The meeting room was a dilapidated cement tomb, with barely enough room for all of the prisoners (17) to sit with Jacques, my friend and spiritual advisor, Bill Glenn, and I.  The prisoners, dressed in dark blue jeans and light blue denim shirts, started to fill the room.  As they came in, I introduced myself to each one, looked him in the eye, and shook his hand.  I was surprised to find they all had kind faces.  I told the men that I was surprised by how they looked. “I have to admit, I had an innate prejudice that murderers look mean and ugly.  But I would ask any of you on the street for help with a flat tire and directions.  I want you to know that.”

I slowly told my story of Christopher, including photos and personal tales, over the course of an hour.  As I spoke, I looked at each person’s face around the circle.