I remember the night I got out of prison like it was yesterday. I had been locked up for six and a half years on a twelve-year sentence. It was my first night out, and I felt anxious as I rode the L’ to Evanston. I didn’t know what to expect. I was relaxed about meeting new people, but in this situation, I would be meeting 200 members of the Reba Place Fellowship. Mary had been kind enough to draw me a neighborhood map and pointed out which houses and apartment buildings the Fellowship owned. I left the L’ at Main Street and followed Mary’s map to 711 Monroe. When I climbed the first flight of stairs, the door was open to the household. I walked in and announced, “Well, here I am.” Maurine was in the kitchen preparing food for the common meal. She welcomed me warmly and showed me around. I was grateful to be able to spend the evening and the weekend there until 9 p.m. on Sunday when I had to be back at the halfway house by 10 p.m.

I was grateful for Mary’s recommendation of Reba Place Fellowship. She had mentioned that it would be an excellent place for me as a released prisoner, and I was curious to learn more about it. After arriving at the household on Monroe Street, I was warmly welcomed by Maurine and felt relieved to have a place to stay for the evening and the weekend. Staying at Reba would give me additional time to search for employment without the added stress of finding a place to live, clothes, and food. It was a relief to have a safe and supportive place to stay, especially considering the challenges many released prisoners face upon reentry into society.

I enjoyed staying with the God’s Promises household within Reba Place Fellowship’s communal structure. They were one of about 15 small groups that comprised families where they all lived together either in a house or a group of apartments. They all shared everything in common and lived frugally, sharing extensively amongst themselves. Despite the structure, God depended much on meeting everyone’s needs.

Every day, I would get up early and join the small group for devotions before searching for a job. Fortunately, I worked with Just Builders, where I helped rehab a former garage that would eventually become our House of Worship. My pay was equal to everyone else’s, and I was treated like a fellowship member concerning my housing, clothing, and food. Reba Place Fellowship provided me with more support and resources than any halfway house could, and I am highly grateful for their assistance.

Our dinners in the household were the one time in the day that brought us all together. After our meals, we would continue sharing our day’s happenings or whatever subject happened to capture our attention. We would also continue eating bread and jelly should our meal need to fill more. On one particular occasion, the issue was how we came to Reba.; On that day, God’s calling us to Reba was usually the typical response. As we circled the table, divulging the reason and happenstances that brought us together, Lindy Combs showed frankness that caught everyone unaware. God had called her here, but she didn’t want to be here. I followed her lead and said, “I didn’t want to be here either, but I probably needed to be.” Laughter lightened the mood and bonded Lindy and me as friends from then on. I walked her home that night as she did not live in the house like others.

Nancy Sprague called me one night and asked if I would escort her sister Virginia down to where she lived on Bryn Mawr, a not-to-safe area at the time in Chicago. I guessed it was that I was a stickler, for if a woman was going home at night, I would insist on walking them home. I obliged Nancy’s request and subsequently became friends with them both. When Cindy Baker was moving from Pennsylvania on the Greyhound Bus, again, I was requested to pick her up as she was arriving late at night. I didn’t fully understand I wasn’t going to be given a car to do so but would travel on the L’ Cindy had quite a bit of luggage and boxes, and it took quite an effort on both of our parts to carry everything from the bus station to the L and the walk from the Main Street L to the house. Neither of us can look back at that adventure and laugh about it.

There was one aspect of household life that I needed to acclimate to Saturday morning work detail. I always said I could take orders, but maybe that was when I had to. I made myself available for every move that happened. And believe me, they moved a lot at Reba. They moved from one apartment to another, to a house, or from one house to a house. A Reba move was one to be admired. There were always approximately 40 people on the move. There were two people from each small group, and then the small group moved. 15 small groups and at least another 10 from that person’s small group. I like physical activity a lot more than cleaning. I went to the one on Davis if asked to take the mail to the post office. If I were in the house on Saturday mornings, I would invariably play with the kids. Maureen would call from an adjoining room and ask Bjorn, Lorraine, and Nathan, “Are you doing what you’re supposed to be doing? I would quietly laugh and slink away. To their credit, they never gave me up and said John was causing them to be horse-playing. Which I was, of course. I remember the saying of the Mafioso figure in Springfield who, when asked why he supported raising funds for a burned-down rec center for underprivileged kids, said, “Because children have never hurt me.” Tom Taylor, who lived across the street from God’s Promises, would drive me to my job in Northbrook. I often went over to his house before it was time for us to leave. TJ,. Cary, Naomi, and Melissa would not yet be out of bed, but I’d get them to laugh before we left. The Golden children of Roger and Alice, Peter Susy, and Kristen had visited me at the MCC with their children. I grew quite fond of them. Roger and Alice came down once without the children, and I asked, “Where are the children?” “We weren’t sure if you wanted them to come?” I told them that I loved for them to come. One of the unnatural aspects of life in prison is the absence of a baby’s cry and the laughter of little children.
My transition into society was anything but smooth. Dennis and Maurine Chesley helped tremendously in guiding me through those first few months.
Dennis and Maurine were my guides through those perilous waters of reentry. They may not have realized how important they were. As fellowship people, they understood and lived out the practice of discerning what was good. They continued that practice with me, counseling me on the various decisions I was making, buying a car, purchasing clothes, interviewing for jobs, and using my free time. Sounds intrusive, I know; trust me, I benefited from it because it showed they cared. Had they been inattentive, I would have suffered from it.
Family atmosphere, Prayer times, loving environment.
Maybe I need to back up and focus on where Reba fits God’s Plan for my life. That is what Mom Carter had said, even before I accepted Christ as my Saviour. I was cognizant of His plan every step of the way. Sometimes, I didn’t understand how what was transpiring fit into His plan or where I wondered how it fit, but it worked all right. After 6 ½ years, I was leaving prison with $22 and a box of books. No marketable skills and no prospects for employment. Add to that, there is no place to go. I was expected to find a place to stay, get a job, and fend for myself financially, all simultaneously, without violating the law. The Parole Board’s disclaimer on my release was, “There is no reasonable probability that you will live at liberty without violating the law.”
At the time of my release, there was a story about a man close to my age who asked for a life sentence when standing before the judge. His crime did not call for anything close to a life sentence, and the judge asked him, “Why do you want me to sentence you to a life sentence?” Maurice said: “I have been in prison all my life; every time I get out of prison, I think I will make it, but I don’t. Outside of every prison, there is a big black hole, and when you step out of that prison, you fall right into it, and it spits you back out into prison. The only way you can get across that hole is if somebody on the other side is waiting to pull you over. And there has never been anybody for me.”
Maurice may as well have been talking for me because I felt the validity of his statement in my bones. Reba Place Fellowship stood on the other side, waiting to help me across. Whether they knew it or not, Reba Place was part of God’s Plan for my life. Signed, sealed, and delivered by God’s own hand.

Memories of John Thomson by Maurine Chesley

Two memories stand out to me. We’re in the kitchen, just the 2 of us in the house. John’s drying dishes, and I’m washing. I suddenly realize he’s drying a knife.
I have a 5-year-old boy in the house – should I be afraid? Should I be frightened?? I don’t even know why he’s been institutionalized for over half his 34 years.
This was just a momentary thought because the reality was that God had anointed all of us in the God’s Promises Household for such a time as this. None of us ever experienced fear or even curiosity about his past. It was evident that God had transformed John and made him a new creation. God simply wanted to use us to further the transformation in helping him transition from institution to “normal” family and community life.
One of John’s fears was that someone would surprise him from behind, and he would Instinctively turn around and punch them. It finally did happen. He was sleeping on the couch, and our 5-year-old startled him by entering the room. He jumped up and took a swing at Nathan. Thankfully, no injury was incurred, but it scared both of them.

Family: My experience of the family was beyond dysfunctional. It may have been typical for someone like me who has spent half his life in prison, but it left me very little to compare to what God’s Promises had to offer. I cannot explain why I and not my siblings reacted the way I did to the environment my parents had thrown me in. We all had an alcoholic, abusive father and the same neglect and lack of a loving family. To some degree, most of us had been sent away to live individually with other family members when my mother couldn’t support us. I was. However, the only one sent away to what amounted to an orphanage, albeit a military one.
Dennis: John had been living in our household, my wife and I, 3 children, and 4 single women for a short period. The lifestyle of Love, peace, and sharing (all due to the presence of Jesus) was so foreign to John’s experience that he told us that he had to leave because he could not take the social interaction. He was returning to his old haunts where he could be more comfortable. We knew that the environment would not be healthy for John. As he left, my wife and I told him our door was always open if he decided to return. In a short time, John did decide to return to us so the transformation process could continue in this “strange” context of an extended Christian family.
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Prison life was something you adapted to. Through trial and error, you learned how to get along with a bit of suffering and pain thrown in for good measure. I was first sent to an institution when I was 9 years old. It was a military school and not a prison. Still, I dare say I was beaten by the authorities more so at the military School than in the boys’ School, from Boys’ School through Reform School, on up the ladder until finally prison, and then one after the other. I lost count after a while, and if you include the various jails along the way, maybe a dozen. Throughout my prison experience, I got in a lot of trouble. The flip side of that statement is that I was a troublemaker. Summed up, I didn’t care. Not caring made it easier to do time because what punishment could they render upon me where I did care, none.
I was tired when I arrived at the U.S. Medical Center for Prisoners (1972). I was only 26, but I was tired of doing time. A particular adrenalin rush goes along with doing time, but for me, that was gone. I was tired of keeping up this persona I had built for myself that required a lot of energy, the energy I no longer had.
I was sent to the Medical Center for psychiatric observation. Were it not for the ploy I had used in court back in St. Louis, I would not even have been here. After initially pleading guilty, the judge set my sentencing date for September 7. September 7 is my birthday. In a last-ditch effort to show I had some life left, I rebelled at the thought of being sentenced on my birthday. Time to flip the switch, as they say. I let my rap partner know that I was not accepting this. We agreed to go to court and change our plea to not guilty because of insanity. Looking back, I can’t believe the court accepted our change of plea because I don’t think they had to. They could have easily said, No, you are just trying to manipulate the courts, and they would have been right. My rap partner was the first to be sent down to Springfield, Mo., while I wasted time in the St. Louis City Jail. Three months later, he came back found to be sane and sentenced to 15 years. I had nothing to do with his sentencing. Shortly after that, I was sent to the Medical Center for Federal Prisoners to begin my three months of observation.
I did have a plausible reason for being evaluated. I had been in prison all my life. Prison life itself had to be considered abnormal, yet to me, it was normal. What was abnormal was trying to live in society, which I wasn’t very successful at doing. None of my crimes were necessary by any stretch of the imagination. I had larceny in my heart, pure and simple.
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“John had spent half his life with men and boys. The authorities were all men and not very nice. Our home was just right for John. Dennis, my husband, was the only man in our household. He was quiet and reserved, nothing like the guards he’d been used to. Dennis was no threat to him at all. There were 4 other young women beside me. Even though all the women were good-looking with great personalities, they became the female friends he’d never had.” Maurine
“My first memory was visiting John in the Chicago prison for Christmas. Hearing from Mary (my roommate before I was married) the story of his conversion and his positive prison contributions in the church choir, Bible studies, and prison newspaper affirmed that his conversion was genuine. I trusted Mary’s discernment. When she asked if we would let him be released from prison to our household, we eagerly said yes.
We spent a night vigil praying that they would release him to us after switching their decision, saying he was incorrigible and didn’t want to inflict him on society since he’d never been out for more than 3 months. They did, in fact, give him that second chance since, this time, he wouldn’t be going back to his family and old friends but to our home. It was easy to love John and to walk this new journey with him. John’s time with us has remained one of the high points of my life – to see firsthand a man transformed and end up marrying my best friend – what more could I ask for.”
Nathan: I was often warned never to go in the room when John slept. I was almost 6 and had a mind of my own. I got up while everyone was sleeping, entered the room, and touched John’s toes. He instinctively kicked me so hard that I flew across the room. I got a bloody nose – John felt horrible and thought he’d be kicked out of our home. For years, I felt terrible because I knew it was my fault – I had been warned and disobeyed. I’ve been in many fights since then and even been a bouncer, but I don’t think I’ve ever been hit that hard. Through these past 35 years, I’ve grown to deeply respect and love John and his wife. Obviously, there never was another physical interchange – I learned my lesson. Love and acceptance did triumph over fear.
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I sat on the side of the bed, stunned; what had I done? I didn’t have many belongings as I looked around the room, thinking I should probably pack my stuff and prepare to leave. There is no way they can allow me to continue living here. What other quirks or instinctive responses does he have that we don’t know about. How do I face Dennis and Maurine, who opened their home to me? The tension was mounting, and I had to go downstairs and explain what had happened. Prisons are violent; it’s the nature of the beast, and you have to survive. Over the years, I grew instinctive in my surroundings; there wasn’t time to sort out ‘fight or flight responses when your life hung in the balance. My first response to being startled is to swing or kick; we’ll do the sorting out later. I, nor Dennis and Maurine, recall the conversation that occurred when I addressed them downstairs. I am sure God’s Grace covered the experience, but it was more than that. God had covered me through the 6 ½ years in prison, and not everything I did after accepting Christ was right, but God would not let me go. He wasn’t giving me back to the Devil or allowing the Devil to have me. Nathan and I resumed our friendship and never mentioned it in the household again.
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The more you were to know about adjusting to life in the ‘free world,’ the more you would appreciate what Reba Place Fellowship afforded me. “You cannot train a man for freedom while living in captivity.” I was shocked when I heard a preacher denounce that bit of wisdom and almost wondered if he was directing it at me. Prison life is, as I suggested before, one you adapt to. First and foremost, you want to survive. Secondarily, you want to have a smooth time. If prison life has become your way of life for a lengthy time, then when you are released into society, you will be faced with enumerable situations that you haven’t had to deal with for quite some time, if ever. There are very few fundamental decisions for you to make in prison. They’ll tell you when to go to bed and get up; they’ll let you know when to go to work, where to go to work, and when to return to your cell. They’ll count your morning, noon, night, and even throughout the night when you’re asleep. They’ll give you what to wear and what to eat, and if you end up solitary, you won’t eat. They’ll decide who your cellmate is or how many cellmates you’ll live with. They will control most aspects of your life, not for a week or a month, but for years.
And now you’re free, with $22 and a box of books. The attitude and character you possessed that took you to prison better not be the attitude and character you return to society with. You will be doomed from the outset. But too often, that is precisely the case that a man or woman faces when they return. Even a person who has given his life to Christ, changed in his heart, and has lived a successful life in prison is not immune to the same pressures and frustrations of hopelessness that convicts undoubtedly experience when released.
Reba gave me a home, a source of clothing and food, and a place to look for work without worrying about paying rent. They also gave me a family who openly expressed their Love and concern for me. They trusted me with their children and among the women in the household. God may have given them trust in me, but did I trust myself. Raise your hand when you see the red flag waving.
I may highlight what Reba Place enabled in my life. It has been quoted often that you cannot change the spots on a leopard. Earlier, I said you cannot train a man for freedom in captivity. On the whole, both statements are accurate. Man can’t substantively change himself from who he is. But what I heard from Mary is that God could change my life. It was that premise that I addressed when I prayed to God. “If what she (being Mary), the prison school teacher) said was true: You can change my life, then I accept you as my Savior.” I had always equated the change God had wrought in my life as His taking out my stony heart and giving me a spirit of Love. And that was true, but he did a whole lot more that, at the time, went unnoticed by me.
I mentioned earlier that I was a troublemaker in almost every prison, I had been in up to this point. My record would bear this out as I spent countless days and weeks in the “hole.” Now, were it only that having accepted Christ as my Saviour, I stopped my trouble-making ways, it would have been enough to believe that God had changed me. But His change did not stop there.
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Lindy’s Memories of John Thomson

My recollections may be different from the facts. I go by what a memory feels more than what may have happened. However, what I have to say is very true to my heart.

(John, feel free to use any, all, or none of what I have to say! It will be more like ramblings…)

Labor Day, September 1977, I embarked (from my home in San Francisco) on a 4-month Greyhound Bus trip around the United States. Two months before that, I had written to every person I knew in the U.S. and several Christian communities and asked if I could visit them for 3 days. It was to be a spiritual journey: Having grown up a P.K. (preacher’s kid), I wanted to talk to other people about what they believed in. I wanted to hear more stories; I wanted more options.

Along with formulating this plan to travel around the U.S. by bus, I risked an experiment (that would affect me for the rest of my life): I decided to “give my life to God” for six months. I told him I would go wherever he wanted me to and stay wherever he wanted me to.

One of the Christian communities I had written about visiting was Reba Place Fellowship (“Reba”) in Evanston, IL. They welcomed a visit, so during the Fall of 1977, I spent a week there, during which time I had several significant conversations.

To make a long story short (!), I moved to Reba the following Spring, on March 11, 1978. I will never forget the date. I was 24 years old. I did it to honor my earlier “promise” to God. I genuinely felt that God was “calling” me to move there.

There was a glitch, however: I DID NOT WANT TO MOVE TO REBA. Several things had occurred in the meantime that made California seem much more appealing, such as a romantic relationship with a wonderful Christian man living in a community there. However, I moved to Reba because I thought I HAD to; I didn’t feel I had a choice. (I feared God would abandon me if I put MY wants above HIS). (As John will attest: I never let anyone at Reba forget my unhappiness about moving there, especially that first year….)

Now enters John Thomson into my life experience. We arrived at Reba about the same time: He from prison, me from California. We ended up in the same small group called “God’s Promises.” It was a group consisting of a married couple (the leaders of the group), five single women, and one single man, John. One might think that that was not a good idea – a single man who’d spent many years in prison put into a small group mainly consisting of younger single women??? It turned out, however, to be miraculously BRILLIANT and an incredible GIFT to everyone involved.

FROM THE GET-GO, John was a beloved and trusted friend to all of us in the group. Never once did I ever have fear or concern or doubt about him. He was caring and protective and always the gentleman. (He also has a great laugh and, best of all, the humble ability to laugh at himself). He became to me the big brother I never had. (I have a big brother who never treated me as well as John did).

This is one of many memories I have of John. At this particular time in the Reba neighborhood (where we all lived), some crimes were committed against women, so we had been advised to be careful after dark and not to walk alone. I had a girlfriend visiting from out of state, and we decided to walk around the neighborhood. Unbeknownst to us, John had heard our plan and borrowed a car to follow us as we walked and talked for over an hour. He stayed far behind us, so we didn’t even know he was there until we were done. John hadn’t wanted to intrude on our visit. He’d just wanted to make sure we were safe. This was John, through and through.

Another great memory: One evening, my roommate and I (who lived on the top floor of a three-story building on Monroe Street) sat in our kitchen enjoying a leisurely dinner when John came crashing through our back (kitchen) door. He was out of breath and as surprised to see us sitting there as we were at seeing him rush through the door. He had been several blocks away when he heard (through his walky-talky?) that a robbery was taking place on the third floor of a Monroe Street building. He assumed it was ours, so he ran as fast as possible to help us. …Another example of feeling extremely protected and cared for…

And yet another: this occurred several years after I’d left Reba. I was living in San Francisco, and we had just had an earthquake. It wasn’t a big one, and because it occurred in the middle of the night, most of us San Franciscans had slept right through it. However, because of the two to the three-hour time difference, people in the Midwest and on the East Coast heard the news about the earthquake before most Californians even knew it’d occurred! Still, it has been said that, in California, more people are injured trying to answer their phones in the middle of the night by people calling from later time zones than people actually getting hurt from the earthquake itself!!!! True to form, I received a call (that woke me up!) from John, who was worried about my family and me. I would like to know if I ever told him this.

Dear Brother John,
This is all I have time for right now. I hope it is okay!
I’m so glad you’re writing a book!!! I’m proud of you!!!
Much Love to you and Mary,
And THANKS for the rich memories!!!
Lindy
02/27/12