Hope rises inside Crossroads home

Hope rests on 3 acres north of Madison inside the Crossroads Ministries transitional home, where women who have left prison get another chance.

“Imagine your house burned down and you lost your car and your job and you don’t have anybody,” explained Vicki DeMoney, director of Crossroads Ministries. “How do you put yourself back together?”

That is what Crossroads is seeking to do from the ashes of these women’s lives, she said.

Last Thursday, she allowed The Clarion-Ledger to interview 14 women staying there with the understanding their full names wouldn't be used.

Nearly all talked of scars from emotional, physical and-or sexual abuse.

“I thought it was normal for my dad to slap me around,” one woman said.

Nearly all confessed they had suffered from addiction and needed healing.

“I feel dirty for what I’ve been through,” one woman said.

Inside this home, they said they feel like sisters, including the occasional arguments.

“This is my second time through the program,” said Tabatha, who spent two and a half years behind bars on a nonviolent offense. “I fell flat on my face. I came a second time because this was my home.”

Allison, who spent nine years behind bars for involuntary manslaughter, said when she finally went free, “I was walking around like a dog that had been kicked. I was terrified.”

Prison, she said, “takes something from your soul. I didn’t have a place to come to and feel at home.”

A white board keeps track of the women’s daily schedules — chores they are responsible for, classes where they learn life skills and sessions where they address addiction and other spiritual needs.

These women still face an uphill climb.

Some are able to get jobs from a handful of businesses in the area, but DeMoney wishes more companies would step up and that Mississippi would offer tax incentives to those that do.

In addition to needing jobs and permanent places to live, most owe thousands in court fines, restitution and child support.

One woman said she owes $5,200, “and I can’t get off parole until I pay.”

Simple things like getting a driver’s license are far from simple because sometimes hundreds or more in fines must be paid off first.

“It’s overwhelming,” Tabatha said.

Despite such obstacles, the women talked of the joy they felt from their new tastes of freedom.

Walking outside at night. Checking the refrigerator. Using the bathroom alone. Sitting on the porch and watching the sun rise.

In a place where cattle once trod, hope is blooming.

“Prison tears you down,” Tabatha said. “This place builds you up.”

Contact Jerry Mitchell at jmitchell@gannett.com or 601-961-7064. Follow him on Facebook and Twitter.