I’ve been praying for the last 12 years or so for a man I went through school with, first grade ’til our 1978 graduation from high school, who’s in prison for murder. Thanks to the Internet savvy of my son, I was able last month to locate his address, and I wrote to him, not knowing what to expect but wanting him to know, at least, that I’d been praying for him.
“Joy, exploding” was how I received Raymond’s letter this week; “thank you, Jesus!” was all I could say for about half an hour through tears of joy and gratitude. Raymond’s love for the Lord and his tender heart shined through the letter, and I am so thankful that he’s all right, believing in the Lord Jesus, and trusting him for his release late in August.
In school, we were in the same world; out of school, his was different from mine. A Black kid from an impoverished Black neighborhood even bleaker than the mostly Mexican-American and Anglo one I lived in had very little opportunity, support, or aspirations. Put another way, my brother, only a year younger, had a wealth of opportunity, support, and aspiration, simply by being born white to a two-parent home. I grieve at the way Raymond’s life went, just as I rejoice in the successful, secure life my brother has — knowing that he rounded the bases on an uneven playing field tipped inordinately his way.
My friend and I will continue our correspondence, and I thank my God for a husband who encourages my reaching out to Raymond and looks forward to how God might use us in his life, as well as how he might minister to us. Please pray for my friend, and rejoice with me that I found him — and that he found Him.