It was just a few weeks before Christmas and I was 11 months old. To my parents dismay, I had started walking when I was 9 months. Bent on exploring (and tasting) everything in our dilapidated house, I was getting into a lot of trouble. Mom was having a hard time controlling me. There were certain things she wanted me to leave alone, which made them even more interesting for me.
Against my Mom's better judgment, and for the sake of my older brother, she decorated a Christmas tree. She thought she could keep me away from the spinning icicles and shiny glass ornaments by putting it up very high, on top of a box which was placed on our coffee table. She was sure that there was no way I could reach it.
Against my Mom's better judgment, and for the sake of my older brother, she decorated a Christmas tree. She thought she could keep me away from the spinning icicles and shiny glass ornaments by putting it up very high, on top of a box which was placed on our coffee table. She was sure that there was no way I could reach it.
The next day after lunch, Mom and I were alone. She was in the kitchen working when she heard me coughing, sputtering, and choking. She quickly turned around to see blood dripping out of my mouth and my face turning blue. I had managed to get to the Christmas tree and picked off one of the shiny, glass balls near the bottom. I had taken a big bite of the ball. And swallowed. Glass had cut the inside of my mouth and was stuck in my throat.
Mom, who is normally very cool in emergencies, was panic stricken. She tried to pull the pieces out but only made them cut deeper. She frantically phoned our family doctor but he was out and would not be able to get to our place for hours. No one was near enough to help her. There was no 911.
The doctor came later that day and said it was amazing that Mom dislodged those pieces. I would have choked to death if I hadn’t thrown them up. My throat and mouth were pretty cut up, and I didn’t eat for awhile but it all healed. My brother was so very glad to have me around that first Christmas together!
My Mom told me this story many times. She wanted me to know how precious my life was to her (and the rest of my family) but this story also filled me with a sense of purpose. I was constantly reminded that I had survived, or rather, God had chosen to spare my life. I was alive for a reason. I wanted to make my life count.
I still feel that sense of purpose today. I try to invest my life into the lives of others. By giving myself away I find out who I truly am.
Okay, your turn - have you had a near-death experience? How has it changed your life?