mental health support for these people who spend their days and nights in this trauma-charged workplace environment?
They wait, dreaming of a life in which you and I will stick around long enough to see who they are, what they do, and how impressive it really can be. 
And sadly, they, too, often break in the process. 

J gives his music to you freely, and hopes you will like what you hear.
He also hopes this may be a way to further our work at PrisonCare, Inc.

Please consider making a donation of any size, even $1, like you would pay on iTunes for a new song download.

​You can click here to find our links to Paypal, Venmo, and CashApp, or instructions for mailing us a check. 

We have heard from our incarcerated friends that food is a way to build relationships in prison. No surprise, since sharing a meal is a great way to build relationships outside the fence as well!

After a podcast episode with our friend Dylan, in which he mentioned the power of a "SPREAD" to bring people together, our Compassion Team decided to make it possible for them to share a meal with all 100 guys in their pod. (Episode 25, "Shared Meals, Shared Challenges," link below, in case you missed it.)

Yup. All 100 guys. Because if you leave anybody out, it can be seen as nefarious. If only some have access to something special, those without that access may become violent in order to get what they want. The way to be sure that sharing is allowed is to give every resident in your pod an equal share of anything special.

Our team added money to Dylan's and J's books, making it possible for them to order ingredients from commissary over the course of a few weeks, getting enough to make quesadillas in the pod's air fryer for everyone. Originally, the plan was a Christmas feast.

But commissary order system had a glitch, and then commissary supplies ran low for some of the ingredients they needed. And so forth. And so on. You get the idea.

But they kept at it, and finally word got out that they needed a few more items for the feast to happen...and guys stepped up and shared out of their personal stashes of food. 

Finally, on January 26, they had everything they needed. The guys who had agreed to help prep and cook got started at 4:00 a.m. Because the air fryer only lets you make one at a time, and because they had to work with challenges like morning and afternoon Count (when everyone must go back to their cells while the whole resident population is accounted for), they finally cleaned up at 5:00 p.m.

Around the pod, they had hung signs that said, "Casa de Quesadillas Day, a gift from PrisonCare!" They reported back to us that guys spent all day asking them to tell our team thank you. A couple of long-timers said they had never seen anything like this, ever.
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Mid-day, J was in a meeting with his boss, and guys kept popping their heads into the office to say, "Sorry to interrupt...J, thanks again for the quesadillas!" After the third guy interrupted their meeting, his CO boss said, "What is the deal with the f***ing quesadillas?" J explained, and she cocked her head to one side like she was thinking really hard. Then she said, "You fed the whole pod? You guys are really something. I'm confused."

I have a dear friend who regularly encourages us to "live questionable lives." 
By that, he means that we should live our lives with such love in action that it makes people wonder why we live the way we do, and maybe ask us about it. 

The "questionable cooking" behavior that our incarcerated friends showed in sharing their ingredients, prepping, cooking, making signs, spreading the word so no one missed out, and passing along our team's love with every quesadilla led to a LOT of questions from people in both kinds of uniform. J said that he and Dylan got a lot of practice sharing the PrisonCare elevator speech by way of explanation!
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Everyone on the inside matters.
Quesadillas can communicate love.
Sharing food brings people together. 
It's better when no one is left out. 
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