Whitaker - Murder by Family: the Incredible True Story of a Sons Treachery and a Fathers Forgiveness

It is not our ability to think that separates us from the lower animals. It is our capacity to repent and to forgive that makes us different.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

To forgive someone is to admit our limitations. Weve been given only one piece of lifes jigsaw puzzle. Only God has the cover of the box.

Max Lucado , Everyday Blessings

I n the Bible we read that King Davids darkest hour was upon hearing that his son Absalom was dead. Absalom had killed his brother, plotted to take Davids throne, and raised an army whose main goal was to kill David in battle. Yet David loved and forgave his son, crying bitter tears at the news of his death.

A thousand years later, Jesus told the story of another foolish young man who rejected and abandoned his father, running away to a foreign land. Jesus used this parable of the prodigal son to show us the unconditional love and forgiveness God has for all of his wayward children and to illustrate how he will patiently wait for us to come to our senses and return to him. As in the story of David and Absalom, the father in the parable did not ignore or remove the consequences of his sons actions; but he did forgive those actions, just as God will restore and forgive all repentant prodigals.

This is the story of a modern-day father whose life was torn apart by his own Absalom. It is the true story of a dad who slowly came to recognize the truth of his sons guilt yet stubbornly refused to abandon him, even in the face of horrible testimony. Instead of condemnation, he offered the grace and forgiveness that Jesus calls us to extend to all who hurt us. It is the story of a fathers dawning realization that his son had secretly moved into darkness, scheming to take his lifeand of how prayer, forgiveness, and faith brought their winding roads back together and into the light.

It is a modern-day participation in Davids tears, and a living-out of the old parable.

It is my story.

I had always heard that your life flashed before your eyes. But thats not what happened as I lay on the cold concrete that December night, watching the blood from a gunshot wound cover my white shirt. Instead, I found myself praying for my family. There had been four shots, one for each of us.

I told God that if it was my time, I was ready to die, but I prayed that he would spare my wife and two sons. I called to each of them but got no response except for a few quiet, wet coughs from my wife, Tricia. Although I couldnt see her from where I had fallen, I knew that it was her because when I had first tried to get up, I saw her blond hair splayed out on the threshold of our homes front door. Though I had never heard that kind of cough before, I instinctively knew it was the sound of a person trying to clear lungs filling with blood. The silence coming from the dark house was horrible. My God, I thought, hes shot us all.

Life can change in a moment. Just seconds earlier we had been a happy family of four returning from a surprise dinner celebrating our older son Barts anticipated college graduation. He had called that afternoon, telling Tricia that he was through with exams and was coming home for the evening. We had enjoyed a great seafood dinner, including a dessert with Congratulations! written with chocolate syrup on the plates edge. I snapped a few pictures, and then we took the short drive home. How strange that those would be the last photos we would ever have together.

As we got out of the car, our younger son, Kevin, a sophomore in college, led the way to our front door. He stepped inside, with Tricia right behind him. I heard a huge noise, but I didnt immediately recognize it as a gunshot. A moment of silence, and then Tricia exclaimed, Oh, no! as another shot was fired. I still didnt understand what was happening. I stepped forward and for the first time saw inside the house. The light from the front porch illuminated a ski-masked figure about eight feet away, standing next to the stairs. I couldnt see Kevin, though he was lying in the shadows next to where the man was standingor Tricia, who must have been right by my feet. I just stood there wondering which one of Kevins goofball friends was playing a joke on us with the paintball gun.

Suddenly I was slammed in the shoulder with enough force to send me spinning back and to my left. Landing faceup on the front porch, I still didnt grasp what was happening. As I tried to get up, I felt a searing pain in my right arm and realized it was badly broken. A fourth shot rang out as comprehension flooded in. We had been shot. We had all been shot. It struck me that I might be dying.

Then my neighbor Cliff was kneeling over me, comforting me. Dont worry, buddy! Help is on the way!

In the distance I heard sirens as Cliff pulled off his T-shirt and pressed it to my wound. I realized then that no one knew where the shooter was and that Cliff might be in danger. I panicked. Get out of here! He may still be inside!

Cliff told me to hold on and ran home. Moments later a squad car pulled up in front of our house, and then another, and a third. I was aware of more sirens, including the deep foghorn of a fire truck, but they were still far away. With heightened senses I heard muffled footfalls as police ran into and around the house, guns drawn and flashlights flicking illumination into the shadows. After only a minute or two someone called out that the house was clear. By then the whole cul-de-sac that faced our home was full of emergency vehicles. It couldnt have been more than five minutes since the shootings.

People were everywhere. Neighbors were streaming out of their homes while paramedics swarmed. Two men worked on me, cutting away my leather jacket and my shirt, trying to stop the bleeding. I repeatedly asked for information on my family, and finally one of the paramedics quietly said, Sir, please, let us do our job. Youre in good hands, and lots of good folks are with the rest of your family.