Testimony of Connie
I will never forget the day I was released from the North Carolina Correctional Center for Women. When I walked through that front gate on Bragg Street in Raleigh, I did not look back. I had paid my debt to society and had no intention of ever stepping foot in a prison again.

Decisions determine our destiny. I grew up in church, the oldest of 3 girls, and as a teenager, I made a profession of faith. However, I found out as an adult there is a difference in knowing God and having a personal relationship with the Lord. I was married at the age of 19 and had a son in 1969. When my marriage started to fall apart, I gradually turned away from the things of God and started experimenting with marijuana. When I started using drugs in 1972, I saw them as a solution, not a problem. I also thought I was hurting nobody but myself. Well, let me tell you, I have learned with every play-day there comes a payday. There is a penalty to be paid for sin.

As Christians, we spend our time avoiding sin, not planning it. But don’t think for one minute that just because you don’t want to fall, you won’t. Satan is the author of weak moments. He waits until your defense is down. All Christians face temptation but God has promised to help us. I Cor. 10:13 says “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”

When my marriage started falling apart, I should have turned to God for His promised help, meditated on the Word of God, heeded the guidance in His Word, sought and received the help of fellow believers. What did I do? I wallowed in self-pity, blamed people and circumstances for my unhappiness, got out of church and made poor choices. Sin is progressive too. In four short years, I graduated from smoking pot to taking barbiturates and finally shooting up heroin. Sin had taken me further than I had intended to go, made me stay longer than I had intended to stay, and pay more than I had intended to pay. I was arrested for possession of drugs on October 19, 1976.

Before going to trial, I admitted myself to Broughton Hospital in Morganton, N. C. To keep my story honest, I must tell you, I was not ready to give up drugs. I was only complying to get my family off my back. After one week of detoxification, I went to Fellowship Hall in Greensboro, N. C., an accredited hospital offering a 28-day treatment program. Most of my time there was spent taking a moral inventory of my life. I began to see that my anxieties and troubles were of my own making and not caused by the behavior of others. I thought “conditions” had driven me to drugs. It never occurred to me that I was sin sick! The entire recovery program required a sincere desire for help, honesty and humility. I learned my limitations, one of which was to stay away from “old people, places and things”. Not feeling confident that I could resist the temptation of drugs, after leaving the treatment program, I asked my counselor if there was somewhere I could go until my sentencing. He recommended a drug-free home called Maranatha House in Jacksonville, N. C. While staying at that Christian halfway house, I was reintroduced to Jesus Christ. I repented of my sin, which God graciously forgave me of, but that does not mean there was no penalty to be paid. I came back to my hometown and was sentenced to serve five years in the N.C. Dept. of Correction. Proverbs 3:11-12 tells me the Lord chastens (corrects) those He loves.

Here I stood, the mother of an 8-year-old son, never having spent one day in jail, let alone prison. I was bankrupt in soul, demoralized and terrified. When I arrived, I was stripped of my clothing, sprayed with some type of disinfectant and then told to shower in an open shower stall with lye soap. After a 30-day orientation with other new inmates, I was assigned to a cellblock that held 40 women. I never would have chosen these people for neighbors, but my choices in life had chosen them for me. As with war, prison and survival enforce a form of simplicity on you. The monk or a nun chooses it of his or her own free will. But if one accidentally finds it, as I did, one also finds the serenity it brings. I was forced to a crucial place of depending on God again. When my first parole hearing came up, I was denied and then devastated. After all, I had been the “model inmate”; no infractions. It was only after I fully surrendered to God’s will that I became content in my situation. Did Paul not say in Philippians 4:11b, “..for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content” and again in verse 13, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me”? While incarcerated, I learned to base my faith on Who God is rather than What He does.

I was paroled on June 18, 1980. My rediscovered relationship with God became my pillar to hold me up through the painful repercussions of my sins. Because I had professed to be a Christian before my arrest, I felt it was necessary to ask for forgiveness from my own church family. That was one of the hardest things I had ever done. After all, your family and friends, those in your own hometown know you the best. I could not change the past, but I could make amends. There is no relief like repentance. God restored the joy of my salvation.

Going from imprisonment to freedom does not mean society will be waiting with open arms. I went on many job interviews before a credit and collection company in Charlotte, N. C., finally hired me. I learned the business from the ground up and moved from Charlotte to Atlanta, Georgia. I took advantage of every opportunity the company afforded me and transferred to their home office in Baltimore, Maryland where I stayed until I took a job transfer to Los Angeles, California. I had gone from making $1 day in prison to $55,000 a year. My sadness was replaced with joy and my hopelessness to assurance. Isn’t God good?

Then in 1993 I was diagnosed with hepatitis C; more than likely transmitted through IV drug use. Another painful reminder that sin is costly. Like King David, I was reminded that though forgiven, “…the sword would not depart from my house.” While in California, I was treated with alpha interferon. After an allotted amount of time, I was taken off the therapy as I was considered a non-responder. I also experienced side effects that were intolerable. I developed other auto-immune related illnesses and eventually had to go on disability and move back home to North Carolina. I have to tell you I fought that move even though I was sick. A 48 year old woman moving back with her parents? What was God thinking? He knew what I did not know. My father had congestive heart failure and mom and dad needed me as much as I needed them. Had I not came home, I would have missed the opportunity to spend a year of quality time with my dad before he died on May 18, 1998.

It was no coincidence that I had came home. It was a divine appointment. Remember the beginning of my story, when I walked out of that prison gate in Raleigh vowing to never step foot in a prison again? Back in my home church, the same one I had apologized to the congregation for being a stumbling block, I became reacquainted with Scottie Barnes, who now headed up a prison ministry called Forgiven Ministry. Scottie had been asking me for over a year to share my experience, strength and hope with other inmates. I agreed to share my testimony at churches but I did not feel God had given me the liberty to face walking back into a prison environment. On July 10, 2000 Scottie asked me to ride with her to take 3 children of inmates to attend an Angel Tree camp in Asheboro. I did so and as we turned off of the main road a déjà vu feeling came over me. I said, “Scottie, I think I have been here before. This place looks so familiar.” As we drove up through the beautiful wooded area and pulled into the parking lot, I saw the large rock outside of the activity building. My picture had been made on that same rock with 17 other inmates in 1978. Another turning point in my life…Camp Mundo Vista…a ministry of the North Carolina WMU. A summer camp not only used for children of inmates in July but also used as a prison retreat for female offenders in September. Jesus had brought me full circle! What a reminder that revelation brings responsibility. September 2000, I was able to attend the camp not as a prisoner, but as a volunteer counselor. I continue to do so each September in hopes of reaching out to women who are where I was 25 years ago.

Now receptive to my Lord’s direction, I now realize He has not only brought me full circle, He has shown me my mission field. I also learned a valuable lesson from Psalm 119:71-72. When Scottie now asks me to share my testimony in prisons, I gladly do so and share this scripture in my own words: “The punishment You gave me was the best thing that could have happened to me, for it taught me to pay attention to Your laws. They are more valuable to me than millions in silver and gold.”