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BY ELIZABETH BARFIELD
Special To The Bulletin
CONYERS--Everyone has their own story to tell. This is mine. It all began
late Wednesday night on May 19. I went downstairs to the computer room to look
on the Internet for a homework assignment on current events. I decided to check
out the information on Kosovo and finally ended up on a page about genocide. I
read stories and saw pictures about the killings and horrors happening right
now, today, in our world.
The terrifying images made me cry. They impressed themselves upon my heart
and genuinely hurt me. I looked over at a painting of our dear Virgin Mother.
Usually her eyes in this picture never seemed to look my way, but at that
moment her beautiful deep blue eyes stared straight into my soul. The feeling
was overpowering, and I immediately fell to my knees. I stared back into her
eyes and repeatedly prayed for peace. Peace for our nation, peace for our
world. I prayed for protection for my family, friends, and for myself, as well.
I closed my eyes and started speaking to God. My body fell numb and I felt
weightless. I felt so protected. Over and over again I said to Him that I felt
His love. This incredible feeling was so powerful and I wondered why it was
that at that particular moment I felt so connected to Him and to my own
spirituality. I slept that night with peace in my heart.
The next morning I went to school for my zero period which lasts from 7 a.m.
until 8 a.m. every school day. That morning we were let out a few minutes
earlier, though. By the time I reached the commons area and sat down, the 8
a.m. bell rang. As soon as I sat down, my friend sitting next to me handed me a
book on traveling in Europe that his mom had just bought him the previous night
for his upcoming trip to Spain. At 8:03 sounds like those of firecrackers broke
the calmness of the air. Everyone looked around. I, thinking nothing more of it
than a senior prank, remained still and unshaken. After the next round of
noises, people started to scream and run. Chaos filled every corner of the
room. My book bag was lying next to me, and I didn’t take the time to pick
it up. The only thing I had in my possession was the book which I instinctively
cradled in my arms, covering my chest. I followed the crowd out of the front
door and ran all the way across the street into a residential neighborhood. I
saw my friends crying and frantically banging on neighbors’ doors.
It was only when I saw the ambulances pull up and start taking out
stretchers that the reality of the situation began to set in. I wearily sat
down on the sidewalk to catch my breath. As I sat, I noticed the book I was
still holding had been damaged. Thoughts ran through my head of what I possibly
could have done to do this kind of damage to the book. I started showing some
of my friends, and they could not understand exactly what had happened either.
No one was in the frame of mind to understand.
One of my friends pulled up in her car and asked me with fear in her eyes
where her closest friends were. I told her I didn’t know, and watched her
tensions increase. She asked me to go with her so we could look for our friends
together. The total chaos in front of the school changed our course of action.
We decided to go back to her house to page friends and call our parents.
As we sat inside of her home, anxiously awaiting dear responses to our
pages, I was able to examine the book more closely. The tear started shallow
and increasingly went deeper into the book. I finally accepted the reality of
the damage when I saw how the pages were left with a silver powder in the
direction of the tear. I had to realize that a bullet had caused this damage.
The indentions of the bullet were impressed all the way through about page 200.
What scared me more was knowing that I had held the book directly over my
chest.
I immediately started praying. I knew the only reason I was alive at that
moment was because God had saved me. A book hadn’t stopped that bullet;
God’s hand did. He proved to me that day just how precious life is and
just how much love and compassion He has for all of us. My dear sweet mother,
Mary, protected and covered me with her veil. She too played her precious part
in my miracle. I am not afraid because I know that I am loved and being watched
over every day of my life.
Elizabeth Barfield is a sophomore at Heritage High School and a member of
St. Pius X Church in Conyers.
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