Colorado Bible Boot Camp behind bars 'Sister Margo' changes lives, 1 inmate at a time

By Sharon Dunn The Daily Tribune GREELEY, Colo. (AP) -- His blue eyes gleam through the tears as his anguished face reddens beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Mark, an inmate who did not give his last name, sits among a group of 25 men crammed into a cinder-block-bound classroom built for maybe 15, his internal pain is evident to the men shoulder-to-shoulder around him. "Sister Margo" stops every few seconds as she paces the tiny room filled with men wearing orange jail scrubs, their hands flipping through the pages of the Weld County Sheriff-issued Bibles. Her hand rises to reach out to Mark in the middle of the room. "It's OK. You can cry out to God," the sprite woman of almost 70 says as she commands the group's attention. "He's the only one who can help you." It's Thursday night at the Weld County Jail. Margarita "Margo" Preciado takes her usual place in front of her Bible Boot Camp soldiers in the C Pod classroom, preaching the word, encouraging men who've lost hope to keep trying, to put their faith in God's plan for them. She holds almost nightly prayer and Bible groups, working until 10 p.m. sometimes. On Saturdays, she'll meet with jail inmates one-on-one, and on Sundays, she's filling the pews in New Hope Christian Fellowship in north Greeley, often dancing with her joy for the Lord -- a practice she also says helps heal the ache in her knees. During the week, after her morning rounds to hospice and four nursing homes and a nice walk through Bittersweet Park, she'll attend inmates' court hearings in Weld District Court, saying nothing, speaking to few, but always sitting in the back, praying for the inmates she's ministered to in jail. She adds to her prayers the judges and their clerks, and the Weld sheriff's deputies who transport the inmates. In those back pews in the courtroom, which aggravate a back injury that rendered her unable to work several years ago, she prays. She is there for the inmates, many times when no one else is. When an inmate is finished with his or her hearing, she slips out the doors quietly. The inmates, she says, just love that she's in their corner. "I feel that I need to be there, praying," Margo said. "You never know what's going to happen." Margo doesn't care how the inmates got there; she focuses on one thing -- healing. "I tell them, 'Maybe at one time you never had that love, you were empty and no one cared for you,' " Margo said. "I don't care, no matter what you've done." Back at the jail, she pushes the inmates to do better, to rise up and move beyond their crimes for the sake of themselves, their families, their babies. She encourages them, and by doing so, she encourages others. "She's helped us to realize that everyone has value," said Rigo Magana, senior pastor of New Hope. "No matter their background or lifestyle, they're all important to God. They are criminals. There's no doubt, they broke the law, and that's why they're in jail. She realizes that, but she knows that God loves them, and if we're in love with God, we're going to love what He loves." Margo's driving force is her own son, from whose experiences she draws to illustrate her points. David Preciado was sentenced to 48 years in prison when he was 21; he got out in 10 years, only to be killed six years later in a car crash near Eaton. In August, it will be 10 years since his death. When David was sent to prison, Margo almost gave up. She was working at Hewlett-Packard in Greeley when a Loveland minister approached her. "He said, 'Here's a Bible.' I said 'OK,' put it away, and I never used it. Finally, I figured I do need help. God put him in my path." On visits to her son in prison in Ordway, Margo said he would push her, much like she pushes the inmates behind bars today. Never give up. "He would tell me, 'Mom, go find another David. Go speak to them, go support them.' " Margo got her start in the Weld County Jail in 2001 by accompanying Greeley resident Kathy Gardner, who has a jail and prison ministry, as a Spanish language interpreter. "I said 'I'll try it, I'll give it a shot,' " Margo said. "Sure enough, I kept going. One time she said, 'You're on your own.' " As time went on, Margo found her son was right. There were hundreds of Davids, hundreds of others who'd grown up with difficulties, hundreds who had lost hope in their circumstances. They all needed help. "Maybe they never had a mom talk to them with love, maybe it was always scolding, yelling," Margo says. "I tell them, 'I love you, I'm proud of you.' When I talk like that, even adults, they start crying." For 10 years, she's helped the inmates, talking with them, counseling them without judgment. She even visits the younger kids housed in Platte Valley Youth Detention Center just west of the jail. "After we leave here, everything is off our shoulders," said Angelo Ornelas, an inmate who attends Margo's Bible study. "We're lucky, we get an angel face-to-face. . She's wonderful. Every day, every week, every hour, every second. I'm glad God brought her to my life." For jail employees, she's a fixture, one that brings only positive change. "I'll go into a pod where she's holding a class, and it's always full," said Commander Sally Gomez of the Weld County Jail. "I have no doubt in my mind she has some sort of impact, if anything, a calming one. If they abide by the rules, they can have that visit with her and can go to her Bible study." As some inmates move onto prisons, they continue to write to Margo in her growing list of pen pals, many thanking her for what she's done, for listening and being there for them. Many promise to do good on the outside. "She is Jesus to those people, showing His love and forgiveness," said New Hope executive pastor Amos Olivarez. "She is Jesus' love, His hand extended." As Bible Boot Camp came to a close during a recent visit, Sister Margo apologized for picking on Mark, the young man going through some intense personal pain. "I feel relieved," Mark reassured her. She retorted with the conviction of a mother: "You're gonna make it." The hour-long session flew by in what seemed like minutes as she nursed the men's spirits, speaking in English and Spanish. They stand at the end, with their hands in the air as they pray together, erupting into applause at her final pleas for God to help them. Margo wipes her eyes with the wadded-up tissues she brought in her purse, sitting next to her large, weathered Bible. She doesn't forget the silent, teary-eyed newcomer as the regulars rush to say goodbye for the night. She tells him, "It's going to be OK. I'm glad I met you. I felt your pain. It's OK. I'll carry your burden. I can handle it." Mark smiles and shakes her hand: "I'm very glad I met you." Published: Mon, Feb 28, 2011