God Loves A Killer

God Loves A Killer

Cold. The visiting room is always cold. Death lingers. I didn’t wear a coat. There is nothing to do but wait. Well, I guess there are a couple of Bibles available…but it’s hard to read it when God seems so absent. The doors rattled. I watched as inmates went to their booths for visitation. Some looked pleased. Some looked bothered. Some just looked. I put my head back down. Cold. I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I was there. I just know I was woken up by a question. “Who are you here to see?” After I answered the question, the woman told me that she was waiting on her brother. I could tell that she was apprehensive. “I come up here week after week and sometimes he sees me and sometimes he doesn’t. He gets worse each time.” One cannot travel to death row without encountering mental illness. The two phrases are practically synonymous. When the door rattled, I heard a commotion. I don’t know how. I just knew. The noises grew closer. The woman looked at me. “I just thank God that he came out today.” When he passed by my booth, I saw a bewildered older man. The door slammed. Their conversation began. I laid my head down. The noises of sadness woke me up. He couldn’t handle anything more than a few minutes. She couldn’t handle him leaving so quickly. I didn’t know if I could handle anymore. The woman left upset. I wish I could’ve followed her. I couldn’t. My visit hadn’t even started yet.

Raymond Martinez just died.

Most would never associate love with such an occurrence. A killer multiple times over. A man suffering from severe mental illness. An inmate of no particular significance. What’s love got to do with it?

Despite the evil, I promise you that his sister will never stop loving him

God won’t either.

Amen.