On Feb. 29, 2012, I parked my Mazda 3 hatchback in an apartment complex in North St. Louis to facilitate a drug deal. By 19 years old, this was something I had done many times, but as soon as the two men I came to meet got in my car, I knew something was not right.
After briefly talking, the exchange occurred, and a gun was immediately pressed up against the back of my head. As I waited in anticipation for the trigger to be pulled, one clear thought entered my mind, “I am 19, and I am going to die tonight.”
Seconds later, the man behind me leaned back, pulled the trigger, and a nine-millimeter bullet entered and exited my right shoulder, went through my head shattering my jaw, passed through the right temporal lobe of my brain, and stopped resting on the tear duct of my left eye. Overwhelmed by the trauma of the impact, I passed out and was left to die in my car alone. By God’s grace, I woke up delirious, dazed and determined to get help.
Deaf ears
I picked up my phone and began to frantically call the numbers in my recent call log as blood gushed from my head all over my car. Overcome with adrenaline and shock, I failed to recognize I had just received a gunshot wound to the head. My third contact in my call log, my drug supplier, helped me realize what happened and how I needed to call 911 immediately.
After a 911 dispatcher identified my location, I waited for the police. Minutes later, an ambulance arrived, hooked me up with an IV, and I lost consciousness as I was loaded into the back of the vehicle. Two days later, I awoke with half my skull missing because of major brain surgery, and I began a seven week stay in two different hospitals.
During this time, family, friends and nurses began to visit my room and many shared a similar message, “God has a plan for your life.” As an unbeliever these words did not bring me hope or comfort. Instead, they fell on deaf ears as I was frustrated at God for the pain through which I was walking.
Humbled
Upon arriving back home, my life revolved around physical and occupational therapy. Learning to walk again, doing exercises to strengthen my body, and spending time alone reflecting on my life decisions that had humbled me. Reluctantly, at the encouragement of my unbelieving mother, I began to attend a local church in my hometown that I had not stepped in since I was in 1st grade.
In vain, I attempted to avoid the warm welcomes, happy smiles and eager greeters as I quickly looked for a seat in a pew. The service began, and as an observer, I watched things unfold.
The details of that Sunday are lost on me years later, but I remember how I felt when the pastor of that church began to preach. It drew me back Sunday after Sunday as I became fascinated by Jesus Christ. I became captivated by the Word of God and the gospel, and months later I fully surrendered my life to Him.
Soon after, the desire to serve the Lord in ministry began to take hold of my life. God was faithful to begin to open doors to teach, train and disciple other believers in churches, college campuses, student ministries, and now Fellowship Baptist Church in Saline, Michigan.
My longing in ministry is to “Teach the Word of God to mend the brokenness of others and motivate them to be fruitful.”
I pray that pastors in Michigan, and throughout the world, can take hold of Acts 20:24 and finish their race well for the Lord.
But none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.
EDITOR’S NOTE — This story was written by Connor Johnson and originally published by the Baptist Beacon.
