One man’s search for meaning from a story of tragedy and terror.

And how meaning gave way to purpose and forgiveness.

On a quiet October evening in 1979, in Okarche, Oklahoma, Reverend Richard Douglass and his wife Marilyn, were at home with their children, son Brooks, age seventeen, and daughter Leslie, age twelve.

Two men, Steven Hatch and Glen Ake, drifters with a penchant for brutality and theft, invaded the Douglass home. In an unconscionable act of evil, they unleashed horrific violence on the Douglass family.

Brooks and Leslie survived.

Richard and Marilyn Douglass did not.

In the years that followed the murders of their parents, Brooks Douglass struggled with fragmentation—a feeling like his life was in “pieces.” Deep anger and a floundering sense of meaninglessness beset him. Leslie Douglass fared a bit better. Although she had been raped before the intruders shot her, she defiantly, with much help and support, was able to overcome the horrors of that night, with a resolve so steely it is awe-inspiring. To listen to Leslie articulate what she went through and how she overcame, is a testament to incredible human will. While Brooks and Leslie Douglass despised victimhood, they could not avoid suffering from the magnitude of what they endured. Brooks grappled with his trauma differently, and it was many years before he found real peace.

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Leslie Douglass’s bravery on the witness stand in a courtroom, testifying to the rape the two intruders had the audacity to deny, is nothing short of an observation in fierce courage. She did not know her parents’ murderers both denied the rape in their initial confessions—a fact that was kept from her at the time, as an understandable act of protection by law enforcement and prosecutors. The revelation years later collided with Leslie’s determination to defend herself. When she relived the rape on the witness stand it re-traumatized and terrorized her anew. A nightmare refreshed by old lies, it was a twist in an already surreal story of trauma that seemingly had no end for the prominent Oklahoma Baptist preacher’s kids.

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Brooks Douglass eventually found his way. After two marriages ended and several attempts to finish college, he eventually persevered and determined to find meaning in his pain. At age 27, Brooks, a Republican, became the youngest state senator to serve in Oklahoma at the time. He created a wholesale legacy in the Oklahoma legislature, which included the Crime Victims Rights Bill, which passed in 1992. He spent his entire adult life bringing awareness to the importance of acting with compassion toward those who experience violence and injustice, and the need to support and empower their healing and restoration; to give them a voice and hope.

Brooks Douglass died of cancer in May of 2020, in Dallas, Texas, at age 56. It feels true to add here that Brooks was, in life, a good and faithful servant (Matthew 25:23).

Brooks Douglass was a good king.

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There is so much more to this story: the outcome of the trials, the curious and inexplicable nature of the justice system, the artistic drive spurred by healing, the hard-won forgiveness Brooks Douglass was eventually able to grant his parents’ killers—and his witness to the freedom he experienced as a result. So much more.

An unlikely lifelong friendship also formed between Brooks and another Oklahoma junior senator—a Democrat. It is one of the most tender parts of the story, and it speaks to the bridges that can be built between us when we find common ground; seeing past rivalries, and instead, into each others’ hearts and humanity.

(Monster Bridge, Okarche, Oklahoma; image credit: unknown)

I recommend the Dateline podcast episode, The Haunting, for the full story, told in the survivors’ own words.

It is unforgettable.

Listen here:

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To make meaning out of tragedy is not easy. It is not something that can be thrust or imposed on survivors of trauma and violence. It is, at best, a journey of putting one foot in front of the other, one moment at a time; hoping for the best and praying for the resolve to keep going; to keep on living, even when the ghosts of terror and anguish whisper their lies on dark nights.

What I know is this: What evil intends for harm and destruction, God uses for good (Genesis 50:20). This story is evidence of that, make no mistake about it.

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While I was writing and meditating on the story of Brooks Douglass, the recent hit song, What Was I Made For, by Billie Eilish, came to mind.

A lyric: “I used to float, now I just fall down. I used to know, but I’m not sure now, what I was made for. What was I made for?”

Listen here:

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May we discover what we were made for—and may we love and support each other on our journeys. Twisting and turning as they often do.

Before you go, here’s Joe Cocker, in an epic cover of the Beatles song, With A Little Help From My Friends:

Peace,

~ Kathryn