One minute, I was sitting in the passenger seat of our blue Highlander chatting with the woman I have adopted as another mom on speaker phone on our way to our CR meeting; the next, there is a loud buzzing in my head, and I couldn’t move or speak. It only lasted for a moment before I heard my husband asking, “What happened?” Looking around, there was a glitter in the air, and I noticed my phone was no longer in my hand. “I think my phone exploded!” I replied, but blackness was beginning to creep in around the edges of my vision. I had experienced that before when my son and I were in a car accident in 2014, so I knew I was close to blacking out. I barely heard my husband mention that he thought we were shot at. He asked me if I was okay, and I said, “No…” before everything went black. I came to a little while later to my husband reassuring me, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” I’m not sure if he was telling me or himself. I could tell he was pulling up to the ER annex that was close by to where we had been. I felt…off. Something was definitely very wrong. “Help,” I moaned. “I need help.” My husband tried to reassure me, “I’m getting you some help.” It was only then I realized that he had his arm across my front, holding me up in my seat. He pulled up almost to the front door of the ER, beeping the horn frantically. A nearby nurse came running, and I heard the words that turned my life upside down. “I think my wife has been shot!”

It’s funny the things that stick when a body is in extreme physical trauma vacillating between agony and a drug-induced haze. The mind clings to the strangest things. My frustration that they cut off my brand new bra so they could collect it as evidence. Those things aren’t cheap!!! The devastation felt when my jaw was wired shut, and I was unable to speak for two weeks. I am incredibly verbal; that was beyond difficult, especially when trying to communicate when I was in distress. The absolute horror the first time I was able to look at my face in the mirror and see how disfigured I was. The joy that the beauty of flowers brings to a sterile environment. Delight in visits from my loved ones and having clean hair once a week. The three weeks I spent in the hospital were some of the longest of my life. But not being able to talk gave me an awful lot of time to think.

I thought about how things could have gone so differently. If that bullet had hit me one inch any other direction, I would be dead. Or worse, a vegetable. My mom always told me that God had a plan for my life because I had survived too many things that should have killed me. I chalked it up to her being my mom and just a bit biased. When my son was born, and Dad (what I call God) assured me He had plans for him, I thought that was it. He was why I had survived, to bring this special human being that I wasn’t supposed to be able to have into the world. Now, my son is an adult. He had moved out on his own the week before all this happened. For the first time, I gave credence to my mom’s words. Maybe Dad DOES have something for me to do. I remember thinking that I wanted to have a heart like Job who could say, “Should (I) accept only good from God and not adversity?” (Job 2:10 CSB). I chose then to be thankful, grateful that Dad had spared my life and allowed me to live.

During the three weeks I was in the hospital, I spent two in ICU. I could only communicate through text or writing on a dry erase pad a friend supplied. I went through seven surgeries to clean out the destruction and then place a plate to fix my broken jaw. I couldn’t eat so I was put on a PEG tube. I breathed through a tracheostomy. I had horrible pain that was only alleviated by the strongest of medication. I had fractures in my upper two cervical vertebrae which, thankfully, weren’t severe and didn’t need intervention, but I had no idea from which the trouble that would come later. And yet, I had joy I hadn’t had since I first met Jesus. I received music therapy that I hummed along with until my jaw plate went in, and I could sing again. I had my core group of friends who came to the hospital every night to cheer me up and keep me company and give my husband and son a break. I had my first sponsor, that friend I had adopted as another mom, staying with me every night communicating for me and taking care of me. I had animal therapy and visits from church family, and as bad as my situation was, I could see Dad’s hand at work. He gave me the best Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeon in the world as far as I’m concerned. So many doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists who took amazing care of me and loved on me and cheered me on. A dear friend came and worshipped with me and lifted my spirits, and we were CHURCH in that room! My niece came and washed and braided my hair every few days, even though she was dealing with her own struggles. And I wouldn’t realize until months later, but for the first time, I didn’t feel alone. Even going through pain and trauma and so much difficulty, I wasn’t alone. Not only was I surrounded by people who loved on me, but I felt Dad closer than I ever had before.

That didn’t mean I didn’t have some struggles with the emotions of my situation…but that’s another story.