I shifted on the couch, searching for some way to sit without my legs and back aching. I\u2019d lived\u2014if that was even the word\u2014with this constant pain for four years now. But that was only part of what was bothering me tonight. I sat for an hour, pen poised above a sheet of white notebook paper inside a binder. I needed to write this letter, wanted to believe it could make a difference. But the words wouldn\u2019t come.<\/p>\n
It was Marian, my wife, who had urged me to do this. \u201cYou can\u2019t go on keeping this inside of you,\u201d she told me. There was plenty I wanted to say. I wanted the slimeball who did this to me to know my agony. I wanted to tell him what he\u2019d taken from me\u2014my job as a Wyoming state trooper, my self-worth, my very will to live.<\/p>\n
But the worst was the anger, a raw, festering hatred that smoldered inside of me. If only I\u2019d killed Mark Farnham when I\u2019d had the chance. At least I\u2019d have that satisfaction. So many times I\u2019d asked God to take this burden from me. Instead, nearly every waking hour, and then at night in my dreams, I relived that day.<\/p>\n
I was eating lunch at the Country Kitchen in Rock Springs, taking a break from working the fender benders occasioned by a March snow. I hadn\u2019t bothered wearing my bulletproof vest. I knew I\u2019d be spending most of the day writing accident reports.<\/p>\n
My radio crackled: bank robber in a tan vehicle possibly headed up Highway 430. I swallowed the last bite of my chiliburger, extra onions, left my money on the table and rushed out.<\/p>\n
Just past milepost 13 I saw a car matching the description and pulled it over. I hit the mike to call dispatch with my badge number: \u201cRock Springs, 105, a tan Mercu\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
BOOM!<\/em> A bullet pierced the windshield and tore into my eye. It felt like it was on fire. I opened my door for cover, only to slump onto the passenger seat, my service revolver underneath me. \u201cShots fired! Officer down,\u201d I screamed into the radio. I looked up. There was a man standing over me. Mostly I saw the barrel of his pistol. He pumped four more bullets into me, then ran.<\/p>\n Somehow I lurched out of the cruiser and emptied my .357 Magnum into the back of his car as it sped away. Blood was everywhere. Stay calm<\/em>, I told myself, lowering myself to the pavement. I\u2019d never been one to pray, but now I begged God to look after me and Marian. We\u2019d been married only six months. We were just kids in our twenties. Let her know I love her<\/em>, I prayed. I felt as if I were drifting away from myself. Then the world went dark.<\/p>\n I woke the next morning in intensive care. My father was holding my hand, Marian next to him. They told me the doctors had removed my eye, part of my liver and most of my intestines. One of the bullets was lodged against my spine and couldn\u2019t be safely removed.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a miracle you\u2019re alive, Stephen,\u201d Marian said.<\/p>\n At first that\u2019s how I saw it too. Two months later I was back on the force. A few bullets weren\u2019t gonna keep me down. I came from tough Wyoming stock. I could take care of myself.\u00a0But inside something was wrong. Something I didn\u2019t know how to fix. Patrolling filled me with dread. My hands trembled when I pulled someone over. I\u2019d never known such fear. It was overwhelming.<\/p>\n And so was the physical pain. I took pain pills to get through the day. At night I drank beer until I fell asleep. That\u2019s when the night terrors would come: blood raining down on me. Every night I woke screaming and crying, Marian holding me. \u201cI\u2019m right here,\u201d she\u2019d say. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be okay.\u201d But I knew better.<\/p>\n Four months after he\u2019d left me for dead on that highway, I sat in a courtroom and watched that bank robber, Mark Farnham, plead guilty to attempted second-degree murder in exchange for a life sentence. I started shaking with rage. A life sentence! Wasn\u2019t that what he had given me? He deserved to die for what he\u2019d done! One of my shots had hit him in the shoulder. If only I\u2019d had more time to aim\u2026<\/p>\n One evening I pulled over a motorist for speeding. I went to the car and asked for his license. He reached behind him and I was sure I saw a .44 Magnum in his hand. I drew my weapon. \u201cGet out of the car,\u201d I ordered, my revolver inches from his head. I looked again. Not a gun, a wallet. He\u2019d simply done what I\u2019d ordered him to do.<\/p>\n That was it. I went on disability. I wasn\u2019t up to being a cop, physically or mentally. Day after day I hobbled around the house, mostly to get another beer from the fridge. What good was I to anyone like this? I started asking myself. Why hadn\u2019t God just let me die that day?\u00a0I was desperately depressed. I met with the police chaplain. I told him about the anger and the pain and how hopeless my life seemed. \u201cHave you forgiven Mark Farnham?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n Forgiven?<\/em> He had to be kidding. Forgiveness wasn\u2019t even on the table. I could only hope that somehow Farnham was suffering as much as I was.<\/p>\n The chaplain\u2019s eyes searched mine. \u201cI don\u2019t mean with words,\u201d he continued. \u201cYou need to forgive him in your heart. That\u2019s when you\u2019ll find the healing you\u2019re looking for.\u201d<\/p>\n That evening I told Marian the chaplain\u2019s advice. \u201cForgive that guy? Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n She looked at me for a long moment. \u201cAll I know is you\u2019ve got to do something,\u201d she finally said. \u201cThis isn\u2019t getting any easier.\u201d<\/p>\n Then, out of the blue, Marian joined a church. \u201cI want to meet some people,\u201d she said. \u201cI love you, Stephen, but we can\u2019t go through this alone.\u201d\u00a0Every Sunday she would come home and tell me what the minister had said about God\u2019s love and the power of prayer. \u201cI wish you\u2019d come with me,\u201d she said. Why not? It\u2019s not like I had anything else to do. And I wanted to be with my wife.<\/p>\n It felt good to get out of the house. The congregation was welcoming. No funny looks at the man with the eye patch and the limp. I wanted to believe the minister when he said we could turn our cares over to God. But even me? Surely he meant people who hadn\u2019t been shot five times and had their future stripped away from them.<\/p>\n I went back, mainly for Marian. One Sunday she walked to the front to get baptized. I was stunned. I saw a change in her. She was stronger, more hopeful. \u201cWe\u2019re going to get through this,\u201d she told me so many nights. \u201cGod isn\u2019t through with you.\u201d So that Easter I got baptized too. It couldn\u2019t hurt, right? But by that afternoon my body was aching, my stomach still churning with emotions I couldn\u2019t handle.<\/p>\n One Sunday the minister preached on the redeeming power of forgiveness. \u201cDon\u2019t do it for the other person. Do it for God, who forgives all men.\u201d<\/p>\n After church Marian asked me, \u201cDo you think you\u2019ll ever be able to forgive Mark Farnham?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow can I,\u201d I snapped, \u201cwhen I always feel like this?\u201d<\/p>\n But deep inside a feeling took hold, as if God himself had just thrown me a lifeline in that sermon. \u201cWhat happened to you that day was a crime,\u201d Marian said. \u201cWhat\u2019s happened to you since is a tragedy. God made sure those bullets didn\u2019t kill you. But your anger is going to do what those bullets didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n She got me a binder, a piece of paper and a pen. \u201cPut it in words,\u201d she said. \u201cLet it all go. Give it up to God. He\u2019s the only one who can handle it.\u201d<\/p>\n But what to say to Mark Farnham that I hadn\u2019t already said a million times in my head\u2014that I hated him and blamed him for everything that had gone wrong in my life. All at once I was back on that highway, bleeding, rolling on my back, asking God for help. But was I willing to accept it now when I needed it as much\u2014no, even more\u2014than that day I nearly died? Physically surviving was just the beginning. Now it was my spiritual survival that was in critical condition.<\/p>\n My pen poised above the paper, I felt the most incredible sensation, the anger leaving, a transfusion of\u2026 Dear Mark, I just want to share my joy with you<\/em>, I wrote, the words coming fast. If you haven\u2019t already, won\u2019t you join me in Christ\u2019s love?<\/em><\/p>\n That was it. That was the secret! The way to defeat hate is with love. It was as if by extending a hand I\u2019d loosened the grip inside me. My body hurt, but there was inner peace, a comfort in knowing God was still helping and had always been even in my darkest struggles.<\/p>\n I dropped my note in the mail. I didn\u2019t expect to hear anything back. That wasn\u2019t the point. The world seemed a different place. That morning I marveled at the beauty of the sunrise and the power of the good Wyoming wind. Felt the soothing touch of my wife\u2019s hand and heard the melody of her laugh. God\u2019s blessings too numerous to count.<\/p>\n A few days later a thick envelope arrived from the state penitentiary, an 18-page letter from Mark Farnham. He told me how at the age of 24 he\u2019d moved west, lured by the prospect of good money in the Wyoming oil fields. But he\u2019d gotten addicted to cocaine and soon owed twenty-five thousand dollars to drug dealers. He panicked, bought a pistol at a pawnshop and robbed a bank. Something snapped when I pulled him over. Fury and fear took over. He would live with the guilt of that day until he died, he said. \u201cI don\u2019t deserve the gift you\u2019ve given me, Stephen.\u201d<\/p>\n Later that year I went to a revival at the prison. Mark was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Standard prison gear. He looked up at me, squinting in the sun from behind glasses. Not a monster at all. Just a guy who\u2019d struggled on his own, gotten scared and didn\u2019t know where to turn. Like me.<\/p>\n We wrapped each other in a huge bear hug, the hatred I\u2019d once felt now gone, vanquished by the love of a God who doesn\u2019t give up on us even when we give up on ourselves. \u201cI\u2019m glad I didn\u2019t kill you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cNot half as glad as I am that you\u2019re alive,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n That was nearly 30 years ago. I\u2019m proud to count Mark as one of my best friends. I visit him often. Every year I go before the parole board and ask for his release. I don\u2019t know that it will ever happen. But I\u2019m forever thankful for the reprieve we\u2019ve already been granted. I\u2019ve learned that only God holds the key to the prison in our hearts.<\/p>\n