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| Category: Miracles |
Date published: June 29, 2005 |
 Fire, water, or carbon monoxide, any one of them could have been listed as the cause of my death, but it wasn't my time, not my time to die.
On the night of the fire, my parents were working on the modest three-bedroom house that I refer to as "the mansion" in my story "Coal turned into Diamond". Five of the six children born while living in the tar papered shack were asleep in the house while my Mother and Dad worked on the new house. I was sleeping with my "Birthday Present", my brother Brian, in the `junk room' the night it happened. The small bed lay against a wall that divided the `junk room' from the kitchen, and in the wall was a hole, one created by my father's violent temper. My mother had filled the hole with rags to keep us little `busy bodies' from peering into the kitchen instead of closing our eyes to sleep. Beside the hole in the kitchen wall, stood the black, pot bellied stove, burning hot with coal and wood.
We lived in the country, and it was the `50's. A time when doors remained unlocked, and with the exception of wild animals, few things brought a reason for fear. It was only the grace of God that kept my mother from going with my father that night, where he wanted to go, I don't recall. Now, for those who've read my stories, you know that my father was more foreboding to my mother and us kids than any wild cat or black bear could ever have been. None the less, my mother refused to go with him that night, thunder and lightning filled the sky, a storm was brewing, Mother feared leaving us home alone.
It was my mother who first saw the flames. My parents rushed into the house and saw that the wall with the rag was up in flames. My mother screamed for us to wake, but no one stirred. Frantically, my parents put out the fire while we kids remained asleep in our beds.
NOT MY TIME TO DIE
I was the oldest of seven children, but that didn't make me the smartest. We now lived in the "mansion" next door. I'm unsure of my age at the time, perhaps fifteen; old enough to know better, when the next incident happened.
The neighborhood kids would gather and swim in any place that held water, a muddy hole, a fast moving brook, a river, or in this case, a quarry. I wasn't a swimmer, not the way my sister Carol was, but I was able to dog paddle and to hold my nose under water, or so I thought. "Get on my shoulders and I'll get us to the other side," I said to a friend who couldn't swim. It was a short distance to the other side, surely I could breath under water for that short ways, I thought. The friend climbed upon my shoulders and I began to walk. Soon the water was over my head. My friend was frightened and hung on to my head for dear life, keeping me planted firmly beneath the water. It wasn't long before my ability to hold my breath was exhausted. In a state of panic, I attempted to throw her from off my shoulders. She hung on tighter, refusing to be toppled. Those who stood watching thought we were playing, they didn't realize I was about to drown. No, my life didn't flash before my eyes, as many people have said happens before a person drowns. The only thing I thought was "I'm going to drown," and franticly continued at my attempt to topple the burden I held on my shoulders. My sister Diana, fearing something was wrong, pulled my friend from off my shoulders, and thusly saved my life.
NOT MY TIME TO DIE
I was sixteen, perhaps seventeen; old enough to know better, but na?ve, it nearly cost me my life... again.
In defense of my father, a carpenter, it couldn't have been easy to have seven children and a wife bustling about while layers of blueprints lay before you. That night, his nerves were bad, very bad, and he was crabby, very crabby. When he was in foul mood, my father swore. You didn't want to be around my dad when he was raging.
My boyfriend, now my husband, was over that night. He wasn't used to hearing foul language and wanted to "rescue" me from it. He insisted we leave the house. The only place to go was into the garage where my mother parked her car. If you read my story "Coal turned into Diamond" then you know the garage is where I lived until the age of nine or ten.
We entered the garage and sat in my mother's car. It was the `60's, a time when the doors to your house and car remained unlocked and keys were kept in the ignitions. My boyfriend and I became cold and started the car to get warm. We sat, oblivious to the gases that were entering. At one point, a neighborhood friend entered the garage to say hi. I rolled down the car window and my boyfriend and I spoke to him for a time. After he left, my boyfriend existed the car to use the outhouse in back. When he returned, I told him I was feeling sleepy. He suggested we take a nap. I fell asleep, but luckily, he didn't. The fresh air from having to use the outhouse was probably what saved our lives that night. As he sat, with me asleep, my boyfriend became sick and left the car, leaving me inside the running car. He lifted the garage door, staggering to lie upon the grass. Suddenly it occurred to him, "carbon monoxide".
I was leaning against the car door, sound asleep and heading toward death, when my boyfriend opened the passenger side door. I fell out. He dragged me out of the garage and onto the lawn. When I woke, I was sick and began to vomit. "Why am I so sick?" I asked. My boyfriend then told me what had nearly happened to us.
Once again, it wasn't my time to die. I don't have a name for my guardian angel, but I know I have one and have kept him or her busy throughout my lifetime.
Ecclesiastes: 3:1-2 "To everything is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die;"
One day I'll hear God call my name, but as for then, NOT MY TIME TO DIE.
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In My Own Words: Out-of-the-Ordinary Experiences
