Have you ever wondered what it's like walking into a correctional centre to support prisoners? One of Inside Out Prison Chaplaincy's dedicated and selfless volunteer chaplains recounts one of his recent visits to a Queensland prison.
After going through four heavy remote-controlled doors I'm greeted by the first inmate I see. "Have a good day, chaplain; God bless you," he cries out, in front of several officers. Four more heavy doors then I enter the first unit of cells.
A prisoner is waiting for me, clutching his Bible and notes, in the hope that a chaplain would come. We sit and talk about what he's been reading lately. He is full of gratitude and quiet joy in this newfound hope of God's word. I explain about the Old and New Testaments, mindful of another man waiting off to the side.
This inmate is fragile and deeply troubled. He's been charged with murder. Breaking down in tears, he tells me about his loved one. He had lived happily with them for years and loved them dearly. They had cared for their son who'd been stable on medication most of his adult life.
He can't remember what happened. They had a beautiful bond; now they're gone. I request a private room to talk further and pray with the prisoner.
The next young man held hopes of joining his Christian wife and children for Christmas, but he's still here. Hope deferred is never an easy thing, but it's all the more painful in this place. His family still attend church but his partner has been diagnosed with a serious condition.
Like many men here he feels the tension of his duty of care to his family, stymied by his helplessness, stuck behind bars. He holds hopes for parole but has a back-up plan to transfer to a prison farm if his parole application is rejected. This would make visits easier on his wife and kids after the intimidating ordeal of this high-security prison.
Another inmate I've never met wants to shake my hand. He tells me about his time in the blocks, the more controlled parts of the prison where the men are locked up for 20 hours of every day.
"You (chaplains) are the only ones who helped us. You gave me a list of contacts for accommodation and support outside. None of the others did," he said.
"That list was so helpful and it got passed around to help ten or more of the other men, giving them hope too. Thanks for what you do. It's so good that you give up your time to come in here!" He shakes my hand again.
I stop to pray for a long-term Christian inmate. This man might be leaning on his new walker but he stands strong for the gospel, despite opposition. I know he's been threatened by dangerous men in his compound and I pray for God's protection over him and his group.
He shakes my hand as usual then he kisses it! No one has ever done that before. I'm glad I've got my sunnies on.
The next guy is on his own and he opens up a bit about his prison experience. He is just so thankful that he has finally broken his drug addiction. He knows God has done something special for him and is looking forward to getting out, and staying out this time, because he is free.
We join a smiling Indigenous inmate showing us his guitar and we sing a beautiful song together, lifting up the holy name. The chaplains leave the correctional centre through those eight heavy locked doors feeling suddenly tired as our day is done.
They say take nothing in, nothing out, but we always take something of our day with us - and pray that we've left some love and hope with the men we leave behind.
* Stock images have been used.
