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For most people waiting takes place in a doctor’s office, a teller’s line at the local bank, or in a drive-thru anticipating food. For others, maybe it’s waiting for your boyfriend to “pop the question” or for your child to come running out of school and greet you with a smile and a hug as the bell rings.

Whether it’s a few minutes or a few hours, waiting is normally over quickly and painlessly, and life goes on.

Unfortunately, for me waiting is my life. I wait every day, locked in a six-by-nine foot cell 23 hours a day, for any sign of life from the outside world. I wake up and wait for breakfast to be shoved through my door. I wait to be hand-cuffed and taken out for my thirty minutes of recreation. I wait for lunch. I wait to be cuffed again and taken to the shower. I wait for the mail and hope for a message from the outside that I am not forgotten, and as the guard passes me by and leaves me empty handed I wait for the feelings of hopelessness and despair to pass, so I can go to sleep and wake up to wait once again.

Such waiting has been my life for over eight years now, ever since my selfish, thoughtless actions placed me in the care of the Department of Corrections. In the short term, I wait for those who run my life to tell me what I can do today. In the long term, I wait to see if I can prevent myself from making the same mistakes again once I am released. Every day is waiting and every day is the same, waiting for tomorrow in hopes that it will be better than today.

This used to be my life, consumed by waiting, engulfed in negativity. Then it slowly occurred to me that all this time I was wasting—worrying and waiting for change to come to me—was actually my opportunity to make the changes within myself I needed in order to live the life I wished for, free from desire, greed and negativity.

Waiting became meditation and a chance for me to look deep within myself and discover who I really am. Waiting became my chance, my church, my Sacred Circle of growth and reflection. While waiting I confronted my fears and found forgiveness for myself. I discovered compassion and an appreciation for the many blessings I never noticed I had. Waiting became prayer and a bond between myself and the Creator. It became my chance to give thanks for the clarity I had found and to search for further guidance. Waiting became my chance to give honor and praise to something higher than myself.

Imagine the connection you create when you pause and truly pray four to five times a day—a connection not only with the Creator, but also with each and every person you pray for. The guards I used to hate began to become those I love. And once that hatred was gone from my heart and I acted with compassion towards them, the guards slowly started to act more compassionately towards me as well.

Waiting led me to meditation and prayer, which eventually helped me discover what I consider to be my purpose in this life: to work towards the complete prevention of youth crime and abuse. While waiting, I’ve made every attempt possible to inquire and learn as much as I can about child psychology and the juvenile justice system. I have written for several youth advocacy organizations and developed some close relationships with the people running those groups. Now that I have been placed back into the general population in the prison, I’ve also been chosen to participate in a “scared straight” program for local teens.

Waiting should be called what it truly is, opportunity. Everyone has the same opportunity to turn all that idle time into meditation, prayer and self discovery. Instead of being in a hurry to get where we’re going, we can take advantage of the time the Creator gives us to be thankful and reflect upon the blessings we have been given.

I used to dread all the hours I spent alone, waiting for something to happen. Now I miss those opportunities so much. Waiting gave me a chance for discovery, and what I found, in all likelihood, saved my life. It is my prayer and my hope that everyone will learn to love to wait, and to see waiting for the precious gift that it is.

By Randy Miller, CLF Member Incarcerated in Indiana