I was about ten years old the year VBS tried to kill me. It actually ended the day before and now we were in Sunday school. VBS happened in the same room as my Sunday school class and we had built birdhouses. We used wood rasps (look it up) to knock off the rough edges of the hole we drilled for the birds’ entrance. We didn’t want the little birdies to get a splinter.
I and an unnamed friend (Donnie Spears) were lying down on a flat bench in the room, pushing each other back and forth with our feet. What else would you do in Sunday school? In the window ledge above me I saw one of the wood rasps. I took it down and was holding it in front of me just as Donnie gave me a big push with his feet. I moved. The wood rasp didn’t. It hit the wall and stuck out like a bayonet.
For a second I didn’t know I was hurt. Then a stream of blood shot out and hit the wall. I jumped up, scared out of my wits and watched the blood pump out of me with each heartbeat. Well, my Sunday school teacher was a smart guy so he grabbed his handkerchief and clapped it over my neck, almost choking me as he held it tightly. I hope it was clean
Someone found my dad and soon we were in the car, heading for the nearest hospital. At some point I looked down and saw that my teacher’s hand, my shirt and the top of my pants were solid red. I knew I was dying! We got to the hospital emergency room and the doctor there removed the handkerchief to take a look. The hole was about as big as a pencil lead and seemed to have sealed shut. There was no more blood coming out. It was too small for a stitch so they wrapped my neck with a pressure bandage and sent me on my way. He said I punctured my jugular vein but I wasn’t dying after all.
The next Sunday I went into class and could still see my blood on the walls. Someone had tried to paint over it but it didn’t work. In fact, that stain kept bleeding (pun intended) through for a couple of years. I’ll bet I could find them today if I scraped off a little paint.
So, remember me when your kids ask to go to Bible school. You can tell them this story and let them know there are many dangerous things in those classes so they might just want to stay home. I certainly don’t go any more. I saw my teacher at mom’s funeral. He was still telling everyone how he had saved my life. I meant to ask him if he had used a clean handkerchief but didn’t get a chance.