Bearing Fruit Where God Has Planted You
Colossians 1:10 “so that you will be walking in the manner worthy of the Lord to please Him in all respects, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God.”
A few years back, recovering from a myocardial infarction and quadruple by-pass surgery, my wife Helen and I joined the Wood Village Baptist congregation in Wood Village, Oregon. There I met many fine folk, including Anne and Warren Pearson. This story begins with them.
During a conversation with Anne and Warren, they alluded to a friend of theirs whose son is on death row in Florence State Prison, Florence, Arizona. I know Florence well, having lived in the Phoenix area for many years, and having visited the prison’s maximum security with a pastor friend. Helen knows Florence even better. Her maternal grandmother, Carmen Guzman was born there in 1884, when Arizona was still a territory.
Out of curiosity, or, perhaps, God’s direction, which I could not have understood at the time, I investigated the case. Anne and Warren had given sufficient information that I traced the death row inmate on the prison’s web site. The young man’s name is Gregory Dickens. Dickens and an accomplice named Travis Wade Amaral had been convicted in a Yuma, Arizona court for a double homicide. Amaral, who did the actual killing, was a juvenile, tried as an adult, and reached a plea agreement with the prosecution to testify against Dickens. Eventually, Dickens was sentenced to death, and Amaral received a much-reduced sentence.
I contacted the Yuma Sun and spoke with Loren Listiak, who had covered the trial. I was sent the text of all articles pertaining to the case. It is, in my estimation, a manifold tragedy.
Before I go on, I should tell you that I support the death penalty as a retributive form of punishment for first-degree murder. I have written articles on the subject, one, quite recently. Thus it is doubly important to me that I morally object, as a Christian, to any unjust sentencing of a person to death. After reading the Yuma Sun’s account of the trial, I find a number of actions and lack of action objectionable.
When the opportunity arose, I raised the issue once more with the Pearsons. They were quite surprised that I knew so much about Greg’s case. They, then, offered to share the correspondence they regularly received from Greg. As friends of Joan Dickens, Greg’s mother, they were on Greg’s very limited list of persons with whom he could communicate by mail.
It became clear to me that Greg had, at some point, given his remaining years to Jesus Christ. There was no whining about his fate. He made no appeals about his innocence, having accepted his conviction as an accomplice in the terrible murder-robbery of Bryan and Laura Bernstein, one dark night at a rest stop on Interstate 8 just east of Telegraph Pass near Yuma. But Greg protested the decision of the court and its sentencing of him to die. As Listiak wrote, a psychiatrist and psychologist had testified to the judge, Yuma Superior Court Judge Tom Cole, that Amaral had a “conduct disorder that manifests itself through violence, untruthfulness and impulsiveness.” Listiak added, “It was not clear whether their testimony would be allowed as evidence in the trial.”
Greg had insisted that Amaral was a violent person, and a liar. At the trial, Greg said that the plea bargain with Amaral was unjust. “Justice cannot work with deals,” Dickens told the court. “Justice works when the truth is told… Our court system is based on truth and justice.” Dickens stated.
Greg made another rather remarkable appeal to the court that skeptics regarded as self-serving, but which others felt was an honest display of compassion. Greg asked how the parents of Bryan and Laura Bernstein must feel when the person who had shot and killed their loved ones could escape the full punishment for his actions by a plea bargain made between the shooter, Amaral, and the prosecution.
It is now the end of December 2007. Greg Dickens, sentenced in 1991 is awaiting death by lethal-injection. He has been on death row, prisoner #102305, in the SMU II—Eyman facility for about 14 years. Other than my communication with the Pearson, I have not delved further into the matter. I did, however, remain emotionally involved. Then, on December 20th 2007, I received a phone call from Anne and Warren, and what they told me convinced me that I had a moral obligation to act. Some amazing things have since transpired.
The Pearsons told me that their friend, Joan Dickens, had just received her own death sentence. Joan became ill while visiting Hawaii. Medical tests indicated that she has terminal cancer. The Pearsons were told that Joan was given about three months to live; that the cancer has metastasized throughout her body.
Anne Pearson asked me if there was any possibility that I could find a way to appeal to anyone who could arrange for personal contact between Greg and Joan, so that “at least they can hug one another… one final time before Joan dies.” I promised them I would do all I could.
I spent the remainder of Friday, Dec. 21st trying to determine how to proceed.
On Saturday, December 22nd, my friend Chaplain/Pastor Don Baker, of Christian Resort Ministries, had invited me to a prayer gathering at Living Hope Community Church in Arizona City. The morning of the 22nd, my wife reminded me that I had promised Don that I would attend the prayer meeting. Don and I, and another friend, George Reid, went together.
The speaker was a visiting pastor from Illinois, who had practiced medicine for many years before choosing to enter active ministry. His message was clear. We who are called by His name cannot merely feel religious. We have a call to act on behalf of any of our “neighbors” who are in need. It was exactly the right counsel at exactly the right moment.
At the conclusion of his message, the local pastor, Gary Biancini, called for questions, comments and prayer requests. I told the pastor and the other men in attendance about this challenge that I was facing. He set a chair in the middle of the room. He said, “Frank, sit down. This is the way we do it here.”
As I sat in the chair, the pastor asked the men if they would pray that I would gain access to anyone who would aid me in reaching someone who had the authority and the willingness to act on behalf of Joan and Greg Dickens. A number of men came forward, individually, laid a hand on my shoulder, and prayed. When I left the assembly, I felt an empowerment and clarity of mind.
My first thoughts were to call two friends in Phoenix, who might instruct me as to what would be involved. I called, first, a very dear friend, Jim Humphrey, retired commander of Internal Affairs for the Phoenix Police Department. I knew that Jim had been involved in the selection of prison chaplains. I couldn’t reach Jim immediately, but left a message for him to me.
My second call was to my close friend, and former college mate, Chris Potts. Chris is a vice-president with the Allied Defense Fund (ADF), the legal organization that defends the Constitutional rights of persons and organizations whose civil rights have been denied—especially their first-amendment rights to freedom of religion. I left a message for Chris to contact me, and I explained my reason for calling.
I then called the Arizona Department of Corrections, hoping to be informed regarding the laws pertaining to personal visits that might be permitted for inmates being held in maximum security. I was unable to gain access, being told that I had to call during business hours, Monday through Friday. Since my calls were made on Saturday, it appeared that I would have to wait to make the contacts that were suggested. Not satisfied, and knowing that God calls for perseverance, I proceeded to call every available number listed on the Department of Corrections web site.
After many attempts, I reached a sergeant who served in maximum security. I explained the situation, and he told me the protocol involving personal, inside the cell, visits. He said that Arizona law did not allow visitors inside the cell. He did say that I should speak with Associate Deputy Warden Carl Toersbijns whom, he believed, has the authority to personally act in a case such as this. He told me, however, that Toersbijns was not reachable until Monday. I then asked the sergeant for the number of the chaplain’s office, which he provided. Feeling the need to persist, I called the chaplain’s number.
The call was answered by a man who identified himself as Chaplain Kelley. After some introductory dialogue, and some comments about his fine Irish name, and the Kelley with “an ‘e’,” I related the dilemma. Chaplain Kelley gave me essentially the same information as the sergeant. It seemed that I would have to wait until Monday. I was momentarily stymied.
The Pearsons had told me that despite her terminal condition, Joan Dickens had been driven, by her son Michael, in his motor-home, to Florence from he home in Carlsbad, California, and was to visit Greg that very weekend. I did not know whether Joan was to remain in Florence beyond Sunday, the 23rd. I prayed “Lord, I know You are in this. Please give me access.”
As I sat at home in Arizona City, I still felt certain that my prayers and the prayers of the men at Living Hope Community Church would not go unanswered. Then the phone rang. It was Jim Humphrey.I explained the situation to Jim. He was sympathetic, but told me that too many years had pas since his involvement with the chaplaincy—that he had no current connections at Florence. I asked Jim, a Christian brother, to add his prayers. He assured me that he would.
Shortly thereafter, the phone rang again. It was Chris Potts. I related the story to Chris. What he told me, then, was amazing. He said, “Frank, you do know that the warden at Florence is Denny Harkins? Denny was a classmate of ours at Grand Canyon College. His brother Kevin is a close friend of mine.”
If I had known this, I had forgotten. Chris said, “Frank, I will call Kevin and Denny and get back to you.” I was stunned. I cried. Later, Chris called back and told me that he could not reach either Kevin or Denny, but would try again first thing Monday morning. Early Monday morning my phone rang. It was the ever-reliable Chris Potts.
Chris told me that he had spoken with Warden Harkins. “Dennis is not at Florence any longer; he was transferred to the Perryville facility.” Denny told him that State law places rigid restrictions where it comes to personal contact with maximum-security prisoners. But he made some suggestions. He recommended that I call the chaplain’s office. I told Chris that I had already done that. “Denny also suggested that you call the office of the Inmate-Family Liaison,” Chris added. He provided the name and phone number of the person to contact. I told Chris that I would do this immediately. Following God’s call for persistence was proceeding to bear fruit.
My call to Inmate-Family Liaison put me in touch with the person I needed. I spoke with Betty Cassiano and told her the situation. Betty was, clearly, willing to help. She said, “Frank, a request like this generally requires a court order. Let me see what I can do, and get back to you.” She also recommended that I call Warden Toersbijns’ office. Betty Cassiano did gently caution me, “I can’t provide any assurances, so don’t, yet, get your hopes up.” I responded, “Betty, if the Lord wants this to happen, it will.” I thanked her for her assistance.
When I called the warden, I spoke with one of his staff, who told me that Warden Toersbijns was out of the office, but that she would make sure that he received all of the information.
As I experienced the order and the pace of my endeavor, my own behavior was atypical. Among my lesser flaws, I have one overarching failure that exacerbates all the others. I have never practiced patience. Why now did I have a sense of calm… an assurance that God had set out the procedure and if I, patiently, moved at a steady pace, trusting Him, all would be well?
I know what I wanted when I set out. I wanted Greg Dickens to embrace his dying mother, Joan. And, I also know that God wastes neither time nor energy—that His design is economical. I began to see that many more than Greg and Joan Dickens would be beneficiaries of God’s plan. Every person involved would be exposed to God’s way of justice, love, and mercy—the great life-lesson that comes from experiencing God’s sovereign hand at work in the hearts of compassionate persons.
As the process continued, it became increasingly apparent that the prayers over me for access were being answered. I am without doubt that God responds to the prayers of the needy, but I was in awe at what was unfolding. I was clearly experiencing God’s process, but even in my belief I had difficulty believing.
On the afternoon of December 24th, Betty Cassiano returned my call. Her message was simple. “Frank, Greg and his mother will be permitted personal contact. Warden Toersbijns has made the decision. Call his office and you will be told what Mrs. Dickens must do at this point.” I don’t remember my exact response, but it was something like, “You are wonderful, Betty Cassiano.” I know there was an abundance of thank-yous. Perhaps my effusive praises were embarrassing to her, though she gave no indication of it. She merely added, “Mothers are important. And sick mothers are most important.” I hung-up the phone, thanked the Lord, and…cried, joyfully. There were, however, further manifestations of God’s plan to come.
When I called Warden Toersbijns, a woman answered. I told her my name and she said, “This is about Greg Dickens and his mother, right?” I confirmed. She said that Greg was a nice fellow and well liked. She then explained that his mother should have her doctor fax to them an affidavit as to Joan’s medical condition. Then, when Joan arrives at the facility, she will sign a standard waiver relieving the prison and the State of any responsibility should an altercation occur in the cell. She told me that this waiver is required of medical personnel, and others, whose duties require that they enter the cell of a maximum-security inmate. I thanked all involved and told her I would call Joan Dickens.
I called the number that the Pearsons had provided. A woman answered, identifying herself as Lydia. She said that she was a caretaker for Joan Dickens. When I started to explain my purpose for calling, she stopped me. Clearly she did not want me to go into any details that were personal matters involving Joan and Greg. Lydia then told me that Joan was now bedridden, and that she had just received a morphine injection from a visiting hospice worker. She then said, “But I can give you the phone number of Joan’s son, Michael.” I thanked her.
Immediately, I called Michael Dickens. When he answered, I introduced myself and told him of the warden’s decision to allow his mother into Greg’s cell. The hesitation in his voice conveyed some confusion. He did not say it, but I knew that he must have been wondering what it was all about, and why a person unknown to the family had chosen to become involved. After further explanation on my part, Michael said that he was just leaving Irvine, California and was driving to his mother’s home in Carlsbad, California. He said that he would give his mother the information, and that he, or she would call me.
Later in the day, Michael called. He told me that he had told his mother what had occurred in Florence regarding Greg. He told me that Joan was amazed and overjoyed. He added, however, that he wasn’t sure that she understood everything because the medical person who was there had told him that his mother was very close to death, and that she might not live to see Christmas. The expectation of the three-months was now, it seemed, a matter of days. Michael was not optimistic that his mother would be able to get back to Florence. I told Michael that I would convey this information to Warden Toersbijns’ office and to Betty Cassiano.
I called Betty first. When she heard the news, I could hear a sharp intake of breath… then, a pause. She said, “This is so sad.” She said that she would pass this information on and would call me back. It was late in the day, so I did not expect her to carry out her promise until the following day. I was wrong.
At 5:30 p.m., Betty called and said, “I have arranged it so that Greg can telephone his mother.” I was surprised, and asked her how this was decided. She said that she had made the decision, and the warden was in agreement. Again, I wondered, who is this wonderful woman, Betty Cassiano. I went to bed that night hoping that Greg and Joan would accomplish that conversation.
The next day, I received a call from Anne and Warren Pearson. Anne was thrilled as she related what had occurred. She related that the warden had ordered that Greg be brought to his office. When Greg, not knowing what to expect, arrived at the warden’s office, he was told that a fellow had appealed that his mother be allowed a personal visit that would grant her personal contact with him. Greg was also told that they had been made aware of his mother’s rapidly deteriorating health. “We are going to call your mother right now, Greg, so that you and she can speak to one another.” Anne told me that Greg and Joan were able to talk for quite a while.
Anne called me again the following day. She said, “Frank, the most wonderful thing has happened.” She told me that she had spoken with Lydia who was amazed at what happened after Joan had been told about the warden’s involvement, and his decision that if Joan were able she would be permitted personal contact with Greg. “Mrs. Pearson,” Lydia continued, “Joan has been bedridden and close to death, but after she received that news, she has been up, even insisting that she would have her meals at the dining room table. He hope has been renewed, and she seems determined to stay alive long enough to return to Florence to be with her son.”
I reminded Anne that the required fax should be sent to the warden’s office right away so that should Joan recover sufficiently to make the long trip back, there would be no delays in her being with Greg.
Today is December 31st. New Years Eve! The remarkable story continues. I do not know what the eventual outcome will be and what the new year will bring. What I do know is that this story undoubtedly has touched many persons. It is more than the Greg and Joan Dickens story. God will have used them to touch the lives of many.
I am also determined that the story does not end here. Helen and Ill be gone from Arizona for three months, to be with family in Washington and Indiana. When we return, I will visit Warden Toersbijns and Betty Cassiano to thank them, face-to-face. I then intend to seek persons in the Arizona State Legislature, who might see the importance of making some adjustments to State law that will give greater consideration to others who could be faced with similar circumstances. The poignant story of Greg and Joan Dickens would, by God’s providence, have future impact upon an even greater number of persons.
We have only a limited knowledge of God’s love, justice, and mercy, for a full knowledge is beyond human understanding. What we do know, however, is that all that we can understand is by faith… the assurance of things hoped for. (Hebrews 1:11)
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow,
Frank Maguire
January 1, 2008
As this story continues, I will keep you informed. God has taken care of the legal red-tape portion of this situation and He will take care of the rest. Being witnesses to how this has touched Frank's heart and life has been a tremendous joy to Don and I. To God be the glory!
3 comments:
Strangely, I found this article by chance and began to read it. I found it to be heart warming and inspirational as I never thought that the power of prayer could be so strong where it almost turns around decisions set in stone and accomplishes so many different good things. Perhaps, I enjoyed the article so much because I can see that no matter what we do or where we are, we always turn to God for the right direction and somehow, it all comes together. Truly there is a purpose for everyting under heaven.
As the mother of the young man murdered by Gregory Scott Dickens, I attended every day of the trial in Yuma, Arizona, and I feel compelled to respond to two points in Frank Maguire's article. "The Christmas Miracle" portrays Dickens as less responsible than Amaral for the murder, but the facts suggest otherwise. It was Dickens who had been a counselor at a facility where Amaral, ten years younger than Dickens, had been detained as a juvenile. It was Dickens who provided the stolen weapon that killed my son and his wife. It was Dickens who drove Amaral away from the crime scene, leaving Bryan, still writhing, on the ground. The article also asserts that "Amaral received a much-reduced sentence." In fact, Amaral was sentenced to two consecutive life sentences, plus some number of years for robbery. Through all the years since I lost my son, I have felt only sympathy for Joan Dickens. The only thing sadder, I imagine, than having your child murdered would be to have your child be responsible for the murder of someone else.
Joan Dickens was my Aunt. My name is Rick Rodgers and I live in Ohio. Growing up "Aunt Joan" was a larger than life person that I loved to be around. She did not come to visit every year, but some of the most wonderful memories of my childhood involve her and "Uncle Dick".
Aunt Joan and Uncle Dick had a great influence in my life. During my own childhood, my family was a broken one but her counsel helped me pick up my own life and get through college and go own to a successful professional career.
I remember the day in 1991 when my mother and I learn of what happened in Yuma. I was only 18 at the time and did not realize the implications of what I was old about Greg's actions. Over the years after the conviction and sentencing of Greg I watched as Aunt Joan and Uncle Dick dealt with the issues that were thrust upon them. A once vibrant person went through very tough emotions dealing with the sentencing of her son and the appeal process. I could see the other side of the Death Penalty, the side the brings heart ache to the innocent family members.
Many late nights were spent on the phone between my mother and her, many tears were shed.
I could never know the pain the "Cindy" feels. Condolences go out to her and her family, from me. I have two children, one 5yrs and one 2yrs, only my imagination can give me a glimpse of her sorrow.
My father and I flew out to San Diego in December of last year to help Gary take his mother to Arizona. My father had a strained relationship with his sister over the years, but he made the trip out to San Diego to reconcile with her and help. The trip was very hard on Joan. On the way to Arizona we did enjoy a lot time with each other in the motor home. At this point in the trip she was in good spirits and still had some energy.
When we got to Florence that afternoon she was very tired, but went to see Greg anyhow. My father and I stayed at the Blue Mist hotel while she visited with Greg. After getting back from the visit, it was like a ton of bricks hit her. The next day she was so drained that she just could not see him again. At this point knew in my heart this was the last time they would see each other.
The travel back to California was filled with much worry. By the time we got back to Gary's home, I did not think she was going to make it through the night. I was certain that she would pass to the Lord that night. As we woke up the next morning, we found her full of energy and she looked as a new person compared to the previous night.
That morning before my father and I left, I sat down with her in Gary's living room and asked her if she " was 100% sure she was on her way to heaven" She said yes, because she had accepted Christ as her Lord and savior. That was the last conversation we had.
The thing that I have to look forward to is, life is short, and I will meet up with her in heaven some day soon.
Thank you Don for your efforts.
Sincerely,
Dr. Rick Rodgers
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