Mission Under Fire (12 page)

“Amber, take Cash, I need to get out of here.” I tried to keep it calm and not make a big deal out of how I was feeling. She realized what was happening to me and yelled for the boys to shut off the game.

“No, they don’t have to shut it off,” I told her. “Just help me get out of the room.”

She took Cash and I was able to get on my crutches and move into the dining room. I took a few deep breaths and made a couple of jokes to my kids and Sharon. It took me a little while, but eventually my insides calmed down.

Thanksgiving was a little emotional at the mealtime prayer. We had so much to be thankful for that year. Not only had I survived an attack in Haiti, but also my grandson Cash had come three weeks early in September. Had it not been for today’s medicine, we would’ve lost him. He spent twenty-one days in the neonatal unit. After we wiped our eyes, we dug in to our feast.

After dinner, Chad asked about my wound. I answered him in Byers fashion.

“Well, come over here and I’ll show you guys my wound if you want to see it!”

I sat in Amber’s large hallway, and dropped my pants. Sporting only my boxers, I showed them the entry wound, exit wound, and the bruise from Brad. We noticed that my daughter-in-law, Missy stayed in the kitchen.

“Where’s Missy? Why isn’t she coming?” I asked.

Before I knew it, Chad, Amber, and Mandy called for her to get in here, man up, and look at Dad’s leg. The grandkids began filing in as well when they heard all of the commotion.

“I guess this really gives a double meaning to my joke about my bullet wound,” I told everyone.

You see, when I have my shirt off at the pool and I catch a grandkid checking out my belly button, I say,

“That’s where the bullet went in, do you want to see where it came out?”

The kids would get the joke and laugh hysterically, because I had just landed a butt joke, the best kind.

That Thanksgiving was a great time of connecting to my family and appreciating what I still have here on this earth. I think they felt the same way. For those first couple of weeks after I returned I think our whole family was in a kind of surreal mindset.

~•••~

S
ince that time, I’ve realized that the shooting simply happened the way it happened, and I couldn’t have done anything more. It was a moment that had spiraled out of my control and I managed the best I could—we all did. Yet more importantly, I’ve concluded that God spared every one of us, that He allowed it to happen, and that He deserves all the glory for saving us. He used willing servants like Jason to jump out of the window, Brad to stop me from bleeding out, Arthur to chase the bandits away, the prayer warriors to enlist God’s protection, and Morgan and CB to brace the door. Everybody was right where they were supposed to be. God heard our prayers and I’m convinced He graciously answered our plea for help. I also believe that He cares deeply for each one of us, including the gunmen.

In spite of all I’ve been through, there is one thing I’d never change about that day...

The bullet.

Thanks to a friend of mine who happens to be an excellent goldsmith, I wear the bullet around my neck everyday. It hangs from a gold chain and is enshrined in a custom gold casing displaying a white-gold cross in the forefront, with a diamond embedded in the center. Today that bullet serves a purpose much different than its initial function—it reminds me that God can turn situations meant for evil into something good, if you let Him. You see, the bullet that could have killed me is a reminder that God saved me and the bullet meant for harm, prompts me to recall the miracles I experienced on that black night.

My co-missionaries and I met a year after the incident at an anniversary lunch. While we were there, Linda Herr said something I’ll never forget. Her words were profound and describe how I feel about the shooting. What she said might be hard to understand, if you weren’t there, but they mean so much to me. She asked, “Why was I so privileged to experience all that God did that night?”

She presents a good point, and I look forward to hearing the answer one day. Yet sometimes I wonder, when I come into Heaven, is it at all possible that an unknown face will approach me and say, “We’ve never met, and I’m sorry, but I’m the one who shot you.”

God shows mercy to gunshot victims, and He is merciful to shooters as well.

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The End

D
ear Reader,

Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you chose to invest your time and resources into my story. I hope you enjoyed this book and that you received as much pleasure reading it as I did writing it. Be sure to follow
Mission Under Fire
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Please enjoy the pictures that follow.

With Much Gratitude,

Rex Byers

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