Fearing evil
It's March of this year. We stand, a circle of strangers, in an open field on a prison compound, not far from the execution chamber. A picnic table is the strangely ordinary centerpiece of this gathering, covered with candles and surrounded by people telling stories of hope and redemption.
As far as we know, this is Kelly Gissendaner’s last night on earth. We are here to pray her through it.
One of Kelly's friends launches in: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." With a little hesitation, we join her. I can’t remember all the words, and apparently I am not alone. We stumble a little through God restoring or reviving or something my soul. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—that's the verse we all know too well, and for a moment we are praying in unison.
