"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Psalms 147:3 (NASB)
I stood leaning against the brown Chevy Agape Force van enjoying the warm February afternoon. Tom Inserra was 20 feet away. “Hey Shawn! God’s gonna bless you. He’s really gonna bless you!”
I smiled. The air smelled so pleasant. I felt happy.
The previous week was horrible. I kiddingly told a friend just minutes before, “What else could go wrong?” I had experienced two car accidents and a stolen purse. Yes, I knew God was going to bless me, too. I soaked in Tom’s encouraging words. It felt good.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a short, but stocky black man hugging the wall of the building, walking from behind me and passing to one side. Then, suddenly, he dropped what he was carrying, pulled a knife from inside his jacket sleeve and charged me. Before I could even shout, he plunged the knife into my chest. I fell back up against the van, my hand caught behind the side mirror. For a moment I was held suspended by the mirror, but when released I started falling forward. At this point I was hit again. This time near the base of my neck. I tried to protect myself, lifting my arms to protect myself from another onslaught of the knife.
“What are you doing!?” I shouted. “Stop! Stop!!”
But he wouldn’t stop. He just kept pounding the knife into me.
Tom ran over and heaved the guy off me. In a fit of rage, the guy dug the knife into Tom.
During the next few moments, I tried to crawl out from under his hold, but I couldn’t. Everything seemed blurred and confused and in slow motion.
Before I knew it he was back onto me. The force of his strength hitting against me was more painful than the actual blade digging into my flesh. Finally, Tom pulled him off me for the last time, yanking him around. The guy fell backwards, dropped the knife onto the sidewalk. Then turning around, he was gone.
Tom grabbed me and helped me into an old apartment building where many of us on the team lived. Tom turned to lock the door and I started up the stairs, but all the strength drained out of me. I fell against the wall and railing, my back and neck cramping, my whole body going into spasms. I felt a thick, warm sensation flowing down my back and chest.
By this time, Tom was also laying on the steps alongside me. He was holding his bleeding shoulder, trying to cover my eyes.
People were frantic. Covering me with blankets and laying me on my side on the flat landing. They kept assuring me that the ambulance would be there shortly.
I lay there, hardly breathing; my entire body racked with pain. I was scared. Was I dying? Would the ambulance make it in time for me? I looked straight into the people’s eyes around me, wanting to read them. How bad was it? They stared blankly at me, conditioned not to show any emotion. Everything about me became subdued. Dull. Removed. Within moments I could hear the faint scream of the siren coming closer. It seemed endless. Would it ever get here?
The ambulance crew worked quickly. They cut my shirt off and laid me face down on the stretcher. Everyone became quiet. Still. They stared as I was carried out.
Sucking in a mass of air, I quietly urged them to leave me there. I didn’t mind. I had no insurance and no money to cover the hospital costs. They carried me to the ambulance anyway. In the throng of people crowding close to catch a “glimpse” of me, I recognized faces I dearly loved. They smiled through tear filled eyes. I returned the smile as they shoved me into the back of the Medic One and shut the door behind me.
Having to roll over onto my back in the ambulance was by far the most pain I had yet felt. It seemed unbearable. My entire upper body was one mass of pain. They hooked me up to an IV and oxygen. I kept singing to myself.
I believe
When I don’t really understand
I believe
When I don’t feel Your guiding hand
I believe
In spite of all I’m going through
Lord, I believe in You.
I sang it over and over. Laying on a cold emergency room table at the hospital. Confused. Overwhelmed. Wondering what this all could mean.
It was such a terrifying experience. After blotting my back and chest with towels to absorb the blood, the doctor injected shots into my open wounds. It was the climactic final blow. That agony exceeded even the rolling over in the ambulance. The intensity was greater than anything I had ever known before. Sobs poured out of me.
They worked quickly, then rolled me down the hall for x-rays. They put me under anesthesia and I was out. Waking up in the recovery room five hours later, I asked out loud through my sore throat, “Is anybody there?” I heard the angelic voice of a nurse respond, “Yes, I’m here.” It was so comforting.
I have felt pain so wrenching, so deep, that I thought I could not handle it much longer. Yet I have also felt the love of God through all of it and it has changed me. I am no longer the same. God has touched me in a miraculous way, as only He can do. He has truly healed me.
My being stabbed was a blessing to me. I have WONDERFUL friends that I would not have met had I not been stabbed. My life has felt so blessed because of it. I never had nightmares, nor do I walk around scared. It wasn’t so traumatic for me as it was painful.
Being young and immature, I hesitated to seek physical therapy, wanting instead to trust God to completely finish the healing He had started. Eventually, when I did go for therapy, it took three years, twice a week, to bring me to the relatively pain free life that I am able to live now.
I thank Him for everything He has brought me through.
Shawn Wallace