Adrian is at Mule Creek State Prison.
His address is:
Adrian Torres T30064
P.O. Box 409089
Ione, CA 95640
Adrian covets your letters, and please continue to pray for him as he serves the Lord in a California State Prison.
Adrian is at Mule Creek State Prison.
His address is:
Adrian Torres T30064
P.O. Box 409089
Ione, CA 95640
Adrian covets your letters, and please continue to pray for him as he serves the Lord in a California State Prison.
Trash: Something worth little or nothing; Junk; rubbish.
Similar definitions can be found in any dictionary. However, if it were up to William Rathje, a Harvard-educated researcher, he would define trash most differently. By what I know of him, I believe he would say, upon asking him, that “Trash is Gold.” You read that right. It said trash is gold.
Williams office sports a framed headline he found in a newspaper: “Gold is Garbage.” So who is William Rathje? William Rathje is a researcher, convinced we can learn a lot from the trash dumps of this world. Though archeologists have always examined trash to study ancient societies, William simply skips the years of wait. His organization, The Garbage Project, travels from landfill to landfill excavating and documenting society’s habits, styles, and economic levels. William truly finds meaning and treasure in our garbage.
Prisons are also know for being dumps. Housing mountains of trash — the junk and rubbish of society. Time after time I have seen and heard TV reporters, politicians, and many others refer to prison inmates as society’s trash. If only they would set their eyes like William, they would notice many gold nuggets throughout. Or better yet if they would set their eyes to see the sick as Jesus saw them, they would see potential and life within.
Covered deep inside the mountains of mistakes, and hills of stereotypes, are men with golden hearts. Men that are longing for the cleansing polish and disinfectant of the gospel. Yet many a times there are none (christian believers and churches) to roll up their sleeves, willing to dive their hands, arms, and elbows deep within the cesspool of sin gathered behind prison walls, and embrace a ragamuffin inmate.
My point: I challenge anyone reading this update to become a garbologist-partner for Christ and his gospel. It’s simple; the qualification is L-O-V-E. No harvard education needed.
I beg you to pray about teaming up with Truth Frees Us Prison Ministry to help bring the gospel deep into the dumps of society. Your prayers, encouragements, and financial support are so greatly needed. I’ll be the first to tell you that your support has been greatly appreciated, and has touched my life. Personally I have benefitted greatly from the L-O-V-E that has come from friends like you. Thank you.
And than you too, for letting me bring you my thoughts Straight From Adrian’s Cell.
—In His, and your service, Adrian
“Don’t forget about those in prison. Suffer with them as though you were there yourself. Share the sorrow of those being mistreated, as though you feel their pain in your own bodies.”
(Hebrews 13:3 NLT)
The officer was not going to change his mind. “The rules are the rules, Torres.” He explained, “I don’t make them, just enforce them.”
I did my best to diplomatically explain I didn’t frequent the medication line, so I was not aware of the clothing rule. But he didn’t care for my plea, so I changed tactics.
I began to explain how much in need I was of my migraine medication, and asked if he could allow me to approach the medication window without wearing my full state Blues, just this once.
The answer was a solid, cold, “No.”
I didn’t want to, but I was being forced to pull out the biggest reason of them all that would give me clearance to approach the medication window without wearing my full state Blues: the “I work in medical” card.
“You know, Officer Gatekeeper,” I began. “I work for the medical clinic, back in dental.” I think I even stood a bit straighter, and felt very proud of my statement.
“So what.” he said, “I work for Jerry Brown.”
As my ego deflated into thin air, I knew that I now would have to walk all the way back to my cell to put on my state Blues. Before I turned back, I begged one last time, but this time with my tail between my legs.
“Are there any other options?” I was sincere.
I wasn’t too sure if Officer Gatekeeper heard me at first. It felt like it took five minutes for him to answer, but it really wasn’t that long. “You see those bins of clothing by the laundry building?”
“Yeah,” I answered as I turned to look.
“There should be a few sets of Blues there. Put a set on. Go get your meds. Then put the set back. Are we clear?” he asked, not really wanting an answer.
I quickly made my way to the bin and pulled out the first set I saw. The set was two sizes too small, but I didn’t mind. I rocked the extra-tight blue shirt and blue skinny jeans all the way to the medication window. I might have looked like a Hipster, but I didn’t care.
When I was done I returned the set of Blues back to the bin, and Officer Gatekeeper nodded his head in approval.
Now, I may be stretching it a bit, but my situation reminded me of what Christ did for me – for us – on the cross.
Humanity had a big problem. Sin had entered and caused a deep, dark gap between the Creator and His creation. The debt was big – uncountable. The rules – commandments – were unchangeable, clear, written in stone.
Eternal hell was certain. No amount of ignorance or excuses could keep us from it. In order to get into Heaven, the opposite and much greater place than hell, one would have to be clothed in sinlessness.
Ignorance of the rules would not be accepted. Wanting and needing to enter into Heaven – with all its good intentions – will not be enough. Working for it, or knowing influential people, will not swing open Heaven’s gates.
The rules are the rules. As long as we are dressed in sin, we will not enter Heaven, and will be given eternal hell.
So how? Could there be another way?
Officer Gatekeeper had to enforce the rules that had been set. But nothing kept him from providing me with a set of Blues himself, allowing me to approach the medication window without breaking the rule.
God, Who enforces the Heavenly rules He set, could not allow Himself to break them (for He cannot lie.) Sin and Light could just not be together. The rules are the rules. However, nothing kept Him from providing a Way. His Son. Love.
Every single day I’m amazed that God would make a Way into Heaven just for me (okay, and you, too!) For without it I would still be lost, in sin, and on my way to hell.
Thank you, Abba Father, for loving me and giving me a Way into heaven. Amen.
……remembering to put on my state Blues
“I’m only going to say it once!” the transportation officer yelled, spittle flying with each word. His tone communicated fear and anger. “Once this bus gets rolling…” he paused to emphasize his next words, as if each word was its own sentence. “….THERE.WILL.BE.ABSOLUTELY.NO.TALKING.OR.WE.WILL.PULL.OVER.AND.LOSE.YOUR.PROPERTY!”
The day had arrived, and I was on the prison bus being shipped to my next warehouse…uh…prison. After being waked up at about 3:00 am, dressed in a thin blue-paper jumpsuit, and placed in a stand-up-only cage, I knew the next 24 hours were not going to be easy. I stood in the cage for four hours waiting for the bus to arrive, my back in pain, my hands cuffed in front of me.
Deep within my soul I celebrated the fact that I was on my way to my next stop. Peace and strength were firmly rooted within me, and I continued to pray for more. History has proven that I never do well on any prison bus trips. Not only would my head explode in a fiery migraine, but the nausea that would accompany the migraine would cause me to uncontrollably “share” any previous meals; I can assure you that the 25 other convicted felons on the bus with me, chained foot-to-foot, feet-to-waist, waist-to-wrist, don’t enjoy my freely-offered “sharing.” As I continued to pray for more peace, health, and strength, I remained worried. I had expected this day to arrive, so for weeks and weeks I had been preparing my mind, stomach, and faith for the stresses ahead.
Around 8:00 am I was finally on the bus with 25 other sleep-deprived inmates. The officer in charge began his Hitler-type speech with his “One Rule” – NO TALKING! If he caught anyone talking he would order the bus to pull over and randomly pull out inmates’ personal property, to be casually left on the side of the road.
This one rule was harsh and an abuse of power, but we had little choice but to obey. This was his ship and his crew, and once on the expanse of California highways only his law applied. While in-route the chained inmates have no rights.
As inmates we are used to this kind of treatment. Not all officers so flagrantly abuse their power, but the few who do always seem to be in a position of authority. I’m not sure if it’s the length of time I’ve been an inmate, or the Lord’s peace within me, but I fret little when faced with officers like this. (I wasn’t always so peaceful – it’s been a long road for me.) I’ve come to learn that in the prison world this type of treatment and abuse is normal, and I am only a visitor passing through. One day I will be given my freedom, and leave the prison world to deal with itself.
As children of the living God, citizens of a holy heaven, we are only passing through this world. And we will encounter mistreatment. It’s part of this fallen world – it’s normal. Believers are viewed as enemies of sin, and are attacked from many directions. The deep, dark ocean of immorality tries to swallow believers, to spit them out soaked in sin.
The world’s flip-flopping attitude about what is moral leaves the believer nauseated and unsettled. Biblical truths are combined with error, watering down God’s foundations, giving birth to social faith-clubs filled with hollow pew-sitters. True Bible-believers are viewed as outsiders and enemies of progress.
The world is slowly approaching its death, and many are not ready. It’s not enough to sit around on pews with a simple “pie-in-the-sky” knowledge that one day some “first seal” will be opened and the end will begin. No. We must be prepared. To endure what is to come will take a whole lot of spiritual strength and readiness.
For far too long the church has sat around hoping to be raptured before the end begins. This is a great and wonderful hope. But what if our understanding is wrong? What if the sequence of events many cling to doesn’t fit the teaching of Scripture? What if we have been forcing Scripture to fit our understanding, instead of the other way around? What if the church doesn’t get removed from the wrath of Satan that is coming? What if believers are removed midway through this time of trouble? What if the church escapes God’s wrath only by the skin of its teeth?
No matter where you stand, I believe it’s our calling, as children of God, to be prepared. We must not get too comfortable in a world we are only visiting for a short time. One glorious day we will be called home, freed from this world’s shackles and immorality. But until then, we must actively prepare for a very bumpy ride. We – believers – need to lose the idea that it’s going to be all flowers, butterflies, and utopia while we wait to be removed from this world. Jesus Christ Himself warned that the world would hate us. He pulled no punches, telling us that it would not be easy for us – that believers’ sufferings would be great.
I can’t count very high, but three things I know: First, as believers, our Creator has a plan for each one of us. Second, this world will do whatever it takes to keep that plan from being fulfilled. And third, the end is coming.
So, are we ready? I pray we are, for if we are not the road ahead will sift us through-and-through. In the process, many will be sifted out.
My bus ride was rough, just as I expected. The crew of the ship-on-wheels sailed through slow and sloppy roads. The circulating air inside the bus was stale and toxic. The inmate I was coupled with felt an uncontrollable need to whisper to me all the things he found interesting along the way. And even though the bus didn’t throw anyone’s property out, my property came up missing. Even so, because I was prepared and never allowed myself to take my eyes off the prize, I made it through the sifting.
The trip was far from easy; a few close calls threatened my health and peace, but in the end my physical pre-conditioning, and God’s power within me, led me in victory to my destination.
Again I ask: Are you ready?
…….continuing to prepare…….
Adrian G. Torres
They had traveled for miles early in the morning, in wet weather, just to visit me. Everything had gone as planned so far … until … until they faced an ugly evil villain who stands tall and proud at the entrance of the visitor processing center. He is known by many names, but he is best known as Metal Detector.
To visit me – or any other inmate – one must go through a series of security procedures. Some are simple, others a bit bothersome, yet all necessary.
Walking through the metal detector insures no large metal objects are smuggled in. Generally there is common sense used when the detector awakens and sounds off his alarms.
It is normal – and expected – for the detector to alert his minions that a small button, rivet, belt buckle, bra under-wire, or jewelry has been detected. With a quick double check the person is cleared and the process continues on.
On December 7, 2013, as my new friends, Ron and Tracy, walked through the tall and proud detector, a small button(*) on Tracy’s pants was detected. Metal Detector’s minions quickly assessed the situation and decided the small button had to be ripped off.
Common sense had been missing that morning for it was clear the small button posed no security threat. Tracy was left no choice but to return home without entering.
I can’t say I wasn’t bothered when I heard about Buttongate. Days later I still found myself wondering why. Why would God allow Buttongate to happen? I wasn’t mad at God, just curious. I was honestly looking for a lesson in it.
Four days later the answer – lesson – was clear. As I stood in line for breakfast, two men in front of me where talking about heaven. It was clear neither was saved, but believed there was a heaven and some sort of God who oversaw the entry into heaven.
Their views were similar. They both agreed that only good people could enter. They also agreed that even a bad person could enter if the person balanced the bad with good.
“But how much good is good enough?” one asked the other.
The question was left hanging because we had reached the tray window. One at a time we reached into the window and pulled out a delicious mystery breakfast. As we sat down to eat, the conversation continued.
“It’s not the amount of good,” one answered as if they had never stopped. “It’s that you must have good intentions to do good that will count.”
I had not yet been invited into the conversation, so I quietly listened as I ate my breakfast slop. I almost choked on a piece of meat (well, it looked like meat) when one asked the other a very important question.
“What if we change our ways and live with the best intentions to do good, but when we die and reach heaven’s gates we get rejected for not doing enough?”
As I tried to cough the piece of mystery meat out of my throat, the two guys looked at me for an answer. They didn’t say a word, I just knew they wanted me to give them my two cents. So I did.
“Well, let me tell you about my friend Tracy and Buttongate …” I recounted the story and reached the end of the story as we were being dismissed from our table. As we walked back to our cells, I started to connect the story to biblical truths.
“You see, that one button is like a single tiny sin in our lives. Sins are those bad things you were talking about. Heaven will never take us in unless we are completely without sin. It’s not just about how good we are or how good our intentions are, it’s about entering the One and Only Door that will allow you in. If you use this Door, you will walk right in.”
“Door!?” They both asked.
“Yeah, the only Door into heaven that will not keep you out.”
“Where is this Door?”
“It’s not where, it’s Who. I had them hooked. But I didn’t have the time to explain further. We had reached our cells and I now had to run off to work. I promised to explain further when I got back.
Later that same day, I had the blessing of explaining the doors a bit better to them. Our talk was about an hour long and I can’t remember all I said or all the questions they had. But Buttongate was firmly imprinted on their minds because one of the men wrapped up most of our conversation by comparing it with all that he had learned.
“So, Tracy, with all her good intentions to visit you, could not because of her sin – I mean, her button. And she didn’t have a new, buttonless outfit to change into, so she was not allowed in.”
“Yeah” I confirmed his line of thinking.
“So unless I receive Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior, I will not enter heaven. Jesus, by His death on the cross, paid for all my sins.”
“Yeah” Again, I agreed with him.
“And,” the second added his thoughts, “By receiving Jesus, we are clothed by His goodness and we are made clean.”
“Yup,” they were pretty good at connecting the dots.
“And this same Jesus is the door we will enter through to get into heaven, no questions asked,” he added.
I didn’t want to get too theological with them, so I simply agreed and was fine with their simple understanding of all that I had shared with them. Buttongate was just enough of an illustration to help them understand. To add any more fancy Christianese would only confuse them. There would be more time to go deeper with them on another day. But there was no time to waste when it came to their salvation.
I asked them if they wanted to seal their assurance into heaven. They agreed. Both men now have a place waiting for them in heaven.
For now, as they wait for that day, they spend their days learning more about the Door Himself by reading the Bible and attending studies. It’s rare I run into these two men anymore, it was fate that Buttongate would take place so that I could use the story to help these two men understand that no sin will be allowed into heaven.
Praise be to God that He gave us His One and Only Son, the Lamb of God, who took the sins of the world and nailed them to the cross. And by receiving Him into our hearts, we will enter heaven button-less (I mean, sinless) for we will be clothed in Christ Himself. Amen.
… Because of His blood, I’m button-less myself …
“Baby gophers for trade; $2 in Top Ramen; Beef-flavored only; See Big Chato
My cell mate had already told me about the sign, but I just could not believe Big Chato was selling his baby gophers.
“I think it would be fun to have a baby pet gopher in the cell,” my cell mate shared with me as we both saw a sad pet adoption commercial on our TVs.
I didn’t answer because I didn’t think he was serious. Plus, the sad commercial filled with sad puppy faces was making me cry a little bit.
I guess my silence was mistaken for agreement, because he then asked me to let him borrow $2 in beef-flavored Top Ramen. My cell mate doesn’t speak English very well, and can’t read it either, so I answered, “Sure, I’ll let you borrow the soups, but can you also give a note to Big Chato for me?”
He thought nothing of the request and agreed. Before going to work I pulled out the $2 in soups and wrote the note.
When I came back from work I was positive I would not be returning to a baby pet gopher. Why? Because in the note I wrote, “Big Chato, it’s me, Pastor Adrian. If you give the baby gopher to my cell mate, I’ll accidently forget to share some KFC with you when it comes in.”
Big Chato is, well, big. And he loves food. And I knew he would not dare pass up a piece of chicken, especially from KFC. So when I got back to the cell, my cell mate shared with me that Big Chato had already pre-sold all the baby gophers. I’ve yet to tell him that it was my note that got in the way.
You might be thinking that I did a bad or mean thing, but I would beg to differ. Having a baby gopher was just not good or safe for us. The harmless-looking animal will one day be grown. And grown gophers, outside of their natural environments, can be very dangerous.
My cell mate’s desire to have a baby pet gopher just wasn’t good for us. As believers, you and I desire things at times that are just not good for us. That little “no-one-will-ever-know” sin. That secret indulgence. That thing that looks harmless.
We take it into our lives. We feed it with our time. We secretly indulge it. And before we know it, we have a fully gown, hard-to-give-up, habitual sin biting at our heels. It started as a cute harmless-looking sin, but turned into an uncontrollable dark, ugly, transgression.
I wrote the note to Big Chato to avoid any headaches down the road, with an uncontrollable, ugly, grown gopher. We must do the same with harmless-looking sins. We must not let even one into our lives, to avoid something uglier down the road.
If you’ve already let one into your life, it’s time to get rid of it. No questions asked.
…..perfectly happy with my Pet-rock….
Adrian G. Torres
The pressure was strong. His sales pitch was impressive and tempting, yet I kept declining. “Come on!” he was upping the ante, “I’ll make it three and you choose the day.” I hesitated because the offer was great, but in the end I declined it, too.
Using the shower only happens three times a week in Ad Seg (the Hole.) Although the showers are filthy, a full head-to-toes cleansing makes a big difference, both physically and emotionally. Plus, the shower is the only place we are issued razors in Ad Seg, making showers indispensable.
The officers who run the Hole have to work very hard, physically, whether they like it or not. Anything and everything an inmate would do for himself in an ordinary facility has to be done by the officers in here. And because there are over 100 cells and three tiers, the officers do a whole lot of walking and stair-climbing. I can only imagine how exhausting this gets over the course of an 8-hour shift. What amazes me is how they do it for 16 hours.
For some reason I can’t figure out, some officers work overtime. Working overtime in a regular facility is easier because the inmates are assigned the heavy work. But in the Hole, the officer has to work hard, and do it for two shifts. The physical toll taken on these officers is easily seen in their body language.
One officer who works a lot of overtime had been given the “shower patrol.” This meant cuffing, escorting, uncuffing, and issuing razors, all while juggling three showers at once. The job is taxing and frustrating. So to avoid the work, this officer resorted to his sales pitch. Making use of the kitchen, he grabbed sack lunches and began going cell-to-cell.
“Anyone wants to sell their shower time for a lunch, let me know,” he said, as he walked the tiers slowly, showing the prize. He knew food was hard to resist for those of us in the Hole, since we don’t have access to any extras.
I began to hear the cries of “Me!”, and as he passed that cell he would drop a sack or two into the tray slot. Then noting the relinquishing of the shower on that day by that inmate on a piece of paper, he continued his rounds.
I heard a lot of tray slots open and close, so I knew his sales were up that day. His reserve of energy was safe, since he had protected it by trading lunches for showers. The tone in his voice grew more cheerful as he got closer to my cell. But unknown to him, I had already decided that I would not sell, no matter what the price.
By the sound of his jangling keys I knew he was close, so I picked up something to read. I was hoping to avoid eye contact so he would not try to convince me. But I was played. I thought I had heard his keys pass by, so I waited a few seconds before looking up, sure that I was safe. And there he was, standing at my door. With a used-car salesman’s cheesy smile, lunch sacks in hand, he stood there looking. I almost yelled, thinking he was the clown from the “It” movie, but I didn’t.
“I’m good,” I said before he could ask. “I need a shower and a shave.”
“I’ll give you two,” he offered as he held two sacks up to the window.
“No, I’m good.” Not only did I want a shower and shave, I also didn’t particularly like the content of that day’s lunch sack, and somehow he knew that.
“C’mon,” he protested. Then opening his eyes wide with a new idea, he decided to up the value and change when I would receive the sacks. “I’ll make it three and you choose the day.” His pitch was getting interesting. Saturday’s lunches always included fruit. But then again, Sunday’s always had meat and cheese that weren’t of mysterious composition, as they often were on other days. His offer not only piqued my interest, but also my stomach’s. I knew in the end, though, I couldn’t sell.
“Make it five lunches on Sunday,” I bluffed.
“Too rich for me,” he said as he walked away, still offering lunch sacks for showers to the other cells.
This world, the one you and I live in, has plenty to offer. As Christians, we are given the grace and freedom to enjoy life’s pleasures. But not everything is beneficial to our lives – and those are the things that are most tempting.
How many times has life offered you something that is not particularly wrong, but it’s not something you should participate in? Small choices that don’t seem to make much of an impact are always in front of us, tempting us, but if we make the wrong choices consistently we will eventually be numb to what is right. No alcoholic becomes one with the first drink. No affair exists that didn’t begin with small incidents of flirting. We do not become unhealthy with one bag of candy, but with months and years of unhealthy eating choices.
Not going to church one day, or not reading the Word one morning, or not praying one night before bed, will never cause your relationship with God to fail. It’s a slow, ever-increasing pattern of choices that slowly make us cold, away from the warmth of God’s love.
It’s really easy to buy into what this world offers. I admit it, the world’s pleasures are tempting; but most of those pleasures will lead us away from our calling in Christ.
Yeshua was offered the world, by the great tempter himself, Satan, yet He refused all offers. His purpose in coming to earth would not be thwarted. None of us will ever be called to do what Jesus was called to do – to die to save the world from sin – but we each have a calling from God.
The pressure to sell out is great, but the Power within us is greater still. Don’t let temptation rob you of your high calling, because in the end you will end up unshowered and hairy.
Be wise – don’t sell out.
……..clean and well-shaven……..
Adrian G. Torres
I don’t like doing it, but I have to. In the end, the mess is more trouble than I like. But the fact remains that if I don’t pretend to be a bird, I’ll be way too stinky.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays Ad Seg (the Hole) gives us the opportunity to shower. The high-pressure cold water really does help, along with the soap and shampoo that lather under the steady stream of H2O. But it’s what we do the other four days that is more important. We call them “birdbaths.”
I prepare by moving anything off the floor that might get wet. Next I place a bath towel on the floor, right where I know the water will try to escape. I then plug the hole in the sink with a piece of milk carton and begin to fill the sink. Once it is full, I balance my soap on the rim of the sink and turn off the lights.
In the dark I don my birthday suit and sit on the toilet, facing the wall. The sink is about one foot away from the toilet. With one hand I use my half-pint milk carton to scoop water from the sink, splashing from head to toe. With the other hand I use my soap to lather up, then go back to my milk carton for the rinse. About half of the water lands in the toilet while the other half ends up on the floor. I then dry off, put on boxers and a shirt, and begin the part of the routine I truly hate – picking up all the gray water off the floor.
With the towel already on the floor, I begin to herd all the water into one large pool. Slowly and deliberately I wring the water out of the towel into the sink until it’s nearly all gone. Then I clean the soap scum from the toilet and sink. From start to finish, my birdbath takes about thirty minutes.
Did I mention I don’t like this activity? But if I want to stay clean and healthy, I must be like a bird between shower days. This also applies to every believer in Christ.
As believers, we faithfully attend church. Some go on Saturdays, some on Sundays. Then we might add another night, for a Bible study. These services are great. We hear God’s Word from a minister. More often than not, the sermon causes us to examine our walk with the Lord. We leave, renewed. But it’s what we do in-between these services that is equally important. We must take “Wordbaths.”
I’m risking sounding too religious, but I truly believe we need to bathe in God’s Word daily, and not just in a hurry, with a sideways glance, as we think about other things. We can’t just splash water on our faces and call ourselves clean. We must take the time to prepare, by consciously washing our souls, minds, and hearts with the powerful and oh-so-personal Word of our living Lord. We must remove the protective covering and allow His Word to absorb into us.
The world is so polluted; surely we need a daily touch-up. Even if we don’t participate in worldly things, our minds still get bombarded with them. The radio, internet, and work leave their dirty marks on us. If we don’t take the time to purposely renew our minds, on a daily basis, that dirt will build up. Eventually our lives begin to stink. We try to blame others for our own dirt build-up, but in the end, we are the ones who carry the odor.
There is a solution; take a “Wordbath” every day. If you do, you will begin to see how easily the pollution of the world can be washed off.
……..suddenly craving some sunflower seeds…….
Adrian G. Torres
Martho is viewed as a hero. The pride of our old Jurassic tier (hall of cells.) He knows he’s dearly loved, so he struts like a celebrity. It’s rare that one of us doesn’t offer him a meal at least once a day. Martho always openly accepts the meals with glee. Continue reading “Rescued”