The more I seek to deepen my relationship with the Lord…
...the more I see my own inadequacies and shortcomings. There are areas within my heart which need a lot more work. And what I am going to share now is a result of this.
It began several weeks ago when an unwelcomed letter arrived in the mail. From its contents, I could tell the writer was a disturbed individual obsessed with serial murders. It's the kind of correspondence which is very rare. I cannot in recent memory ever recall getting a letter quite like it. This was a letter from hell.
It was at the 4:30 mail call when the officer in charge of my cell block made his rounds, passing out the day's mail. After stopping by my cell to hand me mine, I sat down at the end of my bunk as I usually do, and began to sort through it.
Looking back, I recall feeling exhausted after an unusually busy day. So I made a quick once-over of my mail, tossing out several pieces of junk mail almost immediately. But one particular letter caught my eye. Opening it, I saw, written on several pages of ordinary loose-leaf paper, a bizarre display of hand printed and scribbled jottings splattered from one end of each page to the other.
Written in black ink, the letter looked menacing. Its writer blabbered about murder. While I also noticed that amidst all the scribbling, on one of the pages he had printed in bold letters the name of one of America's most despised serial killers, Ted Bundy.
That was enough for me. My first thought was, "Why was this stranger writing such a crazy letter?" Was he trying to impress me? Did he think killing innocent people was something to gloat over, and that I would be laughing right along with him with malicious delight?
I was not impressed at all. After finishing a quick scan of its contents, I simply ripped it up and tossed it into my little trash can.
But this would not be the end of the story. Shortly thereafter, I began to regret my hasty actions. I started to develop a strong sense of dread. My soul was in distress. "Should I have saved this toxic piece of mail?" I asked myself over and over.
The answer would be yes.
D. B.
To be continued…
It began several weeks ago when an unwelcomed letter arrived in the mail. From its contents, I could tell the writer was a disturbed individual obsessed with serial murders. It's the kind of correspondence which is very rare. I cannot in recent memory ever recall getting a letter quite like it. This was a letter from hell.
It was at the 4:30 mail call when the officer in charge of my cell block made his rounds, passing out the day's mail. After stopping by my cell to hand me mine, I sat down at the end of my bunk as I usually do, and began to sort through it.
Looking back, I recall feeling exhausted after an unusually busy day. So I made a quick once-over of my mail, tossing out several pieces of junk mail almost immediately. But one particular letter caught my eye. Opening it, I saw, written on several pages of ordinary loose-leaf paper, a bizarre display of hand printed and scribbled jottings splattered from one end of each page to the other.
Written in black ink, the letter looked menacing. Its writer blabbered about murder. While I also noticed that amidst all the scribbling, on one of the pages he had printed in bold letters the name of one of America's most despised serial killers, Ted Bundy.
That was enough for me. My first thought was, "Why was this stranger writing such a crazy letter?" Was he trying to impress me? Did he think killing innocent people was something to gloat over, and that I would be laughing right along with him with malicious delight?
I was not impressed at all. After finishing a quick scan of its contents, I simply ripped it up and tossed it into my little trash can.
But this would not be the end of the story. Shortly thereafter, I began to regret my hasty actions. I started to develop a strong sense of dread. My soul was in distress. "Should I have saved this toxic piece of mail?" I asked myself over and over.
The answer would be yes.
D. B.
To be continued…
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