***
February 28, 2025. My good friend, Beth, and I, entered Tomoka Correctional Institution to meet with five inmates to discuss forgiveness. Beth’s 19-year-old son Samuel had been murdered in July 2017, so it’s an understatement to say that this union of victim with those who had victimized, would be difficult for all.

The following describes what happened:

From Debby’s Perspective

I know Beth well. So when she said she’d like to meet the men of The Unlimited Gavel Club, I didn’t question her. I knew she wouldn’t have asked if something beyond herself hadn’t beckoned her. 

It’s difficult to capture what happened in that room off the main library that day, but to quasi prep for something that none of us could grasp beforehand, and frankly still don’t quite grasp, I talked to the exec team of The Unlimited Gavel Club ahead of time knowing that some of them had life sentences for committing murder. I figured this would be difficult for everyone. 

Could Beth and these incarcerated men provide help and healing for one another? And if so, how? 

One of the guys asked if I thought it would be helpful to begin in prayer. 

My immediate “yes” was genuine as I have learned more about God and the Holy Spirit and struggle and forgiveness and human dignity from these Unlimited Men than I have from anyone else. 

I trust these men of The Unlimited Gavel Club. 

And I trust Beth. 

And I have learned to trust myself. 

And…I have learned to trust a mysterious God, knowing that he often works in ways that I cannot humanly comprehend. 

“Yes, please pray,” I said.  

Our Sons

Samuel and my son met in first grade. Samuel had just moved to Florida from Louisiana. In his first week as the new kid on the block, he and my son got in a heated argument about soccer. 

“Who cares about the rules of soccer!” Samuel declared. “In Louisiana we play football!” 

I still laugh about that today. 

I reached out to Beth after the teacher called to inform me of what had gone down at recess, and introduced myself as the mother of the one who got in trouble with her son. “And oh yeah, welcome to Florida.” 

Instead of shouting at me or saying, “Keep your kid away from mine!”, Beth instead, suggested something that forever sealed our friendship. 

“Why don’t we meet at a park with our sons and let them get to know one another outside of school.” 

What a concept. To do what we demand everyone else to do: to reach out, to build bridges, to dissolve divisions. I accepted Beth’s invitation. And from there, Samuel and my son became friends, as did Beth and me. 

When Samuel was killed in July 2017 after giving a hitchhiker a ride, I kept hearing… 

“In Louisiana we play football!” 
“In Louisiana we play football!”
“In Louisiana we play football!”

The hitchhiker, gripped by the unrelenting pull of substance abuse, was not in his right mind. 

Back to the Future

Beth shared her story that day. And then asked The Unlimited Men about theirs. She talked about forgiveness and how strongly she wanted Samuel’s killer to accept her forgiveness, an act that would provide a mother with some sense of sensibility—a life taken for a life redeemed and ultimately restored. 

The Unlimited Men provided details of their own lives, as well as prison life, that helped increase awareness of an incarcerated world that is so difficult to comprehend from the outside. And even though I believed this meeting was mostly about and for Beth and The Unlimited Men, somehow it was about and for Me as well. 

Could I extend forgiveness and see Samuel’s killer as a broken individual? Not to excuse, but to understand more of what I couldn’t understand before. And from a mother’s perspective, could I extend compassion, and even love? Could I do that? Could I forgive a broken son?

I hadn’t thought about that before. But I hadn’t wanted to think about that before. Until now.

The Holy Spirit was at work in that room off the library that day. We all felt it and were all open to being present in the mystery of its holiness. 

Angry at Forgiveness

I’ve been angry at Forgiveness, angry because I have felt that this word has been misused and abused in our holier-than-thou communities. That we’re supposed to forgive past wrongs as if they hadn’t happened. That if we are indeed holy ourselves, we could and should look and live beyond the past, even at the cost of not addressing the past. To proclaim forgiveness quickly, and once-and-for-all.

Our pasts are part of our foundations however. Just like a house needs a solid foundation for strength and stability, most especially during storms, we humans do as well. We cannot ignore damaged cracked broken foundations. We must address them as often as needed, so that we can indeed build better and more beautiful homes. So that we can embrace and truly believe in unlimited possibilities, moving forward. 

But what about forgiving those offenses that screech life to a halt and rip apart families? Offenses like childhood abuse such as mine and so many others, and offenses that take a life like those who killed my husband’s father when my husband was only two years old, leaving his mother a single parent of four? And what about the messed up man who took Samual’s life when Samual was only 19 years old? What about those offenses? Do we forgive them?

Yes…please…do.

for the Betterment of you, me, We

But to do so, we need the freedom to cry so deeply that our insides shatter and to scream so loudly that the world needs earphones and to curl up into a ball so tightly and tired, that we finally awaken from our cocoons to more fully embrace this broken world with our own brokenness. And new perspectives.

We need the freedom and support to go back and address the damage done. To rebuild and to restore in the aftermath of a storm. To then step into our present stories more fully, and to reframe our future stories…

for the betterment of you, me, We.

I forgive that broken man again (and again and again), who broke Samuel beyond his last breath. My heart genuinely goes out to him and his hellish world. And I pray he too can forgive himself, and that he can accept Beth’s forgiveness for taking her son so that for one life taken another is indeed redeemed; and that one day that broken man can RISE above his past and see and truly believe in future Unlimited possibilities. 

I pray (again and again and again).

***

From Beth’s Perspective

I thought a men’s prison would be the last place I’d want to find myself. Hundreds of blue-uniformed male inmates, just reminding me of the one person on earth I should most want to forget—the man who viciously murdered my 19-year-old son who was living and loving his life, and just trying to extend a hand of friendship? No thanks.

That’s probably what anyone on the outside would think. Keep a safe distance both physically and emotionally, avoid all the triggers, and in time the trauma and pain will fade, and you’ll eventually quit remembering the moment your world crashed and burned. And maybe you’ll also forget the moment that followed when you learned that someone intentionally caused it.  

But no, I’m on the inside of another type of prison with no chance of going back to the outside. I am a victim, so I will forever be connected to the one who victimized me. I can let bitterness and anger keep me locked up or I can choose my own freedom; and that’s what I choose—every day, over and over. 

I choose to forgive.  

Visiting Prison

Still, the day I walked into Tomoka Correctional Institution as an invited guest of my longtime friend Debby I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I knew the five men I would meet already knew I was the mother of a young victim, and I knew their lives had been radically changed by a Force greater than hate, anger, bitterness and unforgiveness. I knew that same power; and had let it change me, too. But what could I possibly say to them that would matter or make any difference to them? They had their own victims, their own stories, and their own pain.

Why would they want to hear and speak into mine?  

The Power of the Divine

And yet, they did—beautifully, wisely, and gently. They expressed deep sorrow for my pain as a mother, and without minimizing that, they also had compassion on the man who took my son’s life. One of them thanked me for extending unconditional forgiveness to him. All of them encouraged me to write to him in prison as often as I could, assuring me that my letters would have more impact on him than I could imagine. Tears flowed freely in that little room that morning, and I knew the power of divine love had settled on us like unexpected manna from heaven. There was enough for all of us, and there’ll be more than enough to spread well beyond the walls of Tomoka.

***

Thank you, Captain Brooks, for approving Beth’s and my visit to Tomoka Correctional Institution so we could openly talk with five of The Unlimited Men. It was most helpful and most healing for all. 

This is the first story in a new Project Unlimited series on Forgiveness. Each story is written by an inmate at Tomoka Correctional Institution, not for the purpose of justifying or excusing behaviors, but rather for educating and increasing awareness. You’re welcomed and encouraged to send questions for consideration for the Unlimited men to answer throughout this series, or for my friend Beth or me regarding this post. To learn more about Project Unlimited click here.