Jennifer Thompson was a 22 year old college student in North Carolina, described as "the perfect student, perfect daughter, perfect homecoming queen." Her life was forever changed one summer night when a stranger held a knife to her throat and raped her.
She was determined to remember every detail about her assailant so that she could identify her enemy and guarantee imprisonment for the rest of his life. She helped the police develop a drawing. She picked Ronald Cotton out of a lineup. She was calm and confident. The police described her as a perfect witness as this white woman testified against this black man. Although he insisted on his innocence, the power of Jennifer's eyewitness testimony helped to convict him and sentence him to life in prison. She never had a doubt.
A year after his conviction Ronald Cotton met another inmate in the prison kitchen. His name was Bobby Poole and they looked a lot alike. Poole was serving consecutive life sentences for a series of rapes. He bragged to other inmates that Ronald Cotton was serving some of his time because he had assaulted Jennifer Thompson. Cotton got a knife to murder Poole but his father told him not to murder but put his faith in God. He followed his father's advice.
A new trial was ordered for Ronald Cotton. This time they saw both men. This time the jury heard the other side of the story. This time they again convicted him on the basis of Jennifer Thompson' s eyewitness testimony. Again Ronald Cotton was sentenced to serve the rest of his life in prison.
After eleven years Jennifer Thompson had gone on with her life with marriage and children. Then one day the police detective she hadn't seen in years knocked on the door of her Winston-Salem home. He said, "Jennifer, you were wrong." The new technology of DNA analysis conclusively proved that Ronald Cotton was innocent. Her assailant was Bobby Poole after all.
Jennifer Thompson was shocked. How could she have made such a terrible mistake? She had stolen eleven years of a man's life that could never be given back. She agonized over this for two years and then asked to meet with Ronald Cotton and ask for his forgiveness. She prayed for strength to meet the man. They met in a church building in the town where she was raped. Her husband and the pastor waited outside.
Face-to-face for the first time outside a courtroom, Jennifer said, "I'm sorry. If I spent every day for the rest of my life telling you how sorry I am, it wouldn't come close to what I feel."
Calm and quiet, Ronald Cotton finally spoke: "I'm not mad at you. I've never been mad at you. I just want you to have a good life."
They talked for two hours while the pastor and Jennifer's husband anxiously waited outside. When they all stood outside, Jennifer Thompson and Ronald Cotton embraced. They held each other for a long time.
A few days later Jennifer wrote to Bobby Poole in prison. She asked to meet him. She wrote, "I faced you with courage and bravery that July night. You never asked my permission. Now I ask you to face me." She wanted to meet him to tell him that she forgave him for what he did. She reasoned that if Ronald Cotton could forgive her, she could forgive Bobby Poole. He never responded. Poole died of cancer while in prison, early in 2000.
Showing posts with label Love Your Enemies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love Your Enemies. Show all posts
In his book How Small a Whisper, Roger Carswell relates an amazing story of a Christian family's response to tragedy:
In May 1987, 39 American seamen were killed in the Persian Gulf when an Iraqi pilot hit their ship, the USS Stark, with a missile. Newspapers carried a picture of the son of one of these seamen, a shy five-year-old boy, John Kiser. He was standing with his hand on his heart as his father's coffin was loaded onto a plane to take him back to the U.S.A.
His mother said, "I don't have to mourn or wear black, because I know my husband is in heaven. I am happy, because I know he is better off." Later on, she and young John sent a letter and an Arabic New Testament to the pilot of the Iraqi plane, addressed to: "The man who attacked the Stark, Dad's ship, in the hope that it will show that even the son and the wife do not hold any grudge and are at the same time praying for the one who took the life of our father."
In May 1987, 39 American seamen were killed in the Persian Gulf when an Iraqi pilot hit their ship, the USS Stark, with a missile. Newspapers carried a picture of the son of one of these seamen, a shy five-year-old boy, John Kiser. He was standing with his hand on his heart as his father's coffin was loaded onto a plane to take him back to the U.S.A.
His mother said, "I don't have to mourn or wear black, because I know my husband is in heaven. I am happy, because I know he is better off." Later on, she and young John sent a letter and an Arabic New Testament to the pilot of the Iraqi plane, addressed to: "The man who attacked the Stark, Dad's ship, in the hope that it will show that even the son and the wife do not hold any grudge and are at the same time praying for the one who took the life of our father."
Bad Driving
A truck driver is sitting in a crowded roadside diner ready to eat his lunch. It’s not just any diner and any lunch. It’s his favorite diner on the road and his favorite lunch. Just as the waitress brings the truck driver’s meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans to his table, a motorcycle gang swaggers in the door.
Most of them seat themselves at the table next to the truck driver but there’s not room at that table for all of them. The gang members left standing turn to the truck driver and bark, “Move! We want that table!”
The truck driver calmly says, “I haven’t finished my meal.” One of the motorcycle toughs takes his dirty finger, swipes it through the mashed potatoes and gravy, sticks his finger in his mouth and says, “Hey, not bad grub.”
Another gang member takes the trucker’s cup of coffee and slowly pours it over the remaining food on the plate and snarls, “You’re finished now!”
The trucker stands, takes his napkin, wipes his mouth, walks to the cash register, pays for his meal, and silently walks out the door. All the bikers are laughing now. One of them says, “Ain’t much of a man, is he?”
The waitress says, “And he’s not much of a truck driver, either. He just backed his rig over your motorcycles.”
Most of them seat themselves at the table next to the truck driver but there’s not room at that table for all of them. The gang members left standing turn to the truck driver and bark, “Move! We want that table!”
The truck driver calmly says, “I haven’t finished my meal.” One of the motorcycle toughs takes his dirty finger, swipes it through the mashed potatoes and gravy, sticks his finger in his mouth and says, “Hey, not bad grub.”
Another gang member takes the trucker’s cup of coffee and slowly pours it over the remaining food on the plate and snarls, “You’re finished now!”
The trucker stands, takes his napkin, wipes his mouth, walks to the cash register, pays for his meal, and silently walks out the door. All the bikers are laughing now. One of them says, “Ain’t much of a man, is he?”
The waitress says, “And he’s not much of a truck driver, either. He just backed his rig over your motorcycles.”
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)