Many of us have a defining day in our lives, that day where we mark a “before” and “after.” For me it is January 18, 2007, the day I was shot in the neck in Abelines, El Salvador. Every year the day sneaks up on me, but ironically I usually find myself sitting in a chair drinking my morning coffee with Dara, talking about El Salvador. Then I look at my phone and say, “Wow, do your realize what today is?” That happened today. I’m taking Dara and our girls to El Salvador in March, and we were discussing the details and getting excited. And like a bomb, again we remember the shooting, the day that changed everything.
Before the shooting, there was a real innocence about our family. Our kids were babies, and even though we lugged them to El Salvador, they hadn’t experienced anything truly traumatic. Our adventures consisted of building forts in bedrooms, chasing iguanas, lighting fireworks, or exploring communities in the Salvadoran countryside. Every bump and bruise to that point just “built character.” The shooting changed that.
After the shooting, we all realized how fragile life is, that it could end in a second. After the shooting, Dad (me) started going through major emotional highs and lows. I would never talk again with a real voice. My breathing would always be difficult. Family adventures now seemed scarier. El Salvador started feeling more dangerous and foreign. Life became more about survival instead of thriving. That day, January 18th, marked the day where we all met a life filled with uncertainty, challenge, and threat. If dad could get shot and almost die, it could happen to any of us.
Fast forward 12 years. Today, instead of mourning that day, I celebrate it. I can’t really explain why, except that I am full of thanks for my life today. It has been 12 hard, grinding years. But, along the way I’ve found healing. I’ve watched God use the trauma of that day to build a strength in my kids and my wife that is priceless. I’ve seen God restore our family’s love for El Salvador. I’ve seen God restore my vocation, and give me meaningful work that allows me to provide for my family and give back to ministry and service. I’ve also learned the following lessons that might help others that try to come back from trauma of there own:
Life may never be the same, but it can be really good.
I’ve had to let go of missing my old voice, my old capabilities, my life before the shooting. It really is a grieving process, letting go to the old me that died that day I was shot. I can’t go back. But, there is a new life available and good, if I’ll accept it for what it is and embrace each day.
Physical handicap can be a gift.
I’d give almost anything to speak again and breath with ease. That said, I’m learning to accept my limitations. There is a freedom in it. There are some things that I simply won’t ever be able to do. To those things, I’ve let go so that I can focus on the thousands of things I CAN do. I also walk with an acute compassion for those around me that struggle with their own handicaps.
Trauma can provide clarity of purpose.
Recovering from the shooting has been a long process. For most of it, it’s felt like being in the wilderness without a guide. But in recent months, I’ve come into some radical clarity of purpose. It’s clear that just about everyone will face trauma of some type in their lives. For many in the world, that trauma (be it poverty, violence, etc.) is daily. My task is to simply try to help the best I can. I can’t fix anything or anyone, but I can walk alongside those I’m called to in the middle of their trial, and point them to the hope and healing that I’ve experienced.
God sometimes blows your socks off.
I don’t feel like I deserve anything because of the shooting. But, I do think God is gleefully mischievous and sometimes enjoys giving us gifts that we could never imagine. For me, God gave me a surf resort in El Salvador (Villa Punta Mango) with a partner who is like a brother to me. Every year, I become giddy like my teenagers about going to El Salvador on another surf trip. No matter how hard my year is, God allows me to go to Punta Mango, sit on the bluff with a mango and Pilsener and watch the sunset after a long day surfing. I think God smiles a little each time I go, and says, “See Pete, you took a bullet for me, but I had all this planned for you.”
So I celebrate today, January 18th, and give thanks to God for giving one more day. I’ll try to make it a great one.
