I walk in to the Transition unit at Boulder County jail. The officer calls the names of the inmates in our Thursday morning meditation class. While I wait for the guys to come out of their cells and line up in the hallway, I often like to take that time to check in with the guys in my classes. This Thursday, I am talking to "T" about his slow recovery from a cold. He hasn't been able to get much fresh air lately, which makes it harder to recover. The guys haven't been allowed to go outside for a while, because they can't go out when the temps are under 50 degrees.

As I'm talking to "T," another inmate, "C," walks up to me and hands me a January 2015 issue of Shambhala Sun magazine. He says, "I saw this photo on the cover (a photo of a statue of Quan Yin) and I thought of you...I want you to have it." At first I say, "thank you, and maybe we should leave this here at the jail for others to read." I see he's a bit disappointed...I get the sense that he really wants me to receive this gift. And in that moment I'm happy to receive it and take the magazine with me, and I tell him that. He looks happy now. Even though I suspect this magazine is not "his" to give away (it most likely belongs in the shared library), this offering is far more precious than to be concerned about "who owns it and where does it belong." For now, this mysterious gift belongs in a place in my heart. And I take it with me.

What makes this gift remarkable is that just a few weeks before, "C" had a really hard time in class. Though he was engaged and interacting at first, towards the end of class he moved to the corner of the room and curled up in self-protection. When I asked him to re-join the circle, please, he came back and started throwing the meditation pillow up in the air a few times. When it came time for him to share, he had his head between his knees and expressed vulnerably through his tears that he felt he was being picked on and not heard or respected during the class. After giving some space and empathy, and allowing things to just "be" for a minute, we moved on with the class.

And just a few weeks later, he presents me with a magazine that he found meaningful.

I am touched by this because it reminds me that we can't judge and label people by focusing on some impression we have of them from one moment in time. One moment, "C" is throwing a meditation pillow in the air and "distracting" others in the class, and in another moment he's offering a kind gift from his heart. How can we judge and label? Do we really know who he is, truly? I imagine him in a criminal trial, where the jurors are being told a story of what he's done to land him in jail. This is the story they hear about him. But do they get to see his kind heart, too?

All of the inmates I have come to know are in jail for something they did (or have been accused of doing) one moment in time. And yet, as I get to know many of them, all I see is intelligent, curious, kind, funny human beings. Who at some point in their lives made a mistake. Haven't we all?