CRAZED GUNMAN. TWO POLICE officers killed. Blood all over the carpet. It could have been me. But God spared me. He saved me in spite of myself.

On Tuesday, July 21, 1998, I arrived in Washington, D.C., where my job was to speak in support of a bill relating to World War II veterans. I’d come to speak. But God wanted me to listen.

On Wednesday, July 22, I testified before the Veterans’ Affairs Committee of the United States House of Representatives, and on Thursday I was expected to drop by the offices of a number of key members of Congress.

One of the lawmakers with whom my office had attempted to arrange an appointment was congressman Tom DeLay. As majority whip in the U.S. House of Representatives, he was obviously a man of considerable influence.

But alas, he was too busy to schedule me in, so his staff politely suggested I return on Friday, July 24, to see if I might be able to speak briefly with him in the hallway between his appointments. There were no guarantees. He was a busy man. I replied that I understood, but I would need to see if my flight could be rescheduled. I had not planned on staying in Washington through Friday.

Utterly Frustrated
It was Thursday afternoon in Washington, D.C. (Thursday morning in Hawaii). I quickly called my legislative office in Hawaii and spoke with my office manager to see if she could arrange for my departure on Friday after lunch rather than Thursday night. She would check with the travel agent and call me back.

As I sat there in the hallway in the Capitol with my cellular phone in hand, I sent up a quick prayer. At the beginning of the trip I’d asked generally for God’s guidance and presence as I worked on this issue. But I’d not specifically asked for divine intervention. This time I did. “Lord, if You can just work it out so I can take a later flight, I might be able to meet with this congressman who might make a difference on this issue.”

I was hesitant to ask the Maker of the universe for something like this, when many prayerful believers at that very moment needed more urgent assistance. But I felt justified. It was only a matter of rescheduling a flight. And the fate of perhaps thousands of veterans depended on the outcome of this particular legislation.

About 15 minutes later my cell phone rang. It was my office manager calling from Honolulu. She had done everything humanly possible for me to stay on until Friday. The travel agent had checked the flight schedule and had even explored the possibility of switching carriers. But to no avail. I would have to leave as scheduled.

Utterly frustrated, I hung up and sent off another plea for divine assistance. “Lord, can’t You just do something? You know how important this issue is. I’m not asking for myself,” I pleaded.

Hours later I was above the nation’s capital sitting in the coach section of a jet heading west. I was sulking over not having been able to rearrange my flight to make the Friday meeting with Congressman DeLay.

Now I Understood
The next day was Friday, July 24. I was resting between appointments in Los Angeles, California, watching the CNN news, when a flash bulletin report of a shooting at the U.S. Capitol came on. A lone gunman had entered the suite of offices occupied by the House majority whip, Congressman Tom DeLay. Without warning the gunman had started shooting. Two Capitol police officers had been shot.

I sat there, stunned. I could not believe the news.

The anchor continued: A suspect was apprehended. His name was Weston, he was 41, and he had a long 20-year history of mental illness.

My mind raced as I hurriedly processed the meaning of what had just occurred. If I’d been able to rearrange my flight schedule—as I’d hoped and prayed—I might have been sitting in the waiting area of Congressman DeLay’s office at the time of the shooting. I might have been in danger. I might even have been killed.

Here I had prayed so hard for God to bend to my wishes, to do something I thought was best, to intervene in a manner I thought was personally convenient. I had, in effect, prayed that “my will be done, Lord.”

God had been saying “No,” and I’d protested. Now I understood the reason God had had His way and I’d not had mine. At last I appreciated that a divine “No” may in fact be for my own good.

I closed my eyes in prayer, sending up contrite words. God had refused my supplications out of love for me.

Days later I was in Honolulu, my business trip completed. I learned that God was still in the process of completing me. On television I watched the footage of the flag-draped coffins of Capitol police officers Jacob J. Chestnut and John Gibson, who had perished in the line of duty, willingly sacrificing themselves so that others might live. By order of Congress they lay in state at the nation’s Capitol.

I prayed for their families.

We do not know why evil persists in this world. But we do know we serve a loving God who knows, in the death of Jesus, what it’s like to lose a loved one to human violence.

Sometimes God answers our prayers with a “No.” In my case I discovered that His “No” meant that I would live to see my wife and kids again at the end of a business trip. When I play with my children I sincerely appreciate the fact that it could have all ended on that fateful Friday, July 24, 1998, almost two months before our third child was born (September 22, 1998).

I recognize God’s gift in each new day. I am thankful that we have a God who is wise and more loving than we can ever imagine. “In the future life the mysteries that here have annoyed and disappointed us will be made plain. We shall see that our seemingly unanswered prayers and disappointed hopes have been among our greatest blessings.”^*

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^*Ellen G. White, The Ministry of Healing, p. 474.

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David A. Pendleton, an attorney and state legislator, is a member of the Manoa Valley Adventist Church in Honolulu, Hawaii.