Have you ever been forewarned through the process of intuition of an impending event that has the capability of reeking havoc, and destroying everything in life that is dear to you? If so, did you heed the warning and realize you had been graced with a whisper from heaven? Did you prepare in every way possible to protect yourself and your family from the looming danger, or did you just shrug it off as something that resulted from an overactive imagination?
The truth is, experience is the best teacher. Most of the time it takes a few experiences for us to realize that we are blessed with intuition, and all of us at one time or another have been graced with a whisper from heaven that prepared us to deal with a predetermined course of events that affected the lives of each of us individually—destiny.
Experience teaches us that we cannot change the course of destiny, but we can alter its outcome. How? In order to properly answer this question I invite you to return with me to Kosciusko, Mississippi.
It is April 26, and the year is 1982. It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, and as the sun begins to peek from the darkness, I along with my husband and four-year-old son, are opening for the day’s business in our small grocery store.
As I take my place behind the counter, I’m thankful for this day. This is the first day in two months that my son, Tray, is able to be back with us in the store. He was recently released from the children’s hospital in Memphis, where he was being treated for the childhood disease, Kawasaki Syndrome. He is almost back to normal, with the exception of a limp that the disease left him with, but it is our understanding that with time he will walk normally again.
The day is not just another business day, but a day of celebration, and a day that Tray has looked forward to. This day is the day he will see everyone who with love, kindness, and prayer, has supported him throughout his illness. These are not only our customers, but also our friends, and they are wonderful people.
As the day moves forward I pick up the local newspaper and begin reading. I discover that a rash of violence has plagued the small town of Kosciusko. In the last seven days a church worker was slashed with a straight razor and robbed of $50 as he sold peanuts for his church; a ninety-three year old woman was beaten severely and robbed of $10 after her residence was broken into; and a store owner across town was robbed by an assailant wielding a sawed off shotgun.
I show the newspaper to my husband and make the comment, “Wow, did you read this? This is unusual for Kosciusko.” As he hands the paper back, he says, “Yes, I did.” In this instant I think of my son, and I am immediately overtaken by a horrifying sense of fear. My hands shaking, I look at my husband and say, “We need to close early, before dark, because I have an agonizing feeling that we are going to be robbed tonight. There is no need to risk staying open, besides Tray is with us and it isn’t a good idea to tempt fate.”
My husband answers, “Teressa, you need to calm down. Everything is fine, besides we know everyone in town. I think you are just being overly protective. I don’t blame you for feeling insecure, but I think it is because we both have been through so much with Tray’s illness. I feel sure that nothing is going to happen, but if you want to, go on home and I will close up.”
Shaking my head no, I look at my husband and say, “No, I will stay and help you close. I will just keep Tray out of the store this evening. He can stay in the office and watch television until we close. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
The rest of the day is spent watching our four-year-old boy, who truly loves people, interact with our customers—our friends—as he enchants them with tales of his hospital experiences.
The scene is one of deep felt emotion, because for a while it was believed that this little four-year-old boy, our son, and a friend to many, would not survive his illness. But faith, along with the strength of a community, and the expertise of wonderful doctors turned that belief into a myth and with the aid of a miracle delivered a spirited young child back into the arms of a community that loved and adored him, and a family that could not survive without him.
Still, even with all of the love that fills the store on this day, I cannot shake the feeling of impending doom that remains present within my mind throughout the day.
As sunlight fades to dusk, I take my little man by the hand and lead him through the doorway located at the back of the store into the office. After turning on his favorite television show I give him a hug and look at him and say, “Tray stay in here until I come and get you. Mommy does not want you to come back into the store tonight. Just stay here until I come and get you.”
Walking back through the doorway into the store, I meet my husband who says, “Watch the counter, and I’ll go ahead and stock the walk-in cooler. Then we’ll be out of here.”
Taking my place behind the counter, while watching through the window as the dusk fades to darkness, an unexplainable sense of calm overtakes me.
The store door opens, and in walks two young men who appear to be in their early twenties. Immediately I recognize them because they have been in my store before, and even though they are not frequent customers, they do stop in on occasion.
I say, “Hello”, but they do not answer; they just walk down the isle toward the back of the store. Tonight there is definitely something different about this pair, but what is it?
Watching them walk down the isle, it dawns on me that they are dressed totally different from each other. The tall one is wearing a trench coat, a hat, and a pair of jeans, but the short one is wearing only a pair of shorts, no shirt, and no shoes. He does have on a hat and a pair of sunglasses. But why the sunglasses, it’s dark, and also, it’s a warm evening, why is the other one wearing a trench coat?
Now while standing in front of the cooler they are very quietly discussing something, but I have no idea what it is. Oh, there is my husband, Em, and he is coming out of the cooler. The short one is looking at him and asking him where the RC cola is. Em is now opening the cooler door and showing him the RC cola and saying, “Here are the cold ones, and the hot ones are on the rack behind you.”
Now Em is walking toward me with his back to the pair, and I’m meeting him at the end of the counter, and while looking in his eyes, I’m whispering, “Em there is something wrong. They’re dressed too differently, and they are not at all friendly. Remember the tall one, he was in a couple of months ago, before Tray got sick, and he and Tray played in the store for a few minutes. When he left he bought Tray a candy bar, and Tray really liked him. The short one has never been friendly, and on the occasions I’ve dealt with him, he has been very arrogant.
“Oh no! Don’t turn around! Just keep looking at me. The one in the trench coat is coming toward us, and aimed right at the back of your head is a sawed off shotgun! I don’t see the other one.”
As I watch the gunman making his way toward us, the reality of the present eludes me. I’m a child again, playing in the sunshine of my youth, a teenager, on my first date, a wife, who is enjoying life with a wonderful husband, an expectant mother, who counts the days until she holds her precious angel in her arms, and a young mother who has just been snapped back to the reality of the present time as I watch the barrel of a sawed off shotgun slide across the back of Em’s shoulder, and come to rest squarely between my eyes.
In this moment, I realize intuition—a whisper from heaven—has prepared me by giving me the strength to remain calm, and the knowledge to know that by the grace of God, we as a family will survive whatever imminent danger is present.
Pulling the shotgun from between my eyes, the gunman is now placing it to the back of Em’s head and saying to him, “If you move, I’ll blow your head off!”
For a moment everything is silent, but the silence is broken by the loud voice of the other man saying, “Look what I found,” as he comes to the front of the store, taking a position to the far left front of the counter, holding in his hand, the hand of my son, Tray.
Looking at my son, while he looks at the gunman, I realize he is about to speak. My fear is that he recognizes the gunman and he is about to reveal that fact to him. I smile and say, “Everything is fine son, these guys aren’t going to hurt us, just be really quiet and still.” Tray says nothing he just nods.
With the gun still at the back of Em’s head, the one in front of the counter looks at me and says, “Come over here and stand to the right of your son.” Moving very slowly I heed his order.
The one wielding the shotgun slowly backs up and takes a place to the right of me, in front of the counter, and while still holding the gun aimed at Em demands, “Take the cash from the register and put it in a paper bag, and lay it on the counter in front of my brother.” As Em complies I look at my son who is now a ghostly pale color, and I calmly ask the gunman, “Please lower the gun, we will do whatever you say. My son is just now getting over a horrible disease, and he has been through so much that I do not want to risk the gun going off and harming any one of us. This situation right here that we are in is one that, not only can harm him physically, but also mentally, for the rest of his life. I know you don’t want that, so please lower the gun, and take the money and leave.”
As he begins to comply and lower the gun, his brother, while reaching to grab the money screams, “We’re taking your wife.” Em starts over the counter and as the gunman raises the gun to his chest, I shout, “Em stop it! I will go! I will do anything to protect Tray. Just please stop.”
Em settles back down behind the counter and screams, “Take me! Leave my wife alone!”
The brother now looking Em square in the eyes says, “Rip the phone from the wall!” As Em follows the instruction, he merely takes the phone from the mount, and while leaving all the wiring intact slams the phone down on the counter.
Now except for the quiet sobs of a child there is complete silence. In the silence I realize that this pair who has made very little attempt to disguise themselves, doesn’t really care if they are recognized or not. A red flag is raised and I do know that it is their intent to bring harm to all of us. Instinct tells me that I must find a way to get them out of the store. The silence is deafening and the situation is explosive. As I break the silence, I look at the gunman and I say, “You have the money, and we need to get out of here, the store is still open for business, and we usually get a straggler or two at this time of the evening.” As I pause and look into the eyes of my son, I force a smile and say, “Tray, I’m going with these guys, but they’re not going to hurt me. I’ll be back in a little while, in time to go home with you and dad. Don’t be scared, everything will be fine, I promise, and you know I always keep my promises.”
The gunman is now taking the gun away from Em and putting it between my eyes and instructing me, “As I back up, don’t let the gun lose contact with your forehead. Step with me to the door, do you understand.”
I say, “Yes.” While his brother steps to the door and opens it, the gunman is holding the shotgun against my forehead, and I’m very careful to step forward as he steps back. Now at the door, the gunman takes the knob with one hand and is careful to hold the gun intact against my forehead with the other while his brother flees into the darkness.
Em is now shouting, “Teressa you don’t have to go! Don’t go!” Now over the counter, while pushing me aside, and knocking me to the floor, he lunges toward the gunman who is now turning and fleeing into the darkness.
I immediately get to my feet and grab my son who is still standing to the far left front of the counter, while Em is locking the door.
The authorities are called and within minutes the store is filled with police, press, and people from the community. A team from Parchman Penitentary is also present and with the use of bloodhounds they begin to comb the area around the grocery store.
Before daylight, the gunman, his brother, and the driver, who is one of my regular customers, are arrested for the robbery, and we are able to positively identify the gunman and his brother. Through interrogation the driver confesses to his part in the crime.
At the preliminary hearing the investigators disclose the fact that the robbery of our store is a gang initiation, and there are three graves in the woods that should hold the bodies of my husband, my son and myself. The investigators are baffled because they have absolutely no understanding of why the plans were changed when the pair entered the store. For my family and me the answer is crystal clear. We were truly blessed with a whisper from heaven and this whisper made it possible by the grace of God to alter a predetermined course of events that affected the lives of each of us individually—destiny.
Today my son has no memory of that day of years past, nor does he have any affects left from the disease, Kawasaki Syndrome. Standing straight and tall, walking freely without affliction, he is not only a sergeant in the Marine Reserves but attends junior college and works a full time job. His life is not hindered by the use of alcohol, tobacco, or drugs.
As human beings we are blessed with many gifts, but none is greater than the gift of a child. Our children are today’s tomorrow and it is our responsibility as both parents, and society to do everything possible to protect the vulnerability, the purity, and the innocence of that possessed within today’s tomorrow—our children.
Copyright 2002 Teressa Lee Honeycutt. All Rights Reserved.
I have written a chapter called I Am That, I Am in this inspirational compilation book by best-selling authors and wonderful people from all walks of life xox :-D (Its sister book is called Adventures In Manifesting - Success and Spirituality)
In "A Touch of Your Presence" are words that would inspire, encourage and strengthen one's soul when faced with challenges and difficulties and to know the awesomeness of God's power.
