A soldier looks out a bus depot window, awaiting a ride home. He was recently released from Walter Reed Army Hospital after undergoing numerous surgeries and months of recovery from war wounds. His uniform is immaculate, highlighted by row upon row of service ribbons, including the Silver Star. He stands there, leaning on crutches, in anticipation.
Joshua Johnson hails from Tilman, Alabama, a small town bordering Selma. He was raised mostly by his mother, his father having been hanged by the KKK when he was only three. Joshua is very polite, well mannered, and fears the Lord—lessons he learned at home and Ebenezer Baptist Church in Selma.
Early life for Joshua had been difficult. He was constantly made to feel inferior. To the locals, he and “his kind” were scourges that had to be dealt with. He lived in constant fear of being attacked, rundown, beaten, even killed. His home was subject to desecrations, cross burnings, stone throwing, bombings and arsons. Yet Joshua never complained nor criticized. He sensed the Lord had a purpose for his afflictions and saw them as God’s strategy in strengthening his character, resolve and discipline.
As Joshua gazes out the depot window, he sees several men gathering and notes that he seems to be the object of their scorn. In an instant, the men enter the bus depot and assail Joshua. First comes the name calling, ugly black insults, followed by pushing, shoving, kicking and finally, beating Joshua senseless with his own crutches. Added to this horror,
the men take turns urinating on him.
Joshua never regains consciousness, dying at Walter Reed.
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The brunt of pain and suffering seem to befall the just and innocent, regardless of cause or condition. The challenge is what we do with suffering, be it gift or curse.