Seven ex-cons who changed her heart forever…
For Brenda Spahn, entrepreneur and businesswoman, wealth was a lifestyle—until a brush with the law threatened to send her to prison. In those dark moments, Brenda made a promise to God.
Spared incarceration, a renewed Brenda glimpsed into the lives of women serving time in one of the worst places in America—the Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women in Wetumpka, Alabama.
What she saw prompted a God-inspired vision.
With a heart to help and a will that couldn’t be crushed, Brenda fought the system and overcame tremendous obstacles to take ex-cons into her own home and help them navigate the alien world of life on the outside.
This is the story of Brenda’s journey from rags to riches to redemption. It’s the story of the first unlikely year of her “Whole Way House” and of the extraordinary lives of the first seven women who came to call her “Miss Brenda.” It’s a story that testifies to the power of faith and how God changes hearts every day.
|Publisher:||The Crown Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.80(d)|
About the Author
Irene Zutell is the author of the critically acclaimed novel Pieces of Happily Ever After and coauthor with Vanessa Williams of You Have No Idea.
Read an Excerpt
Make sure you are doing what God wants you to do—then do it with all your strength.
I was raised in a trailer. My parents struggled to feed and clothe me. Because I grew up without having much, I promised myself one day I’d be very rich.
Decades later, I had built a successful business. I finally had what I could only dream of as a child—a big house, fancy cars, expensive jewelry, and all the material things I could ever want.
At the height of success, I found myself under investigation for a crime I didn’t commit. I faced the possibility of a lengthy prison sentence. All those possessions I had accumulated and cherished I was likely to lose. I had always felt I was in control of my life and my destiny. Once I was at the mercy of the legal system, I realized I was in control of nothing.
I lost my business, but I found another calling. I lost my riches, but I discovered riches of the spirit. I lost my faith in the system, but I discovered another faith—a faith in things that never depreciate or corrode or collapse. I found faith in God and the indomitable power of redemption—for myself and for a group of incarcerated women who’d been catastrophically abused by the system, by spouses, by parents, and by themselves.
Instead of chasing the American Dream, rehabilitating these women became my career. I learned that within each of them—even the most terrifyingly brutal felons—dwelled an undeniable spark of the divine.
Junkies, grifters, armed robbers, prostitutes, drunks, dealers, and murderers became my new social circle. They were former inmates of the Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women in Wetumpka, Alabama—another monolithic bureaucracy that warehoused the forgotten until they disappeared, returned, or died. Its motto could have been “Abandon hope.”
They became the Loveladies. In the beginning, no name would have been more improbable. In time, no name could have been more fitting.
This is my story.
This is their story.
Meet the Loveladies.
Chapter 1: Have I Lost My Mind?
Fear is faith that it won’t work out.
Oh my Lord, what have I done!” I gasped. I stared out the kitchen window as six violent criminals stomped up my driveway. Hunter, my four-year-old adopted son, stood on tiptoes trying to get a glimpse of what had me so terrified.
“Your mama has messed up big-time,” I said.
For the last month, I had pictured this moment time and time again—but it had looked very different. In my imagination, the women would skip up the driveway, giggling and talking excitedly. I’d open the door with a loud “Welcome!” and women would race toward me, enveloping me in big, grateful bear hugs. After they’d thanked me profusely for being so wonderful, we’d sit around the kitchen table, have lunch, drink tea, share laughs, and get to know each other. But these women stomping up my driveway didn’t look like they wanted tea. They looked like they wanted blood.
Had I lost my mind?
Jeff, my husband, had predicted this. “You’ll get yourself killed, Brenda,” he said when I first told him my plan to rehabilitate female convicts. “You’ve had a lot of wild schemes in your life, but this is the craziest I’ve ever heard.” Yes, but a lot of my schemes had worked out, and besides, this was different. This time it wasn’t about me.
Now six very scary women, just released from the roughest women’s prison in the country, were in my driveway.
I thought I had figured it all out. After spending months helping female convicts at a work release center, I thought I understood them. I had spoken with the inmates, we had prayed together, and they had seemed genuine in their desire to turn their lives around and start over.
But now I doubted everything. How could I have been so stubborn, so driven, so foolish? How could I have put my little boy in danger?
The night before, I’d combed through their “jackets”—prison files—and discovered with horror that the parole board wasn’t sending me the nonviolent offenders I’d visited at the work release center. Instead, the women who had just shown up in front of my house had spent, collectively, one hundred years behind bars for crimes such as armed robbery, possession, drug dealing, prostitution, and manslaughter. I found out later that these were the hopeless cases—cases stamped cannot be rehabilitated—that all other programs had rejected. At the work release center, I helped women who were struggling to get their lives together. But the women coming to my home were so hardened, so dangerous, that the system had given up on them. These were not the women I had bargained for.
I was supposed to rehabilitate them? For the next nine months to a year? I wrapped my arms tight around Hunter. I should have dropped him off with the nanny, but I had been running late. My heart pounded so hard I was sure Hunter could hear it beating. I didn’t want to scare him, so I took a breath and tried to find a portion of calm.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t prepared. I’d hired a housemother, a cook, and a driver. I owned a six-thousand-square-foot house with seven bedrooms and six bathrooms on ten acres of property that no one lived in. Hob Hill was perfect: it would become my “whole-way” house for parolees as they transitioned into the real world. This is a good plan, I reassured myself.
These women would learn a skill and receive counseling, therapy, and, if need be, treatment for addiction. Since my program was faith-based, I’d teach them about Jesus, His unconditional love, the power of faith, and the reality of redemption. Then I’d get in my Cadillac Escalade and hightail it back to my new home in a gated community a few miles away.
I reminded myself that I was just supervising this program. You see, I’d be able to supervise it without really getting my hands dirty. I wouldn’t give up my whole life. This would be more a hobby than a vocation.
And this is how I’ll be able to keep that promise I made.
Much of my family had been understandably furious with me for pressing forward with my plan, but Melinda, my twenty-eight-year-old, caught my passion and crazy vision. She and I had spent the last month preparing for the women’s arrival. I bought couches, chairs, and tables for the common areas and beds, comforters, dressers, and night tables for the seven bedrooms. I painted the rooms in calming colors—blues, yellows, and every shade of purple. Each bedroom was named after a fruit of the Spirit—joy, peace, self-control, love, patience, kindness, goodness—which I’d carefully painted on the bedroom doors. Each room had color-matching comforters and thick bath towels. I’d decorated the rooms with paintings—many of my favorite getaway, the beach—and supplied them with empty frames so the women could fill them with photographs of their children and families.
I put the word out to churches that I was looking to hire a cook, a driver, and, most important, a housemother who would run the program in my absence. I soon found the perfect housemother—Claudia. She was forty-eight, single,
big, and strong with a gruff, no-nonsense attitude. She had spent time volunteering at the work release center. When I met with her, she told me that God had called her into prison ministry and she was ready to get started.
I asked if the thought of working with female ex-cons frightened her. She laughed as if I’d asked the most insane question. “I’ll take tigers by the tail,” she said. “This is the work I was meant to do. I’m not afraid. It’s my calling. I know I am going to change lives. The Lord sent me to do this.”
I hired Claudia on the spot. She was so excited that she hired a moving company to haul all her bedroom and living room furniture into the upstairs master suite and office area. After she surveyed her new home, she nodded. “This is where I’m meant to be.”
Likewise I’d hired a cook and a driver.
I could make this work. I had to make this work. For months I’d pleaded with the parole board to release women into my custody so I could help them get their lives back on track. I had told the board their system didn’t work and needed an overhaul. After all, 30 percent of the women released from Alabama prisons returned to prison within the first six months.
They laughed at me. “What do you know about rehabilitating these women?”
“I know that giving them ten dollars and a bus ticket is just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I know I can do better.”
In Alabama, there were only two options for newly released prisoners: They’d get their ten bucks and transportation back to where they committed their crimes. In a short time they’d go back to old ways with old friends. Or they’d spend a few weeks in a halfway house, where they’d receive food and shelter but little else, then be put back on the street.
No matter their destination—bus ticket home or halfway house—once they were released, these women had one thing in common: they had no hope. And they had no hope because they couldn’t envision a future outside of prison.
To me, the solution was obvious. My whole-way house would be a place where they could change their lives by learning skills and receiving counseling. We would give them a picture of a future they themselves could create, one in which they could succeed.
I have always considered myself visionary, but the parole board used a different term—delusional. Ultimately I wore them down and they finally agreed, probably just to make me go away.
Now I realized they were trying to teach me a lesson. I was sure they were having a big laugh about it: “I wonder if that crazy redhead is scared senseless yet. How long until she calls us to take them all back?”
I crouched lower and squinted through the window, hoping the awnings outside shielded me from the women’s view. My eyes landed on the scariest-looking woman I’d ever seen in my life. Was she even a woman? With a shaved head,
baggy khakis, and an extra large navy-blue prison-issued polo shirt that covered her tanklike physique, she resembled a gangbanger looking for trouble. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes blazed with fury.
Why is she so angry? Doesn’t she see how great her life is about to become? The other women were right behind her. She was the gang leader and they were her loyal followers, standing so close to each other they appeared connected—an impenetrable wall about to storm my house. A heavyset woman who seemed devoid of the fury the rest possessed stopped to gawk at my home. Shaved Head snapped her face toward her and the woman’s expression immediately turned grim.
Ken, the driver of the van who had shuttled the women from prison to my place, opened the back of the truck. The women collected their belongings. One by one, each woman pulled out a brown paper sack with her name written large in black marker. A paper sack! These were all their possessions in the whole world!
My heart sank. What about clothes? shoes? things? I hadn’t realized they’d show up with next to nothing. In my naivety, I thought they’d spend most of today unpacking their belongings.
They were almost at the door—and I was paralyzed. Melinda, who hadn’t been watching them through the window and had no idea what awaited her, realized I wasn’t moving, so she headed to the door.
Dear Melinda, what have I gotten you into, and why are you so calm? Of all the people in our family, Melinda was the one who had the most personal interest in my crazy dream. To be fair, my husband Jeff couldn’t be there at Hob Hill—he needed to provide income for our family, and our real estate business was located more than four hours away in Gulf Shores. But Jeff, who’d been through plenty of “harebrained Brenda schemes” before, was admittedly not a fan of my “whole-way” idea, even as he tried to be supportive of me.
Melinda was the one who, ever since she’d been a little girl, had always been by my side. At eleven, she’d sit next to my desk and answer the phone as I filed clients’ tax returns. When she was old enough, she worked with me. When I
started helping women at the work release center, she had accompanied me. She was just as passionate as I was to help women turn their lives around.
I hadn’t mentioned to Melinda that these women might be different from the work release darlings we’d worked with. Apprehensive as I had become from reading the files, I still held out hope that things would work out fine. But one glimpse of the crew of ex-cons who had just shown up shook me. Melinda had spent her life trusting me. Now she was an unwitting partner in my crazy scheme.
She opened the door wide.
I scooted toward her. “Welcome to my home,” I blurted out, forcing a big smile.
The women glared at me. I waited for someone to say something. Instead, they pushed into the house, squeezing through the door in one massive pile. They forced themselves past me as if I wasn’t even there.
I wanted to stop everything and yell out an order: Get out of my house and get back in the van! Maybe I could just give them some lunch and send them off, saying this was a big mistake.
Shaved Head came so close to me I could feel her breath on my face. I squeezed Hunter.
“I ain’t gonna be no maid in a little white apron for you,” she spat out, her voice growing louder with each word. “What the h***’s a g**d***** white woman gonna do with us? Lady, what kinda sh** do you think you’re playing?”
Sharon “Shay” Curry. Even though she looked different from the photo in the prison jacket (she had hair back then), I recognized her. She was a forty-five-year-old black woman who’d been in and out of prison her whole life. She’d done it all—armed robbery, dealing and using drugs, prostitution, attempted murder. Dear God, attempted murder!
Shay’s nostrils flared and her eyes bore into me. I watched the other women study her. I could tell they were taking their cues from Shay. In the short time they’d been together—probably since the van ride over—Shay had become the unofficial ringleader.
I knew if I didn’t win Shay over there would be no way to right this ship.
Where was Claudia? She’d been watching as the van pulled into my driveway, but I had no idea where she’d gone. It was her job to get the women settled into their rooms—not mine or Melinda’s. Claudia, I told myself, would get the situation under control. She’d know how to handle Shay.
I took a deep breath, finally answering Shay, speaking as calmly as possible: “Well, I’m gonna help you get your life in order.”
As soon as the words slipped out, I knew I’d made a mistake.
“You don’t know sh** about me, lady,” Shay hissed. “You’re just some crazy white lady. How the h*** do you think you’re gonna do that? What do you think you’re going to do for me?”
My chest tightened and I felt dizzy. I scanned the room, searching for Claudia. The truth was, I didn’t have any plans beyond getting these women into the house and introducing myself. In prison, every second of the day is scheduled. I
had wanted to give the women a little breathing room. But already Shay was in my face, angrily demanding answers.
“What do you think you’re gonna do, lady?”
I panicked and said just about the stupidest thing I could ever say: “I’m going to help you get your driver’s license.”
The women burst into laughter.
Shay looked like she’d just bit into something so vile she might be sick. “I’ve been driving my whole life, lady. I don’t need no driver’s license.”
And then I said the second dumbest thing I could possibly say: “Well, how do you get insurance without a license?”
There was another fit of laughter. These women had thought they’d seen it all, but they’d never met a flaming-red-haired fifty-five-year-old woman like me before. I knew they had determined right then that I was a complete idiot.
I had an uprising on my hands. Where will we hide if they get violent? I had to regain some kind of control before Shay took over my house.
“Oh, I forgot,” I said, managing an edge of sarcasm. “You’re all about breaking the law.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re real tough guys.”
They stared at me, their mouths hanging open, shocked that I’d sassed Shay back. I was shocked too but couldn’t help it—throughout my life my big mouth has gotten me into a lot of trouble. But occasionally it saves the day. I was praying that was the case now. Melinda shot me a look that said, What are you thinking? Then she turned toward the women and broke the ice. “Okay, ladies,” she said, smiling sweetly, “how about I show y’all your rooms?”
The women followed Melinda down the hallway. Some gasped at the bedrooms I had decorated for them. After years of living in a cramped dorm with 160 other women, these rooms with one, two, or three beds or bunkbeds seemed to them like paradise. From the corner of my eye, I saw two of them claim one of the downstairs bedrooms. I watched them stifle giggles as they ran down the hall to fetch their paper bags of belongings.
Ken, the driver, was a director for alternative treatment programs at the University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB). During the last few weeks he’d become an advocate, helping me prepare my house for the women. He must have thought I was doing fine because I had a big smile plastered on my face. Truth was, my smile was frozen. You’ve heard of people being scared silly? I was scared smiling.
He smiled back. “I’m taking off,” he called out. “Is there anyone who wants to leave with me?” I heard some of the women giggling from the bedrooms. “No!” one called out from a bedroom. “We’re not going anywhere,” others said. Shay stood silently in the hallway, her arms folded.
“What about you?” Ken asked Shay.
Go, I silently begged. Tell him you want to leave. Now. I can handle these other women, but not you. Get your butt in that van. I never want to see you again. Shay scowled at Ken but didn’t answer.
“Shay? You coming with me?”
Stop asking and just flippin’ take her! I wanted to scream.
There was a heavy silence. I could feel my future in that void. If she leaves, I stand a chance. If she stays, I’m doomed to fail.
“I’ll stay,” she said, as if she were doing us all a big favor.
And with that, Ken left me in a big house with five female ex-cons and one ringleader from hell.
Shay and the other women headed upstairs to check out the remaining bedrooms with Melinda. As soon as they disappeared, I heard the click of a door unlocking. Claudia ran out, stopping in her tracks when she saw me.
“Where have you been?” I asked. “I need you to help Melinda.”
Claudia didn’t move. Gone was the tough broad who was going to take the tigers by the tail. In her place was a timid woman whose eyes were filled with panic.
“I quit,” she choked out.
I laughed. “You can’t quit.”
“I just did. And you should too. You’re going to get yourself and your family killed.”
Claudia couldn’t do this to me. I had a plan—she would run the program, the cook would cook, the driver would drive, taking the women wherever they needed to go. And me? I’d check in once in a while and make sure they were all doing their jobs. “I’m not even going to be there,” I told Jeff and my family when they expressed concern that I was putting myself in danger.
I tried to sound calm, but I was a wreck. My heart pounded, and I thought I might collapse. I steadied my voice: “You told me God called you to work with these women. He wouldn’t just change His mind.”
“The Lord might want me to work with prisoners, but not these prisoners! You’re crazy. I want nothing to do with this insanity.”
I opened my mouth to beg her to stay, but she swatted her hand in the air, turned, and ran off.
Just as she left, the cook and the driver came out from wherever they had been hiding. They too raced out the front door.
I stood in the living room, holding Hunter tight and paralyzed with all kinds of fear. I’d always had a plan, a next move. Now, for the first time I could remember, I had no idea what to do. I prayed for guidance. I prayed for answers. I prayed that these women wouldn’t kill me.
Was God listening to any of my prayers? Or had He quit on me too?
Table of Contents
1 Have I Lost My Mind? 3
2 Answered Prayer 13
3 Chocolate-Covered Strawberries 23
4 Blown Away 37
5 The Girl Band 47
6 Shay 59
7 The Other Visitor 63
8 Tiffany 75
9 Everybody Knows 81
10 Imagine 87
11 Shay 99
12 The Lord's Prayer. 103
13 Tiffany 107
14 "In the Library!" 111
15 Stephanie 125
16 Thanksgiving 129
17 The Aftermath 137
18 Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present 141
19 Tiffany 147
20 Relapses 153
21 Shay 163
22 Driving Ahead 173
23 The First Lovelady 185
24 The Crazy Lady and Her Convicts 193
25 The Meeting 199
26 The Ice Cream Standoff 205
27 Eating an Elephant 211
Where They Are Now 219
Q&A with Brenda Spahn
Miss Brenda and the Loveladies
A Heartwarming True Story of Grace, God, and Gumption
1. Brenda, you had a brush with the law, and that experience led you to make a promise to God. In those dark moments, what did you promise you would do?
I did the same thing most of us do when we find ourselves in situations much larger than we are. I prayed. In my case, I actually found myself angry with God. I kept explaining to Him that I had been a “good girl” and had done many good things for Him. Finally, after many intimate moments my promise was so simple. I promised to serve Him and to seek His will in Brenda’s life. In my heart I knew I had been running from Him for many years doing all sorts of “godly things” I felt should have been enough. My promise was to do His will to the best of my ability.2. Tell us about the first time you volunteered at a women’s prison in Birmingham, Alabama. How did that experience open your eyes to your vision of starting a “whole-way house” for women being released from prison?
Currently, there are classes devoted to teaching and explaining the ins and outs of prison life, but then there were none. I simply walked in. I had never been to a place like that, and within minutes I was a changed person. There is simply no way to explain what I felt. Sadness, hopelessness, abandonment, shame, and desperation were just a few of the emotions running rampant through the prison that night.
3. Some of these seven women had been in and out of prison most of their lives. What were you most surprised about the adjustments they had to make to life outside the prison walls? What sort of life skills did you teach them?
In the beginning, I was shocked that at first the women wanted me to tell them every move to make. I’d felt I would have a real problem with them needing me to keep them inside the lines because freedom would drive them to do things that might not be good for them. On the contrary, they were so afraid, it was difficult to get them to do the exciting things I wanted them to do! I pushed them to try new things. I’d take them grocery shopping and simple things like that. Drugs had stolen simple life skills that we take for granted. All domestic skills had to be taught and real hygiene. Social skills were really weak. Going out in public in crowds was terrible.
4. Your “whole-way house” eventually evolved into The Lovelady Center, the largest and most successful nonprofit transitional center for women in the country. Tell us about the center and the work you do to help women find hope and success.
The center is the same as the house, only about 20 times bigger and so much more organized. We set the center up in small groups, so that is not a problem, which means the large center still works in essentially the same way. Every woman who enters our door knows that hope waits for her and we will do everything to help her achieve success. Many women cry when we give them keys to their room. Intake is a sacred process for many of the new residents. We want them to embrace a new beginning. Most people talk about the “feeling” they get as they enter the door. Even our volunteers and outside teachers are amazed at how happy the residents are here and the hope that everyone seems to have.
5. The national recidivism rate (those who are re-arrested within 3 years of leaving prison) is 68%, but the rate is only 10% for those who graduate from The Lovelady Center. Why is your number so much lower? What are you doing differently to achieve these results?Not everyone who enters our doors graduates. Many of the women who arrive are sent out. There are several reasons for that. 1) They are just not ready to change, 2) They refuse to follow rules 3), They may follow most rules and in a weak moment make a really bad decision and have to suffer the consequences for their actions. However, many of those women come back to us, and many do make it the second or even the third time. We just keep loving and always being consistent in our message, and most will sooner or later take hold of it. Love, hope, and the Gospel is what we offer. It is a message 2000 years old, yet it’s brand new every time we share it.
6. Several of the original seven women now work at The Lovelady Center, nearly 10 years later. Can you tell us about your relationship with Shay and Tiffany in particular?
Really, all of the early women have left the nest except Shay and Tiffany. I see the others all from time to time. I see Shay, Tiffany, Stephanie, and Annette most every day. If I do not see them, you may rest assured they call me. We do not ever mention to them they are not my actual kids. Not too long ago, after a surgery I had, Tiffany was at the house and informed me that she had decided when I got really old she was going to be the child who took “care of me.” Shay calls me with all of her aches and pains, as does Stephanie, who never runs out of dramas. They are the three women who have taught me the most love and hope of any of the women.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I'll admit it. I was drawn to this book at first because of the amazing cover. But then I was captured by the back cover copy. When it comes to non-fiction, "Miss Brenda and the Loveladies" was right in my wheelhouse. The IRS came barging in to Brenda's successful tax preparation business, waving around search warrants and tearing through files with no care for order or propriety. Brenda's knees started knocking in fear of being sent to prison for something she didn't do. And then God showed up in a mighty way, like He tends to do. Instead of sending Brenda to prison, God escorted her there to get a personal view from the jail cell of a female inmate. This sparked a ministry in her heart that would not be silenced, and her "Whole Way House" vision was born. I loved her conversational style as Brenda told her story. She includes the background with the investigation into her family business, bits and pieces about her family and her relationship with her husband Jeff. But the stories that gripped me were stories about the "Whole Way House", and the stories that made me tear up and even cry were the real life stories from the women Brenda ministered to...and who ultimately ministered to her as well. Why is it important for books like "Miss Brenda and the Loveladies"to get attention and to be read? Because, I don't know about you, but as a Christian in the United States, I can get pretty hum-drum about my faith. I can grow comfy-cozy and wonder if this is it until Eternity. Then I get my hands on a full fledged miracle of a true story and it challenges me, stretches me, and changes the way I view life. I have a greater appreciation for the plight of the incarcerated, and Miss Brenda Spahn has helped me remember these women are people, and they need the love of a Savior. My thanks to my friends at Waterbrook/Multnomah for my complimentary copy through the "Blogging For Books" program in exchange for an honest review. I highly recommend "Miss Brenda and the Loveladies", with a note of caution for some carefully *** language. Oh, and if you're wondering why it's the Loveladies? Well, you'll just have to read the book!
Review of Miss Brenda and the Loveladies This is one of the most inspirational books I have read this year. It is a fast, easy read. But that does not mean it is simplistic. The story is complicated. The story is heartbreaking. The story is uplifting. I could not put it down and read just about all of it in a little over 3 hours. Through the first several chapters, I found myself not liking Brenda. Many times, I thought, “is she really doing this,” or “is that type of thing seriously important to her?” She bothered me greatly. However, by the end of the book, I loved her. I could not be more different than her, but I loved the transformation she went through. And I love that she presented herself available to God as one ready to be transformed. I don’t know if she knew she was doing that, but that is what happened. This book presents the beauty and ugliness of humanity. Besides Brenda there are many other characters that made me smile, had me ready to cry, brought a frown to my face, and made me grit my teeth. When I finally closed the last page, I felt wonderful – wonderful about God and about people who look to God. I recommend this book to readers of every stripe. You don’t have to be like the characters to like them or be touched by them. You just have to be a human who is willing to present yourself to God that God might transform you.
Inspirational nonfiction is a title easily and sometimes frivolously assigned to many memoirs, including Christian memoirs, but there is NO other way to describe Brenda Spahn's book about establishing Lovelady Center, currently the largest and most successful nonprofit transitional center for women in the US. It all began in 2002 when Brenda and her daughter were ALMOST sent to prison on a tax evasion charge (I am leaving the details to Brenda to explain when you read the book. She does a superior job of creating the drama around the charges). When case is closed, Brenda feels a big change. The trappings of money, success, designer clothes and bags no longer appeal to her. Her heart leads her to help the women of Alabama's prison system. She volunteers at work release center, sharing the gospel and praying one on one with the women. When she learns two thirds of all inmates in Alabama will return to prison within five years of release, Brenda realized that the women needed a program that would help them change their lives after release -- a place where they would find hope, direction, and faith. She clearly saw that the few that were lucky enough to be placed in half-way houses didn't do any better than those who were just released with a bus ticket back to their last address. Bolstered with her faith that God was leading her, Brenda charges ahead and convinces the Alabama prison system to release to her seven parolees from Tutwiler, the notorious Alabama Woman's Prison. She converts her Hob Hill mansion into a warm, inviting home, unlike any place these women have lived. But within minutes of arriving, the group led by tough, loud Shay have scared everyone, including Brenda. The supervisor, cook, and driver hired by Brenda all walk out, leaving "do-gooder" Brenda and her daughter Melinda alone with the group. A tour of the bedrooms with REAL mattresses, followed by a nerve wracking trip to Walmart for "undies" opens a slight window of opportunity. as the parolees start to settle in. As Brenda and several of the women themselves share the stories of the months that follow, readers will hopefully see God's healing hand at work. Like Brenda, perhaps we can put away our quick judgments and see these women as God's beloved children, deserving of grace and forgiveness. Once I started Miss Brenda and the Loveladies I could not put the book down. It was more exciting and compelling than any fiction book I've read in months, and it certainly tops my list of nonfiction books for 2014. This success story (although I am sure that there continue to be women who arrive at the center who fail to turn their lives around) needs to be in the limelight. I hope a quality film producer chooses Brenda and the Loveladies as a project. As Brenda reveals her own financial and family struggles, it is clear again that God does not choose the perfect to carry out his work, nor does he lay a problem-free path ahead of his followers. Brenda Spahn and Irene Zutell, you've done a great job of telling this story, and I sincerely hope the book's success helps the foundation grow and succeed. Keep changing lives one by one. I received a copy of this book from BLOGGING FOR BOOKS for review purposes. All opinions are mine.
All right I'll admit it, I'm not a woman. And lately I have been reviewing a lot of "woman books" for our church library. But don't hold that against me. In a nutshell this is book about women ex-cons and how the author, Brenda Spahn helped turn their life around through Christ and Community. Did I know that's what the book was about when I picked it up? No. To be honest, I picked it pretty fast and was a sucker for a flashy picture with a catchy title (not to mention all of the smiling ladies on the cover). The first thing that caught me off guard was the tone of the book. Waterbrook is a Christian publisher, and yet the book is written in the voice of a person ... who swears. So that was a little off-putting, but hey, it's in character, right? Through the book, Brenda tells openly about how she overcame the struggles of drug addiction and how she came to know the seven ladies featured in the book. The story is about a shelter and a home where these broken women can stop and put their lives back together. And while the message was certainly inspiring, uplifting and encouraging, I really had trouble identifying with it. Not because I am not a woman, but just because so much of the subject matter was so foreign to me. There are also a lot of other graphic descriptions of sexual abuse and drug usage that threw me a little. Thanks to Waterbrook Multnomah for this preview copy in exchange for a fair and honest review.
I find prison/jail reality TV shows so intriguing! For one, how one can mess up so badly and be so angry. Secondly, it can be quite entertaining. On that note, I will never look at this group of people in the same light. Everyone has a story and a history--some have one that most people couldn't dream of in our most horrible nightmares. I really enjoyed this book because it took the prison reality shows and dug deeper into these torturous, sad lives. This is the story of Brenda, a very wealthy businesswoman, who has it all--family, vacation homes, money, and everything that money can by. She is faced with the very real reality of spending some time in prison herself. She makes a promise to God that if He spares her, she will devote her life to helping prisoners, one way or another. God does spare her and she makes good on her promise--although a bit begrudgingly at first with not a lot of confidence. Brenda, by God's grace, convinces the state of Alabama to allow ex-convicts (from the roughest women's prison in the country) to come and stay with her instead of a half-way home. These 7 ladies arrive at her beautiful home and immediately her staff quits out of fear. Brenda is left alone--with Shay, the gangleader, and her followers. Brenda envisioned the women showing up, "thank me profusely, sit, drink tea, share laughs, and get to know each other...The women walking up my driveway didn't look like they wanted tea. They looked like they wanted blood!" This story is truly heart-warming and sad, but yet Brenda's way of reliving those days is so, so funny. She has a great sense of humor. It's a beautiful insight to how God works, changes hearts, and blesses us with love when we need it most. These women not only changed and were given and shown a fresh start, Miss Brenda was changed just as much. When you think you are the one blessing and helping others, God has beautiful ways of humbling us! He sometimes shows us we are just as much as in need of profound change as the guy or gal next door. His grace and mercy abounds. I received this book for free from Blogging for Books for this review.
Reviewed by Darin Godby for Readers' Favorite Miss Brenda and the Loveladies is a very challenging, rewarding, and uplifting story of God's grace, mercy, and calling upon some very unique women. Authors Brenda Spahn and Irene Zutell share the story of how Miss Brenda, who was a very successful businesswoman, just barely avoided going to prison and in return felt called to reach out and help those who weren't as fortunate. She soon was visiting the local facility, but found that the percentage of women that kept coming back was far too high and she felt compelled to do something about it. She had a huge home available so she convinced those in authority to allow a few of these women to come live there when they were released from prison, instead of sending them back where they came from, knowing they would mess up and soon return to the prison. Authors Spahn and Zutell share this story in such a way that it is hard to put the book down as you are so captivated by the ladies that have been released from prison and how Miss Brenda helps establish them as creditable women outside prison. There are stories of how they first went to Walmart, to their first Thanksgiving outside of prison, etc. In story after story we sense the ups/downs, the hurts and laughter of these women. This would be a great tool to use within the prison library as well as to encourage people to start their own type of prison ministry. The reader will quickly learn when God enables the heart to reach out to others, then He will supply the rest that is needed.