There are moments in American life about which people constantly ask, “Where were you when it happened?” I had lived through two of those moments thus far about which I could easily give the answer. When the space shuttle Challenger exploded on January 28, 1986, I was watching the launch on television. I was a space junkie, and will never forget the devastation of that moment.

It would be fifteen years until the next moment. It was 9/11/2001 and the jihadist attacks on the World Trade Center. I was married by then – seven years married. Dana and I, along with her parents, were in Daytona, Florida, for a vacation. We were in no hurry to get up and about our day, so upon waking, I flipped on the television and immediately saw video of smoke billowing from the North Tower. The commentators were confused; no one seemed quite sure what was happening yet, though there were reports of a plane striking it. And then I watched, live, as the second plane struck. Not too long later, both towers collapsed.

Saturday evening, I had my third; everyone did. Dana and I were out to eat at a Chinese Restaurant with my mother and stepfather. My phone rang, and it was Dana’s mom telling me, “They just shot President Trump.”

My heart sank.

“He survived,” she quickly said, “They fired eight shots, I think, but they just grazed him.”

Immediately, I told everyone what was happening, and we pulled our phones out and pulled up video of what had happened and was happening. We watched the harrowing attack, heard the screaming, and saw the agents trying to protect him. Then we watched the now iconic scene of him getting back up, blood streaming from the side of his face, and defiantly pumping his fist into the air.

It would not take long for the staggering closeness of seismic disaster on our land to become clear. The bullet was aimed, from very close range in rifle terms, right at his head. And yet, with just a momentary head turn and a whisper of the wind, the bullet pierced his ear rather than blowing his head off. One inch – we were one inch or less from disaster of a magnitude that some perhaps do not quite understand.

To say that America is a dry powder keg looking for a spark right now is an understatement of epic proportions. Between constant irresponsible claims that everyone with whom one disagrees is “literally Hitler, fascist, racist, will destroy democracy, etc.,” ubiquitous hatred on social media, race and class hucksters balkanizing America, statesmanship merely a relic of bygone days, and the growing backlash to all of the above, I fearfully surmise that we just missed war in the streets of America by an inch or less.

But from another perspective, a happier perspective, it means that the God who still is the Master of the wind used a mere whisper of that wind to change our destiny. It means that he extended us mercy that perhaps none of us quite deserve. I explained to my church the following Sunday morning that we could have awakened to a very different America today, an America on fire and under the tyranny of martial law. Instead, across the land, people were peacefully making their way to churches and houses of worship to thank God for his goodness.

We took time to pray for the family of Corey Comperatore, the man who lost his life in that hail of bullets. Only later would we learn that he died as a hero, shielding his wife and daughter from the bullets with his own body. We prayed for God’s protection on President Trump, and especially on his family, knowing that in such a heated and senseless climate, even a wife and children are probably not off limits for attack.

And this morning, I woke up to pray, read my Bible, have some breakfast, and write a column. In just a few hours, Dana and I will drive to Sumter, South Carolina, where I will begin a three-night revival meeting. She will drive while I sit in the passenger seat and work on my soon-coming book on Hosea. In the meantime, once the column is done, I will tend to my garden. The tomatoes and peppers, and especially the cucumbers, are thriving this year in my raised, enclosed garden. The fig trees are finally growing, and all of my fruit trees and vines are healthy; my homemade mixture of water, soap, and hot sauce is allowing them to thrive while the bugs keep their distance.

And the fact that I am thinking about any of that right now is a testimony to the goodness of God and a mere whisper of His wind.