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          "Linda," my mother's voice crackled across the phone line, "Sharon Caine disappeared last weekend."

          I felt a sudden sickness in the pit of my stomach. Sharon wasn't a close friend, but I knew her well enough to be concerned. "You're kidding!" I said, "I saw Sharon Saturday. What happened?"

          My mother paused, "That's the day she was reported missing. Apparently, she and her husband were walking home from the Gateway Shopping Center after their car broke down."

          I sat down, overwhelmed. "That's where I saw her," I stammered. "It... it never occurred to me that she needed help. I thought she and her husband were walking to a nearby restaurant."

          My mother continued to update me as news reports drifted in. Shortly after passing me, Sharon's husband had sprinted ahead, planning to return for Sharon with their other car. Meanwhile, a stranger accelerated down the road toward Sharon. When he saw her walking alone, he screeched to a halt, swung open the car door, and yanked her inside. Then he drove to an isolated beach on the Texas Gulf Coast. After brutalizing her, he abandoned her to die, buried alive in the sand.

          Over the next few days, the ugly facts played over and over in my mind. The more I thought about them, the more furious I became with myself for not capturing the couple's attention. God had put them across my path, and I had blown it, I thought.

          I didn't know! I argued with my conscience. I couldn't have known that Sharon was in danger. In a sense, I was also a victim of this senseless tragedy.

          I spent the next few nights in sleeplessness, turning the blame and anger from myself to Sharon's murderer. Months later, when Thomas Wilson was tried and sentenced to die by electrocution, I was elated, believing even hell was too good for this man. Over time, my bitterness only intensified.

          Then one Sunday morning, I listened as our silver-haired pastor spoke from Mark 11:25: "And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."

          The message shocked me.

          This couldn't possibly apply to me and my hatred for Sharon's killer, could it, Lord? I already knew the answer. It isn't fair! I silently screamed. That man had no right to rob Sharon of her life! I can't believe You would want me to forgive him after what he did!

          I wrestled silently for months, contemplating the monstrous wrong committed against Sharon, her friends, and her family. I even mourned for the children she would never bear. Thomas Wilson's actions were unjustifiable, and therefore, I concluded, unforgivable.

          As I sat on my sofa one evening, a question came to mind: To receive God's forgiveness, must one's sin always be accompanied by a good excuse?

          I flipped through my Bible to Romans 3:23,24: "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." According to that passage, God's forgiveness is given freely, no matter the circumstances.

          In one painful moment, I knew I had to forgive Thomas Wilson, regardless of his crime, excuse or no excuse.

          My heart rebelled as my mind made a decision. It would be hard to give up my hatred, like exchanging a custom-fitted garment for one much too big. Even so, I weakly told the Lord that with His help, I was willing to try to forgive this man, though it seemed far beyond my ability.

          My first problem was how. How does one go about forgiving the unforgivable? And how would I know if I'd succeeded? Though several years had passed, the mere mention of Thomas Wilson's name still sent shivers down my spine.

          But before I took any action, I received word Thomas Wilson had been executed. I couldn't help but feel relief that this episode of my life had ended. Or so I thought.

          One day, while reading, in the sunlit bay window of my new home, I saw an item about an organization called Death Row Support Project. I began to feel the Lord prompting me to test my so-called forgiveness on a real person.

          "Don't do it, Linda," my mother cautioned. "Think of the victims' families."

          "I sympathize with them," I agreed, "But I have to find out how big God's forgiveness really is."

          After much trepidation and a few crumpled starts, I wrote asking the project to send me the name of a death-row inmate with whom I could correspond. I secretly hoped I would get the name of someone whose crime would be easy to forgive.

          When the letter arrived from the project, I opened it with trembling hands. I was shocked to read that the group had sent me the name of *Johnny Lee Simpson, a convicted murderer from my own hometown of Beaumont, Texas.

          My mother was horrified, "He killed two women during a bank robbery! First, he shared a cup of coffee with them, then he shot each of them in the head!"

          Pregnant with my first child, I too was appalled this man had killed two young mothers.

          With difficulty, I began writing to Johnny. And the sensitive replies that came from this intelligent, 50-year-old convict amazed me.

          "Who would have thought my life would have turned out like this?" Johnny wrote. "There was a time when I taught a boy's Sunday school class. But I've turned my back on all that. Don't pity me. I've made my own choices. I want to die and go to hell to pay the debt I owe society."

          Through our correspondence, Johnny shared in my joy over the birth of my daughter, Laura, and grieved with me when she was injured in a terrible car crash. "I sat up all night in my cell and thought solely of Laura and you in that hospital. Before daylight, I got the definite feeling that Laura was going to be fine and would grow into a lovely woman. You are not alone."

          Somehow, it was easier for me to forgive Johnny, not because he deserved it, but because God's hand was moving in our lives. I could feel God's love and compassion for him, just as he had felt God's love and compassion for us.

          One March morning, Johnny sent bad news: "An hour ago, I received another date of execution for May the 3rd. As I have turned my back on my own faith, I shall not be a hypocrite and ask for God's forgiveness. Please understand."

          "But Johnny," I wrote in my next letter, "none of us deserve God's forgiveness. Can't you see that God will look past your sins, if you only ask?"

          His letter was a blow, "Many long and lost years ago I had a deep and abiding faith, which I alone destroyed. In so doing, I destroyed myself. I cannot look back. I will die without God."

          With Johnny's execution date weeks away, I yearned to see him experience God's redeeming power. If only I could make him understand!

          As I sat at my typewriter, trying to define God's forgiveness for Johnny in story form, the enormity of His grace and mercy became real to me. With great anticipation and prayer, I mailed my letter and waited for a response.

          It never came. Instead, God proved Himself to Johnny without my help.

          "Very late Thursday night," Johnny wrote. "I had my back turned to the bars...listening to all the yelling and cussing, but suddenly, I did not hear a sound, only a voice within me saying, You shall not die, there are things you have to do."

          "Later, my Bible dropped from the shelf onto my bunk. I picked it up and it fell open to Colossians 1:13-14, 'For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the Kingdom of the Son He loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.'

          "I understand now. Jesus has forgiven even me, even though I don't deserve it. I'm in His Kingdom now."

          I read the letter with joy, realizing that in the process of becoming Johnny's friend, the Lord totally removed the last traces of bitterness from my spirit over the murder of my friend, Sharon. I was wonderfully free!

          And Johnny? Today, after a year of leading a Bible study in his cell block and writing letters to children on a hospital's cancer ward, he's faced his final execution date. He's with his Creator now, a forgiven man. Someday, when I cross over to heaven, I will give Johnny a great big hug. I'll probably even say, "I told you so."

(*The names have been changed to protect the victims and their families.)

To see the story Linda wrote for Johnny see Jake's Choice.

For information for writing a prisoner on death row write:

Death Row Support Project
PO Box 600
Liberty Mills, IN 45946

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Linda Evans Shepherd Author and Speaker
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