In Which My Grandmother Tells the Story of the Day She Was Shot
It was the twenty-ninth day of November. I had been sewing and became tired and bored. This was like many days since Mother died in September. She had been such a comfort to me when my husband died in 1977. Now it seemed I had no anchor.
I decided to drive down to our little country store, where I was sure I would find my best friend and her son, who owned it. I had been there about ten minutes when a man came to the door and asked about some oil for his car. Thomas asked him whether he wanted the can with the red label or the can with the green. The man went out to his car and came back with a rifle.
I was sitting in a rocking chair just inside the door to his left. When I looked up, he was pointing the gun at Thomas to his right. I yelled, “Thomas!” The man turned on me and fired into my chest. This gave Thomas time to get his own handgun. He fired twice at the man, killing him instantly.
It seemed ages before anyone could call an ambulance. They also called the sheriff and the coroner. All the way to the hospital I was conscious and in terrific pain. After surgery I had the strangest feeling that there was a ring around me holding me up or protecting me. I’m sure now it was the Lord’s presence. I was on all kinds of life supports—breathing machine, heart machine, oxygen, IV, catheter, etc. But I had no thought that I might not live. I left the hospital on December 23. When the doctors or others would say, “It’s a miracle that you’re alive,” I always replied, “I know it is a miracle because my God answers prayer.”
All the time during my husband’s last illness and then my mother’s, I prayed to be strong for them. I wanted to look after them. Then, when they were gone, I thought, Nobody else needs me. Now I know the Lord wants me for something else, and I’m praying for him to show me what it is.