Saved By The Bell of God: A Journey of Divine Preservation, meets reality. Life is a series of moments, and sometimes, those moments bring us face-to-face with an abrupt end. For many, a close call is just a memory, but for those of us who believe, it’s a direct message, a moment when the “bell” rings and a greater power intervenes. It forces us to ask: Why was I saved?
My story is a testament to what I call “Saved By The Bell of God.” It begins in childhood, spanning decades of near-misses where death lurked, from a prank gone wrong on a pond to the barrel of a robber’s gun. This journey wasn’t about luck; it was about an unfolding plan and a growing realization that I was being kept for a specific purpose. If you’ve ever felt that subtle, powerful hand guiding you through a crisis, you’ll understand the profound gratitude that comes with seeing God’s consistent intervention.
Let’s dive into the times I was spared and how these moments ultimately cemented my spiritual path and calling.
The Unintentional Baptism: A Childhood Wake-Up Call (1964/65)
The first brush with disaster came at age six or seven, a classic farm adventure turned terrifying ordeal. At my grandparents’ home, my older brother and uncle, both five and three years my senior, convinced me to get into a boat on the pond. True to his prankster nature, My uncle let go of the untied rope, my brother is unaware of my uncle’s intention. Although after the fact, my brother put up no fuss on my behalf. Thus, sending me drifting toward the deep and wide water. In my panic, I jumped out 25 to 30 feet from the bank, flapping desperately, a child 6 or 7 years old, who couldn’t swim, facing the very real danger of drowning.
All I remember is the raw panic, and the next thing I knew, I was safe on the bank. There was no explanation, only the overwhelming sense of having been carried to safety. My uncle into adulthood teases still, on how I walked on water, to friends and family. It was the first “Saved By The Bell of God.” When I became a teen, that same uncle who almost helped end my life was the one who taught me to drive a four-speed 1972 Volkswagen, which was owned by that same older brother who was with my mother’s brother back at the pond scene. Looking back, this youthful terror didn’t leave me with a fear of the elderly, just only of learning to swim. As concerning the elderly, (who I always gravitated toward); instead, it was the first crack in the shell, starting the process of making me God-conscious, recognizing a presence far greater than myself.
The Slumbering Wheel: Providence on the Pavement (Age 19)
Life has a way of testing you even in the mundane. Years later, General Motors, Pontiac Michigan, after midnight, I was driving home from work. Fatigue is a silent killer, and it nearly claimed me at the last intersection near home. I recalled crossing the light on green, but the next thing I knew, I was snapped awake by the falling heaviness of sleep, just as the left tire in the opposite lane, was inches from striking the curb, thank god I was the only traffic.
The sudden awakening, the jolt of consciousness at the precise moment before impact, was too timely to be coincidence. It was the second bell ringing, a reminder that my life was still under watch. This incident, saved from a severe car wreck, reinforced the idea of a planned future, a destiny not to be cut short by simple human error.
Two Barrels, One Purpose: The Convenience Store Trials (Age 24 & 26)
The next two incidents, separated by just two years, were the most violent and life-altering, turning the theoretical idea of God’s protection into a stark reality.
The Abduction and The Shot (1981)
At age 24, 1981, I was working the evening shift until midnight as an assistant manager of a convenience store. I left my store and forgot to get milk to bring home, so I conveniently stopped at a store on the way home. When I was returning to the vehicle, I was ambushed by robbers stooping on the right side of the pickup truck. They drove me away, threatening me with death in Mississippi, but only brutally interrogated about the night’s sales and safe code, they kicked me, tied me up with duct tape and wrap my eyes, then before leaving, promised to return to kill me if (I HADN’T TOLD THE TRUTH). Then, the first miracle: shots rang out nearby (I learned later to be the owner who was there when the robbers arrived). Little did I know he would come and safe drop the money as I was instructed to leave the tallies on the desk, after my closing of the shift.
The car returned after leaving the failed heist, someone stood over me, and I squeezed my eyes tight, expecting the final blow. Instead, I was shot in the back of the thigh, a flesh wound, no bone damage. The second miracle: while trying to escape the duct tape, my tied ankle, as I had lifted them up as a sigh of giving up. when dropping down, scraped a sharp object on my father’s truck wheel, the truck belonged to him, allowing me to cut myself free. Now, limping across a field toward occupied homes, I faced a final test, five dogs! The limp turned into a panicked run until I reached a front door, with my back to the door the dogs stopped pursuit. I called out to the home owners, don’t open the door, just call the police. they and the ambulance arrived and to the hospital, safely cared for.
The Masked Man and The Bullet (1983)
Two years later, at age 26, the bell rang again. Locking up the same store, a man in a stocking mask appeared. In the dark, trying to switch the store-issued .38 revolver from my non-dominant left hand to my right while backing up, I flung around and fired first. He cringed, realizing I missed, returned shot and hit me in the right chest, a flesh wound through the lung. I fell, he ran. My shots had shattered the store windows, a sign of panic and inexperience. But I was alive. Again to the hospital and cared for parents and pastor arrived in great concern, but I was doing fine.
Wrap It Up
The panic of the pond, the near-sleep on the road, the terror of the guns, each was a moment where my earthly journey could have ended. But a different plan was in place. Every survival story, especially those marked by such dramatic interventions, should lead to deeper introspection. For me, these events did not just happen to me; they happened for me.
Before the store incidents, I had already accepted my calling into the ministry of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in 1980. The subsequent trials, rather than breaking my faith, served as a powerful and undeniable confirmation: My life was being preserved for a purpose I had already committed to.
Now, at 68 years old in 2025, I am overwhelmingly grateful. The takeaway is simple: God’s call is irrevocable, and His plan has a perfect track record. If He saved you from death, it’s because you have something left to live for. That’s what being “Saved By The Bell of God” is all about.