WHEN DEATH COMES CALLING

Death can come for you, any time, any place. You may not be ready, but it is there, and you have to deal with whatever transpires.

In 1976, I was working a late night shift with Trooper Bill. We were near the North city limits of Houston on the frontage road of IH 45N.

As we were driving on the three lane, one way, frontage road, a car passed us that was swerving back and forth. The car would hit one curb, ricochet off like a cue ball on a pool table, carom across three lanes and bounce back to the other side.

After a spell, the driver (with one passenger) noticed the emergency lights/siren and pulled to the curb with two totally drunk occupants who we later learned had ingested a prescription drug used to calm horses.

Bill got the falling down driver out and then I (too damn nonchalantly) went to the passenger door, opened it, and stepped toward the passenger expecting to pull out a docile, compliant drunk (a dumass, potentially deadly mistake by me).

As I stepped toward the passenger, he turned toward me in the seat and with his left hand shoved a pistol into my stomach with his finger on the trigger.

This is the point where time stopped for me, everything went into slow motion, and nothing else existed except the gun pushed against my navel. It's amazing how your perspective, priorities, and desire to be closer to God can change in a heartbeat during an event of that nature.

After what seemed like 30 minutes (probably 2 seconds), I realized that Bill had eased into the driver seat and put his service revolver against the passenger's head. Although it sounded like it was coming from a dream, I heard Bill say, "You got a choice fella, you can either drop that gun or I'm going to blow your brains out."

Death had come calling and was present to take my sorry butt to whatever was next, if the conditions were correct.

It was not to be. By the grace of my Lord and Savior, I was spared to "hunt" another day as the passenger lowered his pistol and the Lord allowed me to live.