Thank God for life and for the chance to share this story.
He’s an awesome God who deserves all the glory!
At about 8 p.m. on Friday, February 11, 2022, an incident left me flat on the ground. I could have been lifeless at that moment—but it was not my time to leave this earth. It was not time for me to die.
After a long day at work, I decided to relax and watch one of my favorite African movies. I was home—safe and secure, or so I thought. My home had always felt like a haven of peace and tranquility. I had never been disturbed by neighbors, and the community was so family-oriented that on a few occasions, I accidentally left my keys in the door all night and no one entered. Once, a neighbor even told me he saw them but didn’t bother to call my attention, thinking I’d soon return for them. He mentioned how peaceful the neighborhood had always been.
Sadly, what happened that Friday night made me think otherwise. Never again would I take anything for granted—for nothing in this life is guaranteed, not even life itself.
As I sat comfortably watching my movie, not even munching on popcorn, I suddenly heard a loud “Pow!” I knew it wasn’t from the film, so instantly my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in—and let’s just say flight won! In no time, I was flat on my belly on the cold concrete floor.
But who cared about dignity in that moment? When trouble comes, pride has to step aside! I’m thankful I didn’t lose any teeth or break any bones. What amazed me most was how quickly the mat slid from under my feet, almost as if it were racing me to safety.
While lying there, I felt like I was in a Chuck Norris movie—ducking from imaginary gunfire. I crawled on my belly toward my boys, guided by a mother’s instinct to protect her children. I thought of covering them with my body, but how could I? They were teenagers now—big, strong young men, no longer my little babies. And truthfully, I was too frightened to think straight.
Then came another loud “Pow!” That sealed it for me—I was convinced there was a shoot-out outside. My boys and I whispered back and forth, trying to figure out where to hide. Soon after, there was a knock at the door, but I ignored it because I also heard arguing and crying nearby. I feared the “shooter” was right outside.
We turned off the lights and TV and hurried upstairs. My curiosity got the better of me when my older son urged me to look outside. Peeping through the window, I saw a woman crying and several neighbors staring straight at my house. My mind ran wild—were they the shooters? Why were they looking at me?
Reluctantly, I called 911 after my younger son insisted. When the police finally arrived, relief washed over us. Only then did we feel safe enough to open the door and step outside. After explaining what happened, the officers spoke with our neighbors—and what I heard next left me speechless.
It wasn’t gunfire at all! A domestic dispute had broken out nearby. The man was running from his wife when she threw something hard at him. He ducked, and the object struck my front window with such force that it shattered the thick glass. The second “Pow” I heard was the sound of the broken pieces hitting the ground.
The police took notes, gave me a case number, and left. My landlord came by the next day to inspect the damage and kindly replaced the glass himself. To my surprise, the couple responsible seemed to face no real consequences—not even a warning from the police.
As I reflected afterward, I couldn’t stop thanking God. If not for the window blind inside, that object could have hit me directly where I sat. The blind absorbed the impact and sent it bouncing back outside.
This experience taught me something vital:
We must be mindful of our actions, because they can affect innocent people in ways we don’t foresee. Just as I could have been hurt, others can suffer from careless or violent behavior.
Let us choose to live in peace, not in strife.
“The Lord examines the righteous, but the wicked, those who love violence, He hates with a passion.” — Psalm 11:5
