Leadership Journal

Mike was a troubled, homeless man with few friends. For several months he visited our church's food ministry, which served meals to more than 50 homeless people each weekday.

Mike wanted me to give him a ride to visit some relatives' graves at a nearby cemetery. In fact, Mike had asked me for the ride several times that summer, but I had been putting him off.

One afternoon I was about to leave for lunch when Mike asked again. Why don't I just get rid of this commitment now, so I can get on to other things? I thought. So we got into my car.

After we visited the gravesite, I asked Mike where he'd like to be dropped off. He named a rock quarry that was on the way back.

As I pulled over next to the quarry, Mike asked me to pray for him. I put the car in park, and then he asked, "Would you put your arm around my shoulder while we pray?" I'm accustomed to laying hands on those I pray for, so I put my hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

According to the doctors, it was a miracle I ever opened them again.

A sudden movement startled me. And then I felt my neck and torso awash in warm liquid. When I opened my eyes, I was stunned by the blood. Everywhere. I looked at the car, at my hands, my shirt, covered in blood.

Then I turned and saw Mike pulling back his hand to strike another blow with a knife. I lunged for his hand to stop his swing. He kicked at me to free his arm. We wrestled in the car, battling over his lethal weapon.

I remember thinking, I need to get this fight out of the car, into the street. Maybe someone will see us. The door sprang open and we tumbled out the driver's side into the street. The knife fell away.

But Mike continued to hit me. We wrestled. We boxed. My shirt, shoes, and undershirt came off in the struggle, and still I continued to gush blood from a knife wound stretching four inches across my neck.

He tried to pull me into the woods, away from the street. And when I used a high school wrestling hold to subdue him, he picked up a rock and bashed me in the head.

"Why are you doing this?" I cried. Then, oddly, in the midst of our struggle, I told him, "Mike, you need to repent of this!"

His eyes were dark and vacant, filled with murder. "And you need to die," he said.

But when a truck drove by our car, my attacker bolted into the woods. Another motorist drove by, looked at me, and left—to call the police, I hoped.

I slumped to the ground. I had lost far too much blood, and I figured my time was short.

As I sat there, knowing I was bleeding to death, my mind wandered. Do I have enough life insurance for my family? Will I bleed more quickly if I move? Why didn't I give a better good-bye to the kids this morning?

They say your life flashes before your eyes in the moments near death, and it does. I felt the Spirit of God searching through my days, looking at my life through the lens of eternity. The moments were brief, but I sensed the Lord doing so much work in me. It was like a spiritual download that had to be opened ...