Bad things happen to good people. Life shows up at your door and either your prepared or your not. Good hard working people have to prepare for difficult times. Behind the Glass is the first in a series of books about a mans journey through an unjust legal system. His tools for spiritual development and his preperations for a possible long prison term.

BEHIND THE GLASS

BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLEBy Charlie B. Mayson

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Dr. Charlie B. Mayson
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-1344-2

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS........................................................viiPREFACE................................................................ixChapter 1. Ain't Life Great............................................1Chapter 2. A New Ministry..............................................9Chapter 3. You Look Like You Have Seen a Ghost!........................16Chapter 4. I Gotta Call Someone!.......................................24Chapter 5. Man I Hate Lawyers..........................................33Chapter 6. You Know Who I Am, Right?...................................42Chapter 7. Honey, I'm Going to Jail....................................51Chapter 8. Hey, I'm Going to My Cell Now!..............................58Chapter 9. This Orange Jumpsuit is Not Flattering!.....................67Chapter 10. You the Preacher We Heard About?...........................75Chapter 11. It's Time to See the Judge.................................84Chapter 12. Just Follow the Man in Front of You!.......................93Chapter 13. If You Don't Like It Here, Make Bond!......................102Chapter 14. Bail Granted!..............................................111Chapter 15. Man, Am I Glad to Be Out!..................................120Chapter 16. The Two New Ladies in My Life..............................129Chapter 17. How Did I Get Here?........................................139Chapter 18. Showers in Jail............................................147Chapter 19. Emotional Rollercoaster....................................156Chapter 20. Hey, That's My Wife!.......................................165Chapter 21. Thank God for Family, Friends, and AA......................174Chapter 22. Behind the Glass...........................................183Chapter 23. Here Comes the Judge!......................................193Chapter 24. My Name Is V!..............................................203Chapter 25. Filling a Flight Plan......................................212Chapter 26. Mistrial!..................................................221Chapter 27. All Rise, the Court Is Now in Session!.....................234Chapter 28. Please State Your Name for the Court.......................247Chapter 29. Has the Jury Reached a Verdict?............................256SUMMARY OF SCRIPTURE...................................................265

Chapter One

AIN'T LIFE GREAT

It is a warm summer day in southeast Virginia. The sun has not begun to get real hot and the spring breeze is working lazily through the countryside. The early spring rains have done their job, so the summer grass is green and growing rapidly. The hummingbirds are back. There are just five so far, but they are busy hovering at the feeder. They are marvels of compact muscle structure. They come to the feeder in shifts, one eating while others guard or watch overhead. The bird feeders are teaming with many varieties of birds indigenous to this part of the world. The golden finches hog the feeder with the thistle. Actually, the thistle is like the gourmet of birdseed, and once the finches leave, others fly in for a bite. The bluebirds, doves, cardinals, crows, and the rest of the birds indigenous to the area fly to and from the feeder with the low-budget birdseed in their beaks.

The grass has been recently cut and still looks good. Keeping up with the grass is a chore. I like the exercise so I push it instead of using the riding mower. There is an acre to cut, so I rotate the front and back yards each week. This time of year it is tough to keep up with it, but I try not to get too anal about it. Of course that is my nature at times, but I am learning to control those tendencies. I'll speak to my obsessive compulsive tendencies later, I promise. I made up my mind that getting the "yard of the month" award was not a goal, but I did want it to be neat. So, with a lawnmower and lots of Roundup to kill the weeds, I manage to keep from getting kicked out of the neighborhood.

The neighborhood is deep in Sussex County, about ten miles southeast of the courthouse and six miles east of I-95. The houses sit on five- to seven-acre lots with lots of road frontage. There must have been a land auction within the last several years, because new home-starts on these parcels are popping up quickly. Gravel driveways, well pumps, and septic tanks dot the landscape. No one actually cares if you cut your grass, and if you have a problem with theirs, they will be more than glad to let you finely manicure their yard.

The doors on our trailer home are open, and the breeze fills the house. The curtains on the windows are gently flapping in the breeze. The pollen has finally blown off the places inside that we forgot to dust. The wind tunnel we set up this time of year to cool the trailer has been very effective. It is great not to have to run the air conditioning during this time of the year. The wash is hung on the back porch; I never did like to "air my dirty laundry." Speaking of dirty laundry, a clothesline is great until you are mowing grass. It's amazing how, when you're deep in thought, those lines can become hazardous, or so I am told! There is just something strange about your boxers hanging around for the world to see. Anyway, the laundry is drying out of view of the neighbors, and Sheila, my new wife, is cooking supper.

Please do not jump to the conclusion that I feel like it's her job to cook. I am not the hunter-gatherer-type male where I just bring home the bacon and then should be allowed to do nothing else within the home. All jobs within the house are to be shared; supporting each other is the name of the game, not duty assignments. Again, Sheila actually likes to cook and when she has time does a great job. To tell the truth, even when she is rushed, she does a great job, certainly better than what I normally turn out. With no kids in the house dinner is simple and will probably be consumed in front of the TV. We have a kitchen table, but it tends to be the collection place for all manner of items, so eating on it happens only rarely.

Having satellite TV with the option to record shows when you cannot actually be there to watch them is truly a gift from God. I just love technology. Don't you? The old antenna was fun because it beat the "rabbit ears" we'd become accustomed to. The fun of going outside and moving the antenna on its pole around to find better reception was great, then! Now, we are blessed to have greater technology, where we can get hundreds of channels, still very few good things to watch, but they are available. Of course watching too much TV probably violates a commandment or two of God's, but the technology is still wonderful.

Sheila and I were married back in April of 2008. My first two marriages ended in divorce, so you would think I would swear off the whole institution. Actually I did, yet through God's grace and patience, I ended up marrying a lady from Buffalo, New York. Go figure, me from South Carolina and still stinging from the war and all. It had been eight years since my last wife left me; actually, it was a mutually agreeable move. I took the time to see what part I played in those breakups, and God helped me move forward socially, spiritually, and mentally to the point where I was able to share my life like never before.

Being single and pastoring a rural church had its challenges, I would not recommend it to anyone I cared about. I say this now, because being single plays a big part in this saga. The perception the townspeople have of a young, energetic, outgoing single man, pastor or not, was, "If he is visiting or talking to any lady, there must be a tale to tell." Rumors and malicious gossip, passed around a small community, is devastating, even years later. To continue, finally, God saw I was ready and sent the exact person I needed into my life. While minding my own business, while working at a small country store near the Sussex County courthouse, God sent the lady to me that He had chosen to make my life complete. Thank you, God, great job! The value of waiting for God to lead in this area goes without saying and is a topic for another time or book maybe!

Sheila was working for a church out of northern Virginia at the Christian Retreat Center they owned. She was the onsite manager. She was tasked to do a lot of things, and one of them was to advertise their existence in the community. She was passing out flyers one day and stopped by the store. It was hot; she was tired and really did not want to make the trip to the courthouse. She, being a fine, obedient Christian lady, followed God's prompting. She came around the corner from where she parked her car and saw me sitting on the bench outside with several other men. We looked like a smorgasbord of fine male specimens of the local culture. That may not be the way she tells it, but anyway, we began to talk and the rest they say, is history. The spiritual director and in-house camp supervisor position did not work out, so she went back to her career as a Registered Nurse working in Petersburg, Virginia, at the local mental hospital. I think that was one of God's messages to me. I always believed He sent her to me because of her availability to a psych facility. Anyway, we were married in April after a year courtship, and the lucky girl came to live in my trailer home.

This trailer belongs to one of my church members. This sweet little lady had moved back to Richmond with her son to be closer to the rest of her family. She was worried about renting it to someone and did not want to sell it or her land. She asked me if I would live in it and gave me a great deal. Since my church was paying my rent, I cleared it with them and moved out of the one-bedroom garage apartment they had been renting for me. This trailer was like the Taj Mahal to me. Three bedrooms, two baths, washer, dryer, and dishwasher was more room than I had had in three years. This domicile had a front porch and a screened-in back porch. There was plenty of room and plenty of very affordable land; thank you God for delivering me.

Life was great in the country, pastoring my rural country church and living in a trailer with my new wife. The church I was pastoring at the time had been started by a group of us who left a local Southern Baptist Church four years earlier. We were renting the local Seventh Day Adventist Church. It really worked out great; they worshiped in it on Saturday and we worshiped in it on Sunday. The business end worked well, and many great relations were built over the years. A lot of cross- cultural learning took place on both sides. The rent was affordable, and the building kept us warm, safe, and dry on Sundays.

The reason a pastor leaves a church are numerous, so I will not get into it during this writing. Suffice it to say my experience with my first church was horrible. I was treated viciously, my name was trashed, my character was constantly being questioned, and the authority God gave me as the pastor was being undermined, so I had no choice but to leave. The church was actually split at this time, but per Baptist tradition, people who had not darkened the door in years were recruited in order to vote me out. There were a small number of malcontents and they swayed a larger number in the process. Those few would have liked it if I'd killed myself or maybe just left the state, because I apparently was what was wrong with the church, the state, and even the county, go figure their insane logic. This time was brutal and painful; however, I did not feel God's leading in any of those two aforementioned choices, so a group of us started a nondenominational church just down the road. My treatment by that church is important to the story so I will get back to it in a later chapter.

In Paul's Letter to the Philippians, 4:7, he talks about "the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding." The trials with the other church, my ex-wives, and my struggle with alcoholism seem so far away. Sitting on that porch with Sheila that nice summer evening I truly understood what Paul was talking about. Sure there was "stuff" going in the world, the state of Virginia, and the county of Sussex, but there was peace on my section of Bell Road. Bills were paid, the start of the new church was going well, the move to the Methodist Church was going well, and even being supervised by a woman was just great, sorry shameful old Southern Baptist bias! Sheila and my health were good; our children were not being held captive in a foreign land or local jail.

"Isn't life great," Sheila said as we watched the hummingbirds dart here and there! "It may be just a trailer in the country, but its home," she said contently.

"If it was to get any better I would not know how to handle it," I replied.

We both have been through failed marriages, loss of jobs, and made plenty of bad choices as young adults. Now it felt like we arrived and God blessed us beyond anything we could expect. Yes, it's simple and not exactly what we would have thought of in our earlier years as a setting of peace. Nevertheless we were at peace with God, our callings, and each other.

"I obviously do not know what tomorrow will bring," Sheila exclaimed, "but today is just wonderful! Maybe I should not say it out loud because that's when we will get jinxed."

"Well, Job told his wife that he could not accept good from God without accepting the bad," I said. "But you are right, our stars do seem to be aligned and life is peaceful. It sure beats the way I used to live, just ripping and running, not caring about anyone or anything, including myself."

"You and me both," said Sheila. "I never want to get caught up making those kind of decisions for myself again."

"One day at a time is the key! We just have to keep making the next right choice. Our twelve-step program has taught us both well," I said. "Just think, without God and sobriety we would still be chasing destruction. We never have to go back to that and we do not have to let any person, place, or thing take us there!"

"I still have a hard time believing God allowed me to find happiness in marriage! I never thought I could find a man who could be gentle and strong while allowing God to lead him completely. I figured I was destined to live in a convent and have to start hitting kids with rulers. Not a bad calling but one I want to avoid," Sheila exclaimed. "Thanks for letting me catch you, and please do not re-gift me."

"No problem! I have had my fill of being re-gifted and promise to let you keep hopping home to Bell Road. Thank you for not making marriage painful. Who knew it could be enjoyable?"

In life there seems to be calm before the storm. Our life was not perfect, but we were at peace. We felt like we were looking with gratitude at the things God has allowed us to obtain as well as for the spiritual progress He was enabling us to make. We felt like we were in the correct callings going in the direction God had indicated for our lives. In short, we felt like God was the center of our lives and He was certainly driving the bus we were on. We were content to allow Him to lead and shuttered at the idea of taking the controls from Him.

Oh, how quickly life changes! Oh, what a difference a day makes! In retrospect it is clear to me why God wants us to live one day at a time. If we knew what was in store for our futures, we would screw it up by trying to get to it quickly, or we would run like mad!

The storm clouds were gathering, and we did not know it. A trial of biblical proportion was formulating like a midsummer thunderstorm. Our faith and belief system were soon to be tested beyond anything either one of had encountered before.

But for now, ain't life great!

Chapter Two

A NEW MINISTRY

In Matthew 25:40, Jesus said, "Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me." This verse has always meant a lot to me. Growing up in a military family with plenty, we were always taught to help those around us. What we had we needed to share with those who did not have as much. As I grew I never forgot this lesson and always looked for ways to use what I had to help others.

It is partially because of my attachment to this verse that I entered into the ministry in the first place. The ministry, in my humble opinion, is where this passage really gets its legs, begins to go from the written Word, and moves into action. This verse and the fact I really could not hold a real job is truly why I pursued a career in the ministry, LOL! Anyway, meeting the spiritual needs of people is, I feel, my strong point-understanding their needs and then developing relationships with them, so eventually I would be given the privilege to serve their needs somewhere down the line.

After establishing my career in the ministry I felt drawn by this verse again. Again, I felt it was speaking loudly to me, because I believe it was speaking to me of God's plans for my future. I began to believe God wanted me to work with those who were struggling with addictions, like me. These folks are not necessarily "the least of these my brothers"; they are, however, a section of the population that established traditional churches really did not understand.

Those who suffer from addiction carry a lot of guilt and shame. They do not feel comfortable entering in the doors of established denominational churches. They do not feel spiritual enough; they do not feel they know the language, the rituals, or the traditions. They do not feel they are socially or economically equal with those in established churches. They hold tremendous self-esteem issues, as well as issues feeling judged by folks who do not understand their struggle. Living out in the country there is a lot of space, and contact with those in recovery was limited. The church I pastured deep in Sussex County was not accessible to the very people I felt God wanted me to reach out to. I had attempted to direct those in recovery interested in attending a nondenominational church down in Yale, Virginia, but the logistics involved in getting out to the country appeared to be too great.

So the idea of moving to the city and starting a ministry for those in addictions recovery started formulating in my mind. I had already become known in the recovery community in Petersburg through regularly attending meetings of a twelve-step program in the area. Both Sheila and I felt God wanted to use us in some kind of ministry to those in recovery in the area we were familiar with. We loved the country but knew the city was calling us. We felt torn because we knew the members of our country church loved us and would be heartbroken if we left. Who would pastor them? Could they keep that small nondenominational church running after we left? Were we actually being called or were we just tired of driving to the city for meetings and for Sheila's work? Many questions arose as we started to seek God's guidance in this matter. Along with the questions came the apprehension of stepping outside the box and the real fear of failure.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from BEHIND THE GLASSby Charlie B. Mayson Copyright © 2010 by Dr. Charlie B. Mayson. Excerpted by permission.
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