November 24, 2009 | Tonya Rice didn’t hesitate.

She slipped an index finger beneath her upper lip, pulling it back to reveal a row of misshapen, decayed teeth. A moment later, she let go, and the evidence of past neglect was hidden again, outshone by her soft blue eyes and a freckled, peaches-and-cream complexion.

“I can show you this now,” the 29-year-old said, “because I’m not embarrassed anymore.”

After nearly six months at the transitional program offered by The Next Door in Nashville, Tenn., Rice discovered what many other addicts have yet to. It’s OK for her to be honest about ugly truths -- even if they include a crack and cocaine habit that bankrupted her relationships, led to the loss of her children and landed her in prison. Acceptance, grace and forgiveness can be more than just platitudes. And mutual respect goes a long, long way.

“I know one day I’ll walk out of here with a beautiful smile,” she said. A local dentist has offered to repair the physical damage.

Look in those eyes, however, and it’s clear the beauty of that smile will come from more than just her teeth.

Crossing the threshold

From the outside, The Next Door is a nondescript, unmarked downtown building. Beyond the surface, however, transformations are taking place for the women in crisis who come for help.

At this residential program focusing on women leaving prison, there are no must-be-mentioned success stories, no standout stars. There’s also no us-versus-them mentality. There is only a group of women -- staff and residents -- jointly dependent on a divine hand for intervention, guidance and wisdom on a minute-to-minute basis.

On a warm November Sunday, the community has gathered in a small chapel nearby. Dressed in their best, anticipation in the air, they wait for the “transition” ceremony to start. And they watch as four women, including Rice, stand on their own.

It’s a graduation day, and one by one, each of the four approaches the microphone before the crowd of about 150, chokes back tears, steadies her hands and musters the courage to share stories of struggle, defeat, loss and victory. Seated before them are staff, volunteers and other residents as well as also family members and friends. They look out into faces of those they don’t want to let down again.

Disappointment has dotted these lives, a constant among the 500 women who have crossed the threshold of The Next Door since May 2004. They arrive from prisons, county jails, violent relationships and less-than-legal work on the streets, carrying with them histories of substance abuse and hope for a better future.

Many are like Sandra McIntyre, whose quarter-century dance with drug addiction began when, as an all-star teen basketball player, she was hit by a drunk driver and lost her ability to play. The women at The Next Door brought her true community in ways she’d never known.

“I don’t have to hide anything,” she said from the front of the room.

And the standing ovation began.

‘Trust equals love, and that’s huge’

Across Tennessee, according to the state’s Department of Correction, the average recidivism rate for all offenders -- the number who will typically relapse after having served time in prison -- is 42 percent within three years. At The Next Door, it’s 10 percent for those who complete the six-month program and 21 percent for those who stay just 90 days. The program is so successful that it has been recognized by the White House, the National Criminal Justice Association and the Office of National Drug Control Policy, among others.

Some chalk it up to the holistic combination of compassionate care, clinical services, structure, grace, community and affordable housing. Some say it’s in the spiritual emphasis. Still others say it’s in the example the staff and volunteers set. But what truly sets it apart is the decidedly Christian -- and unusual -- willingness to hand over trust, acceptance and mercy to those who fully understand that they’ve thrown away those opportunities in the past. From the program’s outset, the decision was made that trust would be given rather than earned.

“Coming from a place where I had been not trusted, where I had been labeled, that gave me hope,” said Ramie Siler, a former resident who is now a case manager. “It was the first time I felt like the world didn’t look down on me. It made me feel safe, and gave me confirmation that I could make the changes I needed to.”

It wasn’t easy; it rarely is. Of the many that have been accepted, just about 100 have made it through to graduation. Linda Leathers, The Next Door’s executive director, admits that it’s all about grace, but that grace is not cheap.

“It’s the easiest thing in the world to go back to your old ways,” she said. “This is a new way of living. We’re asking these women to be responsible for themselves. It’s not always rah-rah-rah.”

Experience has taught the staff that they can’t live the lives of the residents for them. They can’t want recovery more than the addicts themselves. This knowledge led to healthy boundaries, but also a clear view of what was really needed.

The downtown Nashville residential building next door to the First Baptist Church houses up to 44 women. The program also offers regular meetings (open to those in the program and beyond it); prayer partners with women in the outside world; chores; employment assistance; life-skills training; help with family reunification; a separate, gated community for roughly 20 women who have graduated; individual and group counseling and more. To teach responsibility, participants are expected to hold a job and pay $125 a week; they’re also encouraged to save.

But relapses happen. Setbacks occur. And when they do, the women involved aren’t kicked out of the program. More services are placed around them instead. The enduring compassion stems from the understanding that addiction is often related to past trauma such as emotional, physical or sexual abuse.

“Essentially, these women may be trying to deal with things that happened 20 years ago,” said Cindy Sneed, a counselor and mental health services provider who is the organization’s chief clinical officer.

Working through that effectively includes core values such as wholeness, hope, community, respect, encouragement and faith. And, again, trust, which Sneed considers key to bringing the rest about.

“Now that means we’re going to be disappointed sometimes,” Sneed said. “We’re going to be hurt. But that’s exactly what God does for us. If I don’t have to earn his trust, then they shouldn’t have to earn mine. I know that’s a little backwards, and some alcohol or drug treatment centers would say we’re crazy. But as a faith-based organization, it’s a critical point to our success. For these women, trust equals love, and that’s huge.”