I was scrolling through Facebook this morning, and this viral video of the song “How Great Thou Art” showed up. It’s performed by a group of a capella singers, and is unlike any other version I’ve heard. And I quietly wept.
You see, ever since I was a young girl, the song “How Great Thou Art” has played in my head. It’s just one of those songs that was always running through my mind…waiting for the school bus, falling asleep at night, sitting on the toilet…no matter what I was doing, Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder danced through my thoughts.
It was about nine o’clock on a cool March night.
I was 23. I was home with my black lab, Reagan, and Superman was at work. He would not be home until 1:00 am. I took out my contact lenses and put on my glasses (I was nearly blind without them), and gave my eyes a good rub. Ah. There’s nothing like rubbing your eyes after wearing contacts all day. Yawning, I lifted the covers, snuggled into bed and took the Bible off my nightstand. By the time I was done reading, the sheets had warmed up and I let the soft coziness envelop me as I slid down into the covers. Reagan settled down on the floor next to me. I patted her head, told her she was a good girl, closed my eyes and fell asleep.
Not more than an hour later, Reagan started growling. I rolled over onto my back and looked toward the hallway where the kitchen light shone behind the figure of a man. Oh, Superman is home already? I thought. Reagan barked. Suddenly, my stomach dropped. Reagan never barked at Superman. I reached over to get my glasses, but before I could reach them, the stranger ripped the blankets off me, grabbed me by my ankle and yanked me out of the bed onto the floor.
The man, who I still couldn’t see clearly, started to drag me by my feet down the hallway toward the kitchen.
My shirt rode up my back as I slid across the carpet.
I kicked and yelled, while poor Reagan was so confused, all she could do was run around in circles and bark. I could see that the man had on a black mask, black gloves, a long-sleeved black shirt, black jeans and black boots. His eyes peered through his mask. What color were they? I squinted, but I just couldn’t tell. He was so strong. My ankles stung from trying to twist them out of his grip.
We reached the kitchen. Without hesitation, the intruder straddled me on the floor and with his left hand grabbed a butcher knife from our knife holder. I immediately stopped making noise and trying to get away. Oh, Lord, he’s going to kill me. I thought about Superman coming home to find me dead on the kitchen floor. My lower back was pushed into the linoleum, and I felt a pinch of pain from the awkward position. I frantically tried to think of anything I could do. Then I felt the first slice. It was on my belly. I could hear the fabric of my shirt tearing. My mouth was so dry, my lips felt glued together. I was crying uncontrollably. Another cut. This time on my arm. Then my leg. But then, a realization: he wasn’t cutting very deep. He’s not going to kill me, I thought. Oh, God, he’s going to rape me. I tried to prepare myself mentally to be violated in one of the worst ways possible. What would I do? How would I react? How would my husband react?
All of a sudden, a song came into my mind.
Oh, thank you, Lord.
Through sobs and tears, I belted out, “Oh Lord, my God…when I in awesome wonder…”
It stopped. The cutting stopped. The man sat on top of me, stunned, and dropped the knife. He ran out the laundry room door. As soon as he was out of sight, I ran next door. Reagan ran behind me. My neighbor, Rick, answered the door. “Shanti! Are you all right? What happened? What happened?” I must have looked like a tornado hit me. I was so hysterical, I could hardly vocalize what had happened: “A-A-A man—he-he-came–{Superman} isn’t h-h-home…” Rick, a correctional officer, brought me inside where his wife, Preet, ran to my aid. “That f—king bastard!” Rick yelled. He got his gun and went to our house to look for the intruder.
Preet called 911. She told the operator that an intruder had been in my house. The operator asked to speak to me. I didn’t want to speak to anyone. I just wanted to be in Superman’s arms, safe in his arms and far away from this place. But, I spoke to her anyway. “Are you OK, ma’am? Did the intruder hurt you?”she asked. Did he hurt me? Well, my physical wounds were superficial. But emotionally, I was a wreck. “No, I’m okay,” I replied. “Ma’am, the police are on their way. You’ll hear a helicopter in a few minutes. Do you need an ambulance?” “No,” I replied. Wow. A helicopter. We lived in a new neighborhood, where there really wasn’t much of anything except corn fields and a few new subdivisions. I figured the helicopter was coming to search the fields. I just wanted Superman. I hung up on the 911 operator and asked Preet to call him at work. I was still too shaken up to talk to him.
Within ten minutes, the police showed up.
I still couldn’t see. I asked if somebody could please get my glasses for me. I didn’t want to go back into my house. The police started asking me questions: What did he look like? I didn’t know. As I said, I’m practically blind without my glasses. I asked again if somebody could please get them for me. “They’re on my nightstand,” I said. “Is there anyone you know who might do this to you?” they asked, “Did he have a distinct smell? Did he say anything? Were there any tattoos that you could see? How do you think he got in?” Too many questions, I thought. Can’t I just have a few minutes to gather myself? And why wouldn’t anyone get my glasses?
Superman arrived. I felt so relieved. I had felt so alone, even though I was surrounded by a dozen people. He held me in his arms; just what I needed. Someone brought me my glasses.
“Ma’am? We’re going to have to take some pictures now,” one of the officers said. I felt like I was in a horrible movie. There I was, my favorite pair of flannel pajama bottoms sliced up, my new shirt from a race I’d run in the week before destroyed, and my face stained with tears. The last thing I wanted was to have my picture taken. But I stood there, and stared blankly at the camera each time it flashed.
I felt like an idiot.
I couldn’t answer any of their questions. The only thing I knew was that the intruder was around six feet tall and had a muscular build. I had locked the front door, but had left the door from the garage into the laundry room unlocked. Stupid. He must have picked the lock into the garage and then just walked right in. Everyone felt so safe in our neighborhood. I shouldn’t have been so naive. I should have found a way to hit him in the groin. There were a lot of “I should haves” running through my mind.
The police said they needed my clothes and were going to take the knife to check for fingerprints. One of them gave us his card and said to call him if I thought of anything. They left, and Superman and I headed back to our house. There was black fingerprint dust all around from the police checking for fingerprints.
My house felt different.
It didn’t feel like the safe, comfortable home that it was just a few hours before. It wasn’t warm and cozy and welcoming. It felt–cold. I wondered why this had happened. What was the purpose of this? Maybe by my singing a traditional Christian hymn, the intruder would turn his life around. Not likely, but possible. Maybe he just thought I was nuts, so he took off. Maybe I just needed a kick in the pants. Maybe since Superman worked at a job where he was unhappy and just couldn’t leave, he needed a valid reason to go. (And he did.) There are many reasons why this could have happened, and why I got out of it completely safe and relatively unharmed.
All I know for sure is that the Lord proved His faithfulness that day. That song, that wonderful song, that had played in my mind over and over, had been there for a reason. After that day, the song disappeared. Don’t get me wrong–I still love that hymn. As a matter of fact, I start crying every time I hear it. But, apparently, there’s no longer a purpose for it.
That night, God showed me his omniscience: His complete, unlimited knowledge and understanding of my future. He knows. He knows. He showed me that His love for us is far beyond anything we can imagine…it’s deeply personal, and entirely intimate. As Psalm 139:13, 15-16 says,
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb…You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. {New Living Translation}
God used a song to save my life. He can use anything to save yours.
April says
This is amazing! What an incredible story, thank you so much for sharing! What ever happened?? Did they catch the guy?
Shanti Landon says
They did bring in an alarm salesman for questioning, and we believe he was the one who did it, but there was no proof. =(
Sarah Malone says
Wow!!! I am speechless, and like April, want to know what happened to the guy? It is so cool that you are able to use this story as part of your testimony. God is amazing!
Erica @ Whimsical September says
Whoa. I didn’t breathe throughout this entire story. I cannot believe this happened and am so sorry it did. Praise the Lord you’re physically okay. Thank you for sharing this story. We leave our garage door unlocked all the time. We won’t be anymore. <3
Danny says
Wow Shanti…What a testimony. The devil is everywhere; But God prevails always. You’re strong in your Faith and a Blessing to the people that read your blog and webpage. My wife and I lift you, Chris and your household up in prayer.
Kimberly Fricke says
Brave!
I am a survivor o sexual Abuse and I felt your terror in your words.
PTSD has pained me throughout my life.
Saying things out loud are liberating.
God Bless You Shanti for Sharing Your Story!!
Fran says
Thank you! You are such an amazing woman! We are blessed knowing you! God has truly blessed you, your family, and all those who know you!🙏🙏🙏🙏💞💗💖💖💕