October 22nd, 2009

When Libbie Custer left her parent’s home in Monroe, Michigan with her new husband, George Custer, she was excited about all the possibilities ahead of them. Nineteen days after they were married, however, George had to return to his cavalry division engaged in heated battles with the Confederate Army. They wrote one another often and when letters were few and far in between, Libbie took to reading every newspaper article about her husband. He was a Civil War hero. As youngest general in the Union Army he led his division to one victory after another. The press loved him. Libbie loved him, the man and the hero became one in the same. Libbie was captivated by him. I liken it to being married to a superstar politician such as John Edwards, the press loved him at first. It was hard to separate the real man from the glowing individual the press reported on. Eventually truth found Edwards out as it did for Custer, but for this moment in their new life together, all Libbie saw was the man the newspaper accounts helped create. I’m fascinated with this story and eager to continue on with it. Alas, I won’t be able to do much work on the book today because I’m going to see another attorney about my brother. I’m dealing with a warden who has told me that “he doesn’t care about the inmates – whether they live or die. “I’d prefer they die quickly. I’m not here to educate, rehabilitate, or make sure any medical need is addressed. I’m here to punish. And make no mistake about it, I will punish.” That attitude makes me furious. Not just at the prison officials and all the other officials who allow that to happen, but at the people who planned the demise of my brother. While going through a research book yesterday I found a letter my terrified brother had written to me almost two years ago. It read simply this, “Please ask God to come quickly. Tell him not to send his Son. This is no place for children.” Two days later he was beaten and raped. Last night as I walked around a store doing some early holiday shopping, my mind settled on how bitter I have become over this incident. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of the day the woman who accused my brother of such vile acts, and her mother who helped conceive the idea, get what’s coming to them. My soul is dark and brooding. I am troubled and lost. In that moment I realize that I am evil, cursed, unrepentant for thinking such things. I know that the Lord can transform this incident into a blessing. But my fear is that I am so far gone in my dark thoughts that I can’t be saved. And why would he want to? Some souls are malformed. Perhaps this struggle has left me with just that. I pray, but at times feel so disconnected because I have become so jaded.