The first gunshot sounded like a car backfiring and didn’t frighten me at all. The second bullet rang through the University of Texas campus and awakened in me an emotion that soon became terror. When the third shot missed me by 18 inches, I instinctively snapped my head to the left and found the bullet lodged in a stucco building. Had I stepped a bit closer to that building on my way back to the dorm, I would have been a dead student. I spent a precious microsecond checking myself and realized I was not hurt.

My gut said to run, and I did. Books fell to the ground, class notes flew to the wind. I had no idea where the shooter was or why he had fired at me. My only instinct was to get to my room, and the shortest distance was through the Biology building.

I charged into the nearest entrance, headed down the hall, making first a right turn and then a left. Bursting out the other side, I confronted a surreal scene. Several students were running frantically like me, others seemed oblivious and were strolling as usual. A few were pointing up at the university tower.

I bounded down the steps, onto the sidewalk and almost slammed into a red Mustang. The driver, apparently unaware that a gunman held the campus under siege, motioned for me to cross the street in front of him. I did. When I got to the other side, the killer squeezed off another round, hitting the driver whose eyes I had just met. His car swerved, the door fell open and his body slumped left. I had just seen a man die.

One block stood between me and

safety. I ran the race, crouching near a hedge as the dorm mother threw open a door. “He’s in the tower,” she screamed before the door swung shut. “Make a run for it when I open it again. Start now!”

Timing my last few yards of the sprint to arrive before the heavy oak door fell shut a second time, I collapsed into her arms. She quickly hugged me, then freed up her hands. Another dorm resident would need her help to make that treacherous run, and then another.

When I caught my breath, I realized I had been in the sniper’s direct line of fire at least four times. The tower loomed 27 stories over The University of Texas, its observation deck visible, where Charles Whitman hid with his arsenal. “If I could see it, then he could see me,” I thought as I struggled to return my breathing to normal.

Whitman, an architecture student who dressed as a workman that day and toted his weapons to the top of the tower via its elevator, held siege for an hour and 15 minutes. The nation watched in horror as the whole thing was broadcast live on TV.

I was in my room now, trying to control the shakes. Out my windows I saw policemen and state troopers and ordinary

citizens of Austin kneeling behind car doors firing everything from long-range pistols to pump-action shotguns. Bullets ricocheted throughout the campus, many with deafening blasts. Shouts and screams would follow as gunfire rained down from the tower. No one, it seemed for the longest time, could stop this madman.

Finally, two brave police officers, ready to sacrifice their lives if necessary, made it up 27 flights of stairs (Whitman had disabled the elevators), stepping silently onto the open-air observation deck, guns drawn and ready. One crept up behind Whitman and brought him down.

Now came the aftermath. When word of the sniper’s death spread, the campus became a beehive as students, professors, citizens and rescue personnel scurried about to locate and retrieve the bodies. (The count: 17 dead, 31 wounded.) Blood was everywhere. So were bullet holes and other signs of a sunny day turned to terror. UT looked like a war zone with the dead being lifted onto gurneys. The wounded were being taken away in ambulances, now parked every which way on sidewalks and grassy areas where, on any other afternoon, students might stretch out to relax and study.

“I must have missed this on the news,” you may be thinking. Not unless you were around on August 1, 1966. This shooting is often called the first mass killing of its kind in America, holding the record for the most deaths until the Oklahoma City bombing.

I was still a teenager on that summer day, and—like most—I assumed nothing could happen to me. I learned different. (When police reconstructed the sniper’s siege based on forensic evidence and eye-witness reports, I found out that the first two shots I heard—right before the one meant for me—had killed people.)

Although rarely does a day go by that I don’t recall that experience and the terror I felt, God used that tragedy to show me His love. And, over time, He has taught me how to use my experience to reach others for Christ. Today violence and tragedy seem so common—in the news, on our minds, in our hearts. I hope that this story may offer hope as you work through the grief and the fear. And that the lessons I learned will help you to use the tragedy of death to share true life in Jesus with a friend.

WHEN YOUR FAITH IS UNDER FIRE
Most of us won’t ever find ourselves faced with real bullets. But everyday we encounter other kinds of bullets. Verbal bullets from someone who doesn’t like your beliefs, emotional bullets of being excluded or rejected because of the choices you make, and many others can leave painful marks on your life. Here are some things that may help when your faith is under fire in any type of circumstance.

Trust God—No matter what the situation, God is in control and He is your protector. The Bible tells us that He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world. (See 1 John 4:4) Don’t be afraid! God is with you.

Stand Firm—When you come under attack specifically because of your faith, don’t compromise. It’s tough, but try to rely on God for His power so that you don’t back down from what you know to be right.

Let God Heal—Mental and emotional scars that come from any tough experience often take longer to heal than the physical ones. Open your heart to His healing and let His love fill you and allow you to forgive those who have hurt you.

Use Your Experience for Christ—Ask God to show you how He can be glorified through the experience you have had. Look for ways to use your experience to help others come to know Jesus. Often the best way to heal the pain is to see and focus on the good that God can bring from evil.