Step into Prison, Step Out in Faith (eBook)

Live a Full, Surrendered Life with the Holy Spirit

Katie Scheller (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
160 Seiten
Broadstreet Publishing Group, LLC (Verlag)
978-1-4245-6613-6 (ISBN)

Infos

Where we start isn't always where we end up.   Katie Scheller hit rock bottom when her extramarital workplace affair landed her behind bars as federal inmate 09902089. On the other side of her pain and heartache, however, waited God's redemptive plan and ultimate purpose for her life. Step into Prison, Step Out in Faith tells the captivating story of a woman transformed by God's grace, love, and mercy. Charting his presence at every turn in her life, Katie powerfully combines hard-earned lessons with biblical teachings in a raw, soul-stirring testimony that proves God truly works all things for good. When you surrender to God's perfect plans and let the Holy Spirit guide your steps, you become a witness to the overwhelming power of his hand in your life. Follow Katie's venture from hopeless defeat to spiritual freedom and allow her story to spark real hope in your faith journey.    

KATIE SCHELLER was born and raised in Racine, Wisconsin. After her fall from the corporate ladder and subsequent time in prison, she felt led to establish The Vivian Foundation, which is a non-profit organization dedicated to helping the children of incarcerated parents. Her goal is to positively impact and improve the quality of life for each of the 2.7 million children who have a parent in prison. When Katie is not writing or managing The Vivian Foundation, she enjoys spending time with her family, especially her three children and grandchildren. 

Autor

Katie Scheller was born and raised in Racine, Wisconsin. After she fell from the corporate ladder and hit rock bottom, God closed the door on her career and lovingly opened the door of a jail cell. After her time in prison, Katie felt led to establish The Vivian Foundation, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization dedicated to help­ing inmates and children of incarcerated parents.   Katie's first book, Call Me Vivian, was published in 2016 and exposed the truth behind her struggle with sexual sin, the battle for her heart, and the transforming power of God's love. Through Katie's heartache, pain, and countless years of searching, readers gain a deeper understanding of God's wonderful gifts of grace and forgiveness.   Vivian's Call, Katie's second book and sequel to Call Me Vivian, continues the true story of her life as former inmate 09902089 during her two-year stay in prison and beyond. Witness how God orchestrated events throughout Katie's life and how she answered her calling.   Step into Prison, Step Out in Faith builds upon Katie's life expe­riences before, during, and after her incarceration. It includes excerpts from her first two books as well as insightful, expanded biblical teachings. The book demonstrates that God truly works everything for good and encourages readers to never give up regardless of where they find themselves in life.   When Katie is not writing or managing The Vivian Foundation, she enjoys spending her summers with her family in Wisconsin and her winters with her friends in Florida. She has three children, Mike, Jenny, and Brian, and six grandchildren: Nicholas, Benjamin, Colin, Landon, Tyler, and McKenzie.  

Textauszug

Chapter 1

It was twenty-nine days into 2009, and the month of well-intentioned resolutions and plans for self-improvement had all but slipped through my fingers. I was on my way to a meeting with my attorney, Michael Cohn, and I couldn’t help but find it a bit ironic that I parked on the ramp of an athletic club. I typically used the athletic club’s parking ramp whenever I met with Michael because of its proximity to his office. And I could park there for free.

I climbed out of my vehicle, and the slam of my car door pulled me out of my thoughts, reminding me of what I was preparing to face. After my meeting with Michael, I was due in federal court to plead guilty to two felonies. My life was in the process of a vast and vital makeover, to say the least. Was I nervous? Yes. Was I scared? A little. Was I ready to get this mess behind me? Absolutely.

I walked through the lobby of the athletic club because of the January cold and found myself in step with a younger African American man on the other side of the window. I had never seen him before. Other than his blue coat, stocking cap, and general existence, I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to take note of his particular features. Am I wearing the right outfit? I wondered. Would my antiperspirant last through the afternoon’s proceedings? Would the media be in court? How would I pay my attorney’s bill for the extended day at the courthouse?

Fewer than thirty seconds later, as I stood on the corner waiting for the crosswalk to grant me permission to cross the street, the man I had seen through the window stood next to me. He greeted me with a hello and a plea for help. He said he was looking for a place to get assistance.

Wanting to keep moving to avoid freezing, I stalled to reply. You’ll have to believe me when I tell you that, in the Midwest, the winter wind bites like an angry pit bull. The leaders of cities like Milwaukee, which flank the shores of the Great Lakes, should warn visitors that the unforgiving gusts of winter’s wrath really do chill a person to the bone.

I was not sure if this young man was homeless, hungry, or planning to steal my purse, but he seemed nice and was certainly polite. More importantly, he needed help, and on that particular day, who was I to judge another human being?

I told him I was not from the immediate area and that I was sorry I could not direct him. He explained how his journey for assistance had led him to a shelter, but the shelter could not help. He had tried the Salvation Army and a number of other places, too, all without any luck.

The man shared his frustration: “I must have talked to one hundred people, and no one can help me.” Shaking his head and half laughing, he continued, “I’ve had to drink so much water over the last two days that I’m starting to feel like a dolphin.”

Water is not enough to sustain a person, so I asked him if he was hungry, and he said he was. Before I could say anything more, he resigned to what he believed was yet another rejection. He said he was heading back to the Greyhound bus station, but I stopped him. I told him I would like to help him, but he would have to walk one more block with me until we reached the lobby of my attorney’s office.

We continued our trek, and I asked him where he was from. “St. Paul,” he said. I casually mentioned that my son lived in Minnesota, not far from St. Paul. We shivered, victims of Wisconsin’s frigid temperatures, as we reached the building. When we stepped inside, he told me he was in town for a funeral and that someone had since stolen his suit. Why would someone steal his suit? I wondered.

Within the safety of the building, I retrieved two fifty-dollar bills from my purse and handed the money to the gentleman. “I can’t buy you a new suit,” I said, “but I can help you get home and get something to eat.” His eyes stretched to the size of saucers as he stared at the money in the palm of his thawing hand. His expression showed disbelief and gratitude, and he softly thanked me.

“No booze and only healthy food,” I stated firmly while pointing my finger at him, as if I had any control over what he chose to do with his newfound wealth.

I gathered my belongings and prepared to walk away from him and toward Michael’s office when he asked my name. I told him, and then he approached me with his right hand extended. We shook hands. “God bless you,” he said. I was convinced, at that moment, that he was an angel. Warm tears filled my eyes as we parted ways. Here I was facing one of the most difficult days of my life, and God wanted me to know that he was with me.

Exhausted after my day in court, I looked like I had aged ten years over the last week. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, as if I had just gone ten rounds with a championship fighter. In some ways I had. I was beat up, worn out, and humbled beyond words. How in the world could this be happening? I thought. Every time I relived the events, I would break down and cry. Had I done the right thing by pleading guilty? Through tears, I uttered a barely audible yes.

I was guilty of count eight: misprision of a felony because “I was aware of kickbacks in the Transportation Department at SC Johnson, and I encouraged a coworker to not talk to authorities as they lacked evidence.” I was also guilty of count nine: making a false statement. “I made a false statement regarding the company’s gift policy. I stated that I had not accepted gifts, when indeed I had accepted gifts in excess of $100.”

Judge Clevert’s final question made me pause: “So, Ms. Scheller, how is it that you find yourself in this situation?”

This was not the happily-ever-after I had planned. The character I had been playing for the last fifteen years, Vivian, the kept woman from the movie Pretty Woman, had finally realized that her former lover, Milt, would never climb her fire escape and present a bouquet of flowers like Edward Lewis did.

Feeling tremendous shame and humiliation, I sat in silence, searching for the right words. After close to a minute, I composed myself and took a deep breath. My voice cracked as I said, “I slept with the boss.” I stated my guilt and the reason why. Somehow, though, the punishment did not seem to fit the crime.

Having just pled guilty to two felonies, the judge ordered another drug test. I once again was led into the basement of the federal courthouse to pee in a cup in front of a probation officer. My bodily functions now required a witness. Judge Clevert also limited my travel. If I wanted to go anywhere, then I would have to get the court’s permission. I thought to myself, You have got to be kidding me. I’m not a criminal. As if it were any comfort, I was right; I wasn’t a criminal. That morning I became a convicted felon.

The probation officer led me to the elevator, and as we headed downstairs, a warped familiarity washed over me. I had been in the same area earlier in the morning for my booking. During the booking process, a federal marshal led me past three holding cells containing a total of seven men inside of them. The stench of perspiration and desperation was overpowering.

Half kidding, I said to the US marshal, “I must be in the wrong place.” He assured me I was not. “What did those men do?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he replied.

I was definitely in the wrong place.

The first order of business in the booking process was answering questions about my life. My family, my financial situation, and whom I trusted my belongings with if I were ever put in jail. I laughed and wondered who would want all my worldly possessions: a blowup mattress, a television, and a lawn chair. I had officially hit rock bottom.

Then it was on to the mug shot. The picture showed a person I did not recognize. I had not aged ten years; I aged twenty. It was so bad that I begged the marshal to retake the picture. He graciously agreed and encouraged me to smile, but the second photo did not turn out much better.

Next it was on to the fingerprints. Since my mundane life had yet to include the experience of fingerprinting, I expected it to involve three-by-five index cards and a metal tin of ink, like the ones schoolteachers use to stamp “Good job” on their students’ papers. Not so. The fingerprints of this generation are digitally preserved for the ease of tracking people. The process was interesting but not one I would recommend.

I could not believe I had just pled guilty to two felonies. The combined criminal penalties for my charges meant I faced a maximum imprisonment term of eight years and a $500,000 fine. I was also responsible for $400,000 in restitution. Several defendants in this case also took plea deals, and the lone holdout, an owner of one of the trucking companies, was eventually indicted. A former stockbroker had already pled guilty to money laundering charges and received a sentence of three years in prison.

It was obvious that I had endured a battle over the last few days in federal court. My eyes remained swollen, and my lack of sleep churned my nausea. Bananas and Triscuits sustained me. I am not sure if this was better or worse than the McDonald’s breakfast burritos that nourished me after I was fired from SC Johnson. The truth is that stress plays funny tricks on a person’s body. But Saturday morning arrived, and I was ready for my return flight to...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 3.9.2024
• Verlagsort: Savage
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Religion / Theologie ► Christentum ► Kirchengeschichte
• Themenwelt: Religion / Theologie ► Christentum ► Moraltheologie / Sozialethik
• Schlagworte: Beginner • biblical teachings • Blessings • Caregiving • children of inmates • criminal justice • Death Row • Divine Intervention • Faith • Favor • Incarceration • inmate • life lessons • Memoir • ministry • new believers • New Christians • Nonprofit • Prison • Testimony • Work
• ISBN-10: 1-4245-6613-4 / 1424566134
• ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-6613-6 / 9781424566136