A Second Chance

a n gie i n gebretson’s Journey from m e t H to m i nistry

Not everybody gets a second chance at life. The few people — survivors of heart attacks, cancers, car accidents — who do sometimes liken it to a gift. For Angie Ingebretson, this gift did not come until she was behind bars. This is her story, but it is also the story of the men and women who work at the jail, the volunteers who put in long, regular hours, and all those in our community who work toward giving others a second chance.

A ngie is one of seven thousand five hundred. That’s the number of people who pass into and out of the Cass County jail system each year. Multiply her story seven thousand times. Multiply her story in our community and consider the significance.

Angie: Methamphetamine Addiction

O ne of my friends introduced me to meth when I was about 25. My daughter Hailey was six, and Alyvia was not even a year old. I was working full time at The Shack. I had dinner on the table each evening; my kids did their homework. We had a dream home, right on the river where we went fishing. But after I tried meth, my life spun out of control.

I began to hang out with people doing drugs, and I turned into everything I didn’t want to be. It was dark, sporadic, and unstable. I let the drugs take me; I didn’t know what they could do. I left home and lived out of my car. I lost my job. I lost custody of my kids. When you’re living that life, nothing good awaits you.

I ended up in ER and was told I was pregnant, with twins. They were born two months early and went into ICU. I didn’t even go to visit them much, so social services stepped in and took them away; they were adopted.

S ometimes I feel like people judge me. But this is how it was: I got pregnant again, six months later. It was exhausting to live that life, to run, to be on the street. I checked in to Jamestown Hospital, and finally had time to think. I bonded with my baby. I called The Village and worked with them to choose a family to adopt my new son.

After my son was born, I went back to the streets and back to drugs. I was living out of hotels or cars or whatever. I was just using my friends. The longer you use drugs, the deeper you get. I was doing $250 a day. I’d be hanging out and would see doctors and lawyers come in to buy drug paraphernalia. Doesn’t matter what part of society you live in. Drugs are a thief.

B eing on meth, nothing is normal. You stay awake for days. I’ve stayed awake for nine days. I remember walking up in my apartment, no shoes on, not knowing where I’d been. I just crashed. I woke up, drank something, and crashed again. I slept like that for over nine days. I woke up skinny and hungry and just couldn’t come out of the cycle.

I was hanging out with real rugged people, and one of them wore wires on me. They taped our conversations for the police, and that’s how I got caught. My friends got lighter sentences for turning me in. It was a real realization. These are my friends and they are doing this to me.

S eptember 5, 2006, was my court date. My mind was so gone. I was high at the court hearing and was sentenced to six months in the Cass County Jail.

Cass County Jail

W hat Angie didn’t know was that she hadn’t fallen off the grid. She’d actually come to a place set up to offer her help. Cass County Jail, built in 2002, is a modern facility with a 348-bed capacity. On average it holds 180 inmates per day, of which 25 to 30 are women.

S gt. Ben Schwandt, the programs director at Cass County Jail, said the facility currently offers approximately 57 hours a week of educational and faith based programming. “We want the jail to be a place where people learn. We want inmates to leave with the skills to be better people. Alcoholics Anonymous, parenting, and General Education Development — GED — classes are available. This year a record number of inmates, 23, received their high school diplomas.”

J ail Chaplains is one of the programs at the jail. It began in 1979 as a volunteer program run by Pastor Curt Frankhauser with the help of the First Assembly of God Church. “I always wanted to be a pastor behind a desk,” he said, “but I couldn’t get rid of this ministry. It wouldn’t let me alone.”

B y 2006, Jail Chaplains had grown into a non-profit with several employees, volunteers from many churches, and its first full time chaplain: Mike Sonju.

But none of this meant anything to Angie as she changed into her orange suit.

Angie: Life in Orange

G oing into the jail and putting on orange was demeaning. There were drugs in my system and I couldn’t focus. But once the drugs cleaned out, and I started feeling and thinking again, I didn’t want to live. I hated myself so much. I’d lost my girls, my twins, and my baby boy. I carried a lot of guilt and shame.

T here were different programs going on in our pod. One of them was led by Chaplain Mike. I started going because they offered snacks. That’s the only reason I went!

After thirty days, I was allowed to go on the work release program and was fortunate to get a job. I qualified, in work release program, to go to meetings held at the First Assembly Church. One night, Chaplain Mike was talking, and it was like he was talking to me. I was totally lost in the story.

T hat night I went back to the jail and changed into my orange. I went to my cell and began reading in the Bible where Chaplain Mike had left off. I started thinking and sobbing and praying, just pouring my heart out. That night, in that place that I hated the most, where I was locked up, I became a free person. After I was done with that cry, I opened my eyes and everything seemed so much brighter. I knew I was being saved.

I was different, happier. I wrote the judge and asked if my time in Jamestown could be credited to my jail time, and he approved. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and I was home for Christmas. God made it happen.

To Arrest

Chaplain Mike Sonju joked that as a teenager he didn’t hang out with the wrong crowd, he was the wrong crowd. “It’s kind of funny,” he said. “I’m claustrophobic and don’t like standing in front of people. And here I am in a jail ministry!”

H e remembered seeing Angie for the first time. “She used to sit in Bible study absorbing everything like a sponge. She was intent on listening. Over the years, I’ve seen her overcome trials and go beyond the norm. She’s come a long way.”

“ To arrest means to stop,” Sonju continued. “A lot of these men and women have people in their lives praying for them. They are all somebody’s children. The jail is a place to get healthy and to get some clarity back in their minds. That’s what Jesus Christ is all about. We are simply proclaiming a right relationship with him. He is our hope.”

Angie: Out of Jail

O ut of jail, I started working two jobs. I contacted all of the people who I owed money. I really wanted to pay it all back: the bad checks, apartments I’d been evicted from, the bad credit. I have paid back almost all, but I’m still working on the last bit.

I was doing laundry one day, and saw a chunk of meth hidden in the back of my drawer. I held it in my hands. I could have sold it, or used it. But I just flushed it. When I did that, when I said no and I was alone, I knew I was going to be okay.

T he Jail Chaplains fund helped sponsor me to go back to school, and I passed the state of North Dakota manicurists licensing exam. I work as a manicurist here in town. My dream is to someday own my own business.

O ne of the hardest things I had to do was reconcile with the social service lady who’d taken my twins. I despised her when I was using. I wrote her a letter to thank her for loving my twins when I couldn’t. I know her job was hard. That was one of the good things I had to do, because I needed to heal. I had to let go of the animosity.

I got joint custody of my girls. So we are a part of each other’s lives again. My youngest son’s adoption was open, so I spend time with him. He calls me Mama Angie.

S till, it doesn’t go away. I have to live with the consequences of all those bad choices. Maybe someday I’ll get to see my twin boys.

O ne day my boss, who I’d worked for at The Shack, wrote me a letter. She’d heard I was doing good and wanted me to work for her again. It was like I’d won the lottery! I loved that job. I’ve been back working there for two years. I’m the dining room supervisor. I make decisions. I take complaints. I’ve gained people’s respect back and that means the world to me. God has been great and faithful.

Angie: Giving Back

I am the first person who has been an inmate at Cass County Jail who has been allowed to come back in as a volunteer. I co-lead a Moms in Touch class. I understand addiction, loss of children, not knowing, waiting for your court date, being homeless. It comforts women to see that somebody can come out of it. A lot of women in jail have children in the social work system. The inmates remind me of who I was. They come in with their shell and try to be tough. Some of them don’t care yet. Some feel so guilty they have to leave the room because they are crying so hard. I listen and I pray. I tell the women to keep on keeping on. I tell them God didn’t leave me when I deserved it so much.

BOTTOM

Jail Chaplains Ministry

Pastor Frankhauser believes that Jail Chaplains is one of the best investments in our community. “Churches often raise money to do good works all over the world. But what we do here, through Jail Chaplains, directly affects our community. We provide chaplain visitation, Bible studies, the work release/church program, mentoring, and a benevolence fund that helps with everyday and educational needs.”

Twenty percent of the Jail Chaplain funding is raised each year at an annual banquet. This year, Shelia Ray Charles, daughter of the legendary Ray Charles, will speak. Sheila’s story includes a 15-year cocaine addiction, losing custody of her five children, and time spent in a federal prison. She will speak and sing. Tickets are $15, and seating is limited. The event is Tuesday, November 15, at the Ramada Plaza Suites. Tickets may be purchased on line at www.jailchaplains.com or all area Hornbacher’s.

“ Seventy-five hundred people passed through the Cass County Jail last year. Approximately 97 percent of them will return back into our community,” Pastor Frankhauser said. “We’d love to fund a female chaplain; we’d love to increase our hours. We’d love more churches to support the work. It’s our backyard.”

Angie: Lifelines

I’ve had two lives. I lived them both, good and evil. I shouldn’t even be alive. I shouldn’t be smiling. But I am. The chaplains blessed my socks off. Where would I be without them? I’d be on the streets. I’d be using again. I’d be dead by now.

I want people to know that the jail isn’t a bad place. The programs in the jail are lifelines. Not just the programs, but all of the people who care, the workers, and the volunteers. They are the reason that I’m alive today. [AWM]

For more information go to www. jailchaplains.com