I do not feel the psalmist's confidence:
The Lord is my light and my salvation—
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
of whom shall I be afraid?2 When the wicked advance against me
to devour[a] me,
it is my enemies and my foes
who will stumble and fall.
3 Though an army besiege me,
my heart will not fear;
though war break out against me,
even then I will be confident.
I find myself fearing what remains of my life. Even though I was baptized forty-three years ago, even though I cannot disbelieve in Christ, I fear because I doubt. I am now a felon, an evildoer myself, and I surrounded myself with criminals for years now. I have evildoers around me now. I had criminals when I smoked crack in Muncie.
I lack faith that my repentance will suffice. The people and the Congress of the United States of America do not think my repentance suffices, for it gets no credit in my sentencing. I go to a prison filled with people who may be like me and others who may not be like me. I look back at my and think how wasteful I have been, how little good I have done.
Teach me your way, Lord;
lead me in a straight path
because of my oppressors.
12 Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes,
for false witnesses rise up against me,
spouting malicious accusations.13 I remain confident of this:
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
14 Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord.
I have always been my own worst enemy. I am stubbornness combined with a bad temper; the worst of combinations. I tried to seek counsel. Then I lost trust and kept my thoughts from those who could have given me good advice.
Knew, but did not trust, the level path. I became convinced of my unworthiness for the level path. I pushed away from the level path, to thrash about in the bushes and the brambles. Death appeared as my only release. I felt death as the just deserts for the whole of my useless, misspent life. Then I botched my death, too.
Christ awaits us in another life. Death no longer attracts me as it once did – with my writing I intend to discharge my obligations to the living. I do not see what else remains for me in life, but waiting for death. Therein lies my key difference with the psalmist: his faith makes him want to live, mine seeks death. I doubt my courage waiting for the Lord. I never had any patience. I confess my sins and wait for death and the afterlife.
Oh, I know the thought: it is a crisis and when that crisis ends, so does faith. The fallacy here lies in thinking the crisis is the looming imprisonment rather than the return itself. Where I am has more people returning from prison than those awaiting prison. I do not see many indications that our federal Bureau of Prisons has reformed the basic thought processes of its convicts. I see far more indications that prison life imposes its own thought processes and customs. Which includes a distrust of others, an omnipresent possibility of violence, a sense that endurance means more than education, that the only morality is whatever promotes survival in the prison of prison). Prison punishes by regimenting behavior, and its graduates respond accordingly. Any crisis promoting moral reflection begins with release. From what I see here, I could learn much in prison that is criminal and not much that will serve me outside of prison. I lived a life of anger and despair, resulting in a self-destruction. I fear prison will only enhance what I have done wrong with my life. This is the thinking brought upon me by pretrial detention.
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