November 9, 1973, just after 9
a.m., I
was connecting wires to detonators at a U.S. Air Force missile test site in
Utah. Someone turned on the power, and
my world turned bright blue and white.
Several minutes later I was strapped in an all-terrain ambulance headed
for the first of six eye operations that would eventually restore my
sight. Along with the eye operations, I
had surgery to reattach two fingers on my right hand and to remove wires,
screws and various pieces of metal from my face, arms and chest.
It was Friday. I had planned to ride my motorcycle up into the mountains for the weekend. My plans changed. On November 9, 1973, I woke up an agnostic.
Before the day ended, I believed in God and a few months later, I went the whole way to become a Christian. I would have preferred a smoother path to faith, but at 20 years old, I test-fired missiles for a day job and rode a motorcycle in mountains of Utah for recreation. I was not inclined to listen to a still, small voice—blindness was the right size megaphone for God to announce His existence to me.
It would be a week before I could see again with one eye. A month before both eyes could see again.
