The Way of Letting Go by Wilma Derksen

Author:Wilma Derksen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2017-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

I had to let go of my need to know everything before I moved ahead; I had to learn to function in the mystery.

Chapter 14

LETTING GO OF MY RAGE

Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hatred. It is a power that breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness.

—CORRIE TEN BOOM

I had a friend who came to visit me shortly after we had found Candace’s body. She was a wonderful, no-nonsense kind of woman, a woman of integrity who demanded integrity from those around her.

We were having tea in our living room, and the sun was streaming in through the window.

Her first questions were about how we were doing. She affirmed that her impression of us was that we were forgiving—and doing it well.

But her next question caught me off guard. “If you could let yourself go, what would satisfy justice for you? Would it be execution?”

I had never allowed myself the question. I didn’t think I was ready to face the complexity of it. But I felt safe with her, and her question was an interesting one. Perhaps it was time to think about it. I purposely loosened my controls and explored my inner feelings, my emotions. My friend waited in silence as I fell into deep thought.

“No,” I finally answered, half to her and half to myself. “No, it wouldn’t be enough. Execution, capital punishment, wouldn’t completely satisfy me emotionally. If the offender were executed, he would be dying for something he did—he would deserve it.

“Candace was innocent. She died for no reason, for no fault of her own. She died young, in her prime, full of potential, full of anticipation, full of dreams, full of immediate plans of a good weekend. She would have contributed so much to our lives. Just to execute the offender would mean that he was being punished for what he had done. It would be removing a liability to society, a hopeless case. There’s no equity in that.”

I was shocked at my own answer. But I continued, “His death, one death, wouldn’t satisfy me.” I went deeper into myself, groping for the feeling of equity. “Ten child murderers would have to die.” I paused, still groping for the satisfaction of justice. It was almost as if another voice answered for me. “And I would have to pull the trigger myself.”

Oh, the feeling was wonderful! In my mind’s eye I saw ten hooded figures lined up against a brick wall. There was a gun in my hand, and immediately I took advantage of the moment and aimed and pulled the trigger ten times. The feeling was delicious. They deserved to die. The figures fell one by one.

If I had been able to preserve my reverie of that moment, I’d now be in favor of the death penalty. It felt good. It felt so right. I understood the depth of my pain and the depth of my rage.

As the camera of my imagination continued to roll, I saw the hoods fall loose and expose ten faces vulnerable in death.

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