Lou Gherig called himself the “luckiest man on the face of the earth” during his farewell speech, recognizing the blessing of the love being poured out upon him by former teammates and fans despite being forced to retire from the game he loved.  Gherig’s heroism in the face of impending death due to ALS provides inspiration for any who face difficulty.  And while Gherig must have felt like the luckiest man, I think the title belongs to me.

I think myself the luckiest, richest man on the face of the earth because God gave me a godly mother.  My mother wanted, and still wants, only one thing from her three sons:  that they love God with all their heart, soul, and mind.  And no mother has ever loved her sons more, found more joy in her sons, or sacrificed more for her sons.  My mother’s incredible example of godliness and sacrificial love makes me the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

My parents were told by multiple doctors that they could not have children.  They found a doctor who shared their belief that all things are possible with God, adopted my older brother, and kept trying – because why not, right?  They loved their first son with all their hearts.   Ten years later, surprise, surprise, a Timothy came along.  God made the impossible not just possible but actual.  Two years later, another son joined the Johnson home, another miracle.

Throughout our lives, my brothers and I have been told how much we were desired, how our parents prayed for us to be conceived and born.  I picture my mother, like Hannah, in the temple praying and crying out to God for Samuel, then dedicating him to the Lord.  She desired to have children with all of her titanic heart and devoted us to the Lord from the very start of her prayers.

No mother has ever found more joy in her sons.  Pictures exist of my family spanning across the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and through the early 20’s.  All of them, even the ones taking sans pose, depict a family who played and laughed together, a family who enjoyed being together.  This ‘together-joy’ flowed from my parents into and through their sons.

Even at 50, my Mom enjoyed playing on the beach or in the pool with her hyperactive children.  A day of playing was often followed by a game of cards or bowling.  During all of this play, we laughed and laughed and laughed.  My mom taught us that “laughter is the medicine for the soul.”  Laughter was not only our soul-medicine, but also our love-language.  Love and joy intertwine in my mom’s heart, then flow out to ferry her sons along in an unsinkable raft on this river of life. 

No mother has ever sacrificed more for her sons.  My mom has given more, especially of herself, than most people can imagine.  She gave us all of her time and money, and still does.  When I left my girlfriend’s corsage in the refrigerator the day of her prom, my parents drove an hour and a half each way to make sure I did not let her down.  My mom never had new clothes, but she made sure we did.  She took us shopping to the outlet stores in Smithfield, taking us out to eat, and celebrated with us at each special item found.  

When my younger brother and I began this incarceration crossing, my parents decided to make supporting us a priority.  They traveled to prisons around the state, week after week, for years on end to visit us.  They gave up their dreams of retirement to provide money for canteen, packages, shoes, food sales, phone calls, books and the many other expenses of supporting a person in prison.  My mother has never complained about the sacrifices.  She rejoiced every time we received anything special – a Christmas package, new shoes, or pizza – happy to sacrifice to give us something.

And no mother has ever loved her sons more.  Love cannot be precisely quantified but its presence can be detected, and my mother devotes herself to loving God and loving others.  The ‘loving others’ reaches her family first, especially her three sons.  Supporting a loved one in prison takes a financial toll, but the burden extends much further, especially when the incarcerated has an interminable sentence.  My brother was sentenced to 30 years and I to life without parole.  My mother did not just offer support, she shared our burden as her own.

She asked countless questions about our experiences and environment, and realizing that we live in a dark, drab world, she sent colorful cards, stationary, and bookmarks.  My hologram dolphins and donuts bookmarks make me smile every time I open a book.  The cards with affirmations like “Become the most enthusiastic person you know” and pictures like the frog who has the crane by the throat refusing to be swallowed and titled, “Don’t Ever Give Up,” hang on my cell wall and encourage me as I start each day.  My mom, my Mama, loves her son as much as any mother ever could.  

Outside support makes a difference impossible to explain.  It is impossible for most to truly understand how much it means to an incarcerated person to receive money, visits and books.  Having a little canteen money almost completely changes life.  I am not saying it means as much as being born anew in the Spirit of Christ – not even close.  That reconciliation changes eternity.  But having money to buy a decent toothbrush, dental floss, a Dr. Pepper, a Little Debbie Fudge Round, or ice cream does completely alter a person’s quality of life in the prison setting.  That money also makes it possible to purchase phone time, which is certainly not cheap, at $1.65 per fifteen-minute phone call.  Contact with friends and family is a precious blessing.  Whether good or bad, it makes it better to be able to share it with someone who cares.

Lincoln once expressed, “No man is poor who has had a godly mother.”  I’m taking that further, I believe a man who has had a godly mother is the luckiest, richest man on the face of the earth.  I am that man, because God gave me a godly mother.  Yes, it is true; the luckiest, richest man on the face of the earth resides in a North Carolina prison serving life without parole.  

ABOUT THE WRITER.  Timothy Johnson is serving a life without parole sentence.  He has a Bachelor of Arts degree in Pastoral Ministry with a minor in Counseling from the College at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary; he serves as the assistant editor for The Nash News, the first and longest running prison publication in NC; he was editor of Ambassadors in Exile, a journal/newsletter that represents the NCFMP; he is a co-author of Beneath Our Numbers; and he has been published in the North Carolina Law Review (Hope for the Hopeless:  The Prison Resources Repurposing Act https://scholarship.law.unc.edu/nclr/vol100/iss3/2/).
Recently, Timothy and Phillip Vance Smith, II, co-authored a piece for NC Newsline, which can be found here, and Timothy can also be heard on the Prison POD podcast on youtube.

Mr. Johnson can be contacted at:
Timothy Johnson #0778428
Nash Correctional Institution
P.O. Box 247
Phoenix, MD 21131

Timothy Johnson can also be contacted through GettingOut.com

Last night I called my wife, something I do every night, and we went through our extensive prayer list together. Five minutes after we hung up, I was alarmed to see a message left from her on the prison tablet asking me to ‘call home again’…  

I braced myself for the phone call.  

“Please sit down, Keith.”  Her next words pierced right through me as she read the Instagram post announcing the loss of David Inocencio, founder of The Beat Within. My heart tightened and the tears began to form.  Our last telephone conversation had been just weeks prior.  I had not spoken with David much this year, unaware he had been battling cancer, and hearing his voice was always uplifting.  He described to me where he was when we spoke that day, sitting on his patio, his soulmate Lisa was cooking him breakfast, and the sunshine was especially beautiful that day. I never imagined it would be the last time we would talk, yet I look back now at that conversation and see it for what it may have been.

David, a man that came into my life as a stranger nearly ten years ago, became more than just a mentor to me during a time of soul searching and longing to be more than what I had been much of my life; he became like a brother to me, someone I admired for all he was in the community and the world around him. I wrote a letter to The Beat Within ten years ago after reading an issue, not expecting much in return.  I merely wanted to give them a “shout out” for the outstanding work they do throughout California. David replied to my letter with personal recognition and praise for the work that I had shared with him regarding my own struggles and successes while incarcerated. I was touched by the fact that this man took the time to read my story, give me feedback and encouragement, and more importantly, see me as a human being who had experienced a tough life, rather than just someone who had lived life committing crimes and making poor choices.

I began sharing more of my story with David all those years ago, dedicating time and effort into providing artwork to TBW, and before long I became a recognized feature amongst the teens who would flip through the pages.  David would tell me how they would ask about me when he would visit the juvenile facilities, wanting to know when I was going to do another drawing.  It made me feel like what I was doing was bigger than just the time and effort of me putting my talents on paper. 

“Keith,” he said, “your artwork inspires these kids to sit down and see possibilities they never considered before.” 

I never saw the significance in what my art was doing until he said those words.  I wanted to give others something from my heart, yet I was missing the bigger picture all along.  David, my brother and friend, taught me how to see the bigger picture. I spent years of my life incarcerated in the local juvenile hall, and eventually the California Youth Authority at the age of fifteen.  I could relate to the teens that would write their stories, hopes and dreams in the pages of TBW publications. These young people, in every sense, were just like me and needed to be heard.  David, with no hesitation whatsoever, gave them a voice.

“Thank you for everything that you have done all of these years, Keith,” he said that last morning we talked.  “I love you my brother, and I am so happy that I got to hear your voice.”

Perhaps he knew something I didn’t know that day and wanted me to always know how much he loved and appreciated me. Despite all of our initial conversations, that one conversation felt more heartfelt and sentimentally sound than any other.  David always talked of me coming home one day, attending TBW workshops with him and Lisa, and I promised him we would have a nice barbecue with his family and mine once I earned the freedom that I’ve been fighting so hard for. 

“David,” I told him that morning, “you, too, have been a great part of my journey, and I love you and appreciate all the confidence you have in me.” 

There is never enough time to say goodbye, and even had I known it would be our last conversation, I would have never said goodbye to a man that will forever be present in my life, despite his passing. I grew to love this man with the better parts of me that he helped bring out over the years.

Earlier this year I was referred back to the courts for ‘resentencing consideration’ based on my accomplishments and positive changes to my life; David wrote a letter of support to the judge who will be making the final decision on my case(s) on any given date. I do not know what the outcome will be; however, I do know that even in his final days he displayed yet another act of compassion for me, and I will forever be grateful. I will walk out of these gates one day soon, I believe this wholeheartedly; and in spirit, the man that gave me a voice all of those years ago, as he has thousands of others in his lifetime, will be watching over me as I embrace my freedom for the first time in over three decades. Until then, I will continue to be the man David taught me to be through his own life’s legacy. 

My brother, my friend, I love you and will miss you…

For anyone who reads this – sometimes we don’t see the importance of others who are placed into our lives until they are no longer here.  Please take a moment to reach out to those you love dearly, let them know their presence in your life is more valuable than words can express… – Keith

ABOUT THE WRITER. Keith is fairly new to WITS, but it didn’t take me long to realize, after working with him on a couple projects, that I simply can’t keep up with him. He is a change maker.

If his interaction with David Inocencio had something to do with creating that spark, David’s life will echo far beyond even his own reach in all those he touched who will carry on his spirit.

Keith Erickson is a writer, an artist, and a trail blazer, organizing and leading positive endeavors and initiatives. Keith has acted as the Chief Editor of the 4Paws Newsletter, he has earned an Associates Degree in Behavioral Science, and was also the illustrator of the GOGI Life Tools Coloring Book. Keith stays busy working during the day and facilitating programs in the evenings. He also hopes to have access to pursuing his Bachelor’s degree in the future.  
To hear more of Keith’s story in his words, listen to his Prison POD podcast.

Keith Erickson can be contacted at:
Keith Erickson #E-74907
Pleasant Valley State Prison
D-5-225
Low
P.O. Box 8500
Coalinga, CA 93210
Keith can also be reached through GettingOut.com

Pleasant Valley State Prison – Coalinga California

I am a resident of Pleasant Valley State Prison, and we are hosting an event at the institution. We are in dire need of guest speakers who are willing to volunteer their time and attend and share their personal insight and experience in the following areas:

Violence Awareness. Someone personally impacted by violence or works with those who have suffered violence.

Domestic Violence. Someone personally impacted by domestic violence or works with those who have suffered domestic violence.

Victims Impact. Someone who has lost a loved one at the hands of either gun violence or domestic violence, who is now advocating for and promoting nonviolence.

Suicide Awareness. Someone who can share personal experience concerning, knowledge of or insight into suicide.

We hope to host this event in September, however, the process of getting guests cleared to enter the prison is something that we need to address as soon as possible. If you are in the California area or know of anyone in this location, please reach out and help us make this happen. The men at Pleasant Valley State Prison D-Facility have been on a mission to bring more awareness, healing, and intervention/prevention to these very real issues… WE NEED YOU!

TO RESPOND TO KEITH, you can message WITS through the comments or the CONTACT US page, any messages will be forwarded to him. If you would like him to call you to discuss, please send me your phone number, as well as a good time for him to reach you and what time zone you are in.

You can also directly reach Keith at:
Keith Erickson #E-74907
Pleasant Valley State Prison
D-5-225
Low
P.O. Box 8500
Coalinga, CA 93210
Keith can also be reached through GettingOut.com