On Fear, the Abolition of It, and What I Think of a Murderer

So tomorrow is the 4th of July. That's really shocking. It seems like July 2007 was just a few weeks ago. I guess that's just a sign that I'm getting old or something.

Well, I've been sitting her trying to dream up something worth your time to post, and haven't really come up with anything. So I guess I'll just cheat and talk about this week's news.

If you live in the midwest, chances are you've heard about the eight murders that have taken place this week in Illinois and Missouri. They were brutal and bloody. Plus two of the bodies were found not that far away from my house. Creepy! So now that I've made all of the dear people that read this and care about me faint dead away, I'll mention the fact that they've caught the guy.

I'm not usually one to freak out over dangerous situations. For instance, I wasn't afraid the entire time I was in Mexico. Now granted, that's not necessarily dangerous, but usually a trip out of country would be considered more worthy of fearful thoughts than a night spent at home. Now suddenly there's a creepy killer guy with no apparent motive lurking in my peaceful little town. 

So I'm not going to lie to you - I was scared. Very scared. Scared to the point that being in my locked home with a strong father on alert ready to protect me didn't help ease my fear at all. It's not a pleasant feeling.

Then I turned it over to the Lord. I knew that letting my fear take control of me was the same as telling God that I didn't believe He would protect me, so I asked for peace and I asked Him to forgive me for doubting His strength. And you know what? The strangest thing happened...

I wasn't afraid anymore.

Yeah. Just like that. I knew that the murderer was out there, but I knew that God was there first. To quote a song I learned in Children's Church:

"My God, He is big, He's gigantic, He's enormous. He is powerful and strong. He is amazing and He's awesome; and there's nothing in this world that He couldn't pulverize... so I know I have nothing to fear, no, no! So I know I have nothing to fear!" (play that in your head really fast with an English accent - it's fun to sing)

And so the next morning I hear that the suspected murderer (you have to say 'suspected', even with a lot of strong evidence against him - otherwise it's not fair) was caught. Yay! 

It's strange, though. I feel sorry for him. I mean, what's more frightening than whatever could push him to kill innocent people? Whether it was the drugs or something else, what kind of state was his mind in? But when he's afraid, and I'm sure that even his twisted self feels fear, he has no one to turn to, except maybe his drugs, and that would just leave him more messed up than he was originally. Yes, I feel sorry for the murderer, because there but for the grace of God go I. I feel sorry for him because I have no idea what kind of nightmare goes on in his mind, and I desperately hope that he has a chance to hear the Gospel before he dies. I hope more than anything that his heartless, sin-scorched soul could feel the cool and gentle stream of forgiveness cover it once and for all. He hasn't hurt me, so maybe that's why it's so easy to pity him. Maybe if it was my parents he had killed, or my friends, or any of my family, maybe then I would hate him and thirst for his death. But he didn't. Yes, I believe that he should pay the price for his actions, but first I want him to have a chance at grace.

Hey, I'm really tired. Hopefully this made sense. If it didn't, I'm very sorry.