Go Get Lost In Some Written Words

As I write this letter on some scrap pieces of paper I found around our concrete compound, three members of the “black group” are directly behind me aggressively arguing about who won their high-stakes poker game. Two feet to my left are four high-energy “Hispanic group” members whispering about ways they’re going to sneak contraband into their cold prison cells. Over to my right are five “white group” members boldly bragging about the kilograms of drugs they sold prior to imprisonment.

I no longer judge or fear the broken men who surround me — I sincerely pity them. The disgusting pit of prison is feeding on their desperate and depressed souls. The monster of incarceration swallows generations of families whole and NEVER stops feasting.

Each and every day of my incarceration, I witness fathers, sons, brothers, and beloved friends fall into the deep, dark abyss of federal prison. Men with so much potential eventually concede to the all-consuming beast of incarceration. The soulless look that takes over their distressed faces is always the same. A blank, empty stare replaces their once hope-filled eyes. An angry demeanor fueled by depression dictates their daily activities. Worst of all, the conniving machine of prison convinces my broken brothers to stop thinking about and caring for their loved ones on the outside.

My stomach physically feels ill when I think about all the sad souls rotting behind razor-sharp barbed wire.

Please know, I’m not immune to the temptation of getting pulled into the all-consuming pit of prison. On a daily basis, I feel the weight of the cold concrete walls that surround me.

A few weeks ago, I was having one of those heavy, hard days inside this federal prison. All the feelings of being away from my warrior wife Noél and my four beautiful children were consuming my every thought. The dark pit of prison was crawling up, trying to pull me down with its cruel claws.

Whenever I feel this familiar heaviness, I CHOOSE to surrender my aching soul to prayer. I’ve learned the hard way there are certain scenarios you CAN’T simply “WILL” yourself out of.

While lifting up all my piercing pain and fuming frustration in prayer, I heard a gentle whisper say:

“Brett, go get lost in some written words.”

The moment those soft-spoken words hit my heart, I knew EXACTLY what I needed to do to survive that particularly painful day in prison.

I needed to go read, write, and reflect in my cold concrete cell.

When I read an inspirational book, my world becomes consumed by each intentional word printed in simple black ink. The drama of prison no longer exists when I’m learning from wise men and women who took the time to document and memorialize their stories. I’m so thankful I have access to wonderful and enlightening books in prison.

Writing these letters does NOT come easily to me. But, I love challenging myself to be “comfortable being uncomfortable” during my incarceration. Trying to string words into sentences, consecutive sentences into paragraphs, and bulky paragraphs into cohesive pages is one of the most challenging things I’ve ever attempted in my life.

I’m beyond grateful God brought writing and memorializing back into my life.

I dream of the day I’m back home with Noél, Cambria, Willow, Lula, and Zion, laughing about all these “letters from prison.” Sharing stories sustains me when the pain of prison tries to push me to the ground.

Every morning, I intentionally wake up at 4am to reflect on the words I’m writing and any life-changing book I recently consumed. 4am to 5am is by far my favorite time in prison. I’m blessed to have that sacred hour alone with my thoughts and my Father in heaven.

My reflection time is always abruptly interrupted by correctional officers counting me in my cell at 5am on the dot.

I guess what I’m really trying to say in this letter is:

Getting lost in some written words is literally saving me from falling into the deep, dark pit of federal prison.

I personally believe God guided me to a place with nothing so I could finally receive everything I ever needed.

Written words have saved this broken man’s life. And I’m deeply grateful for God’s mercy and guidance toward these gifts.

I promise to always share my prison stories with all of you — just in case someday YOU need to get lost in some written words.

Love all of you,
Brett
(A man grateful for the written word)

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A Note From Noél

It’s actually been a little while since I’ve been able to get one of Brett’s letters posted here. Life has not slowed down for us — if anything, it feels like it has only intensified.

Attempting to consistently communicate with my husband in federal prison is challenging to say the least. Because Brett was sent to a facility over 2,000 miles away, I’ve only been able to visit him in person once since he self-surrendered almost a year ago. One visit. In twelve months.

Our family’s entire ability to share life together now revolves around a single 15-minute phone call a day and these handwritten letters from Brett.

That’s it.

No spontaneous hugs.
No sitting on the couch together.
No late-night talks in the kitchen.
Just fifteen minutes… and ink on paper.

Without the power of the written word, Cambria, Willow, Lula, Zion, and I would be completely cut off from our favorite person in the world.

This past Sunday we celebrated our Zion boy’s 5th birthday. His very first birthday without his dad.

Brett wrote him the most beautiful letter — the kind that makes your chest tighten before you even finish reading it. Since Sunday, Zion has asked me to read that letter to him every single night before bed. He clings to those words.

And if I’m being honest… so do I.

But no matter how beautiful the letter is, our hearts still ache that our person is not physically here on these momentous days.

Fun fact about our family — all of our birthdays fall within the first six months of the year. Brett starts it out in January. Zion in February. I’m next in March. Then the girls — April, May, and June.

It’s one celebration after another.

And these next few months are hard.

Because all we would ever want for every single one of those birthdays… is for Brett to be home.

That is our wish.
And more than that, it is our continuous prayer.

We are coming up on a full year since Brett walked out of our home and surrendered to FMC. I kid you not… I cannot believe I am still standing.

A YEAR.

The day he left, I truly did not know if I could survive a week without him. I didn’t know how I would breathe. I didn’t know how I would hold our babies together while I was falling apart inside.

But here we are.

Still standing.
Still breathing.
Still taking it one step at a time.

I would love to tell you that this road has gotten easier… but if I’m being honest, it has only gotten harder. I have been tested in every single area of our lives — emotionally, spiritually, financially, physically. I am still fighting every single day to stabilize our family.

The financial burdens alone have brought me to my knees more times than I can count. There have been nights I’ve laid awake staring at the ceiling wondering how I am going to keep carrying this weight.

But through it all — God continues to provide.

Not always how I expect.
Not always on my timeline.
But He provides.

And I need to say this clearly:

I would not be standing without all of you.

Those of you who have supported us financially.
Those of you who have prayed.
Those of you who have sent love and encouragement.
Those of you who have reminded me I am not alone.

You have kept me going on days I felt like I had nothing left.

You have helped light the fire inside of me to continue this fight — not only to get Brett home — but to come out the other end of this refined by fire and stronger than I ever imagined possible.

This PROUD PRISON WIFE is so thankful Brett CHOSE to “get lost in some written words.”

Because when he writes, he comes home to us in a way nothing else can replicate.

Brett’s one-of-a-kind prison stories bring him back into our home and into our hearts. Each letter allows us to feel connected during his lengthy incarceration. They are not just updates — they are lifelines.

There are nights when I sit at our table after the kids are asleep, holding his pages in my hands, and I can almost feel him sitting across from me.

The written word has become sacred in this season.

I want to sincerely thank you for allowing me the honor of sharing our family’s unique prison journey with you through Brett’s stories. Truly, my favorite “to do” during the week is preparing to post my husband’s extraordinary prison letters for all of you to see.

Every single time I press publish, something shifts.

I know that in that moment, all of us are able to “get lost in some written words” together.

And sometimes… that is what saves you.

We are still standing.
And we are NOT done fighting.

With so much thankfulness,
Noél
(A wife who loves to publish and share her husband’s written words from federal prison)