God’s protection: How a merciful God stopped a gun from killing me
God’s protection: Timothy B. Horne was serving as a missionary in Ecuador when a confrontation with a gang member turned violent. While aware of God’s presence, Timothy didn’t have time to say a specific prayer — instead, God’s hedge of protection surrounded him and four friends who might have otherwise died in the street in front of their church.
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By Timothy B. Horne
Timothy B. Horne served as a missionary in Ecuador, where he experienced God’s promise of protection.
“¡Oye meester, te cuido el carro!”
“Hey Mister, I’ll watch your car for you.”
This was what I heard as I closed the door on the van and walked towards a red-brick church building in Bloque 10 of La Bastión Popular, Ecuador.
A young man offered to watch our van. He was sitting around a case of beer with three of his friends and had obviously been drinking for hours.
My wife and I had moved to Ecuador from Canada as missionaries 14 years earlier with our three young children. We wanted to share the love of God and support the work of a church in Guayaquil.
Once there, in the decade of the 90s, God led us to start a sister church in La Bastión Popular, a massive squatter’s area or “invasión.”
New arrivals moved from the countryside to La Bastión seeking better employment, medical care, and education. Many built crude bamboo shacks on unoccupied land, tapping into power lines and water systems to survive.
The area grew quickly, to a size too big for authorities to bulldoze, and because of its poverty began to attract gangs seeking to rob, extort, sell drugs, and terrorize the neighborhood.
Timothy B. Horne served as a missionary in Ecuador in the 1990s. He’s pictured with his wife and children.
The man’s offer was more than it seemed. I knew he was really saying: “Pay me something and nothing will happen to your van”.
I pointed to the heavens and said in Spanish, “Thank you, but I have someone up there who is watching over it better than anyone else could.”
He slurred that all he was asking for was respect. If I showed him respect, he would respect our group.
I assured him I respected him, but wouldn’t pay to protect the van.
As our group walked away, I felt a little confused and concerned because, in all the time I had visited La Bastión Popular, gone into people’s homes to share a meal, or talked about the Bible at various church and youth meetings, no one had ever spoken to me in a threatening way.
I hoped my light-hearted reference to a God who protects me would be enough to convince him to back off.
Bloque 10 of La Bastión Popular, Ecuador, in the 1990s. The area became a massive squatter’s area, which locals called the“una invasión.”
Believing I could fix it, I took matters into my own hands
Inside the church, we busied ourselves chatting while others prepared the meal. It was two days before New Year’s Eve, and I was looking forward to an abundant feast of roasted chicken and rice, lots of laughs, and an uplifting time of singing and prayer.
While we waited to start the service, my son left the church with some other boys to buy homemade popsicles at a shop nearby.
They hadn’t been gone long before rushing back into the church to tell us thieves had stolen a cell phone from one of Lucho’s sons and were getting away.
I didn’t want the other father, Lucho, to react because, although he had mellowed a lot since becoming a Christian, I was concerned he would do something rash. I told him I would handle it.
There was a part of me, too, that had gotten a little bit cocky and believed I could fix the problem by talking to the perpetrator. I was well known in the barrio and felt somewhat responsible as Lucho and his boys were my guests.
A dog walks across the plank connected the redbrick church building in Bloque 10 of La Bastión Popular, Ecuador.
He pulled out a handgun and time slowed
I stood in the church’s door and saw the four men who had offered to watch my van rounding the corner. Disappointed and angry with them, I shouted: “Whatever happened to: ‘You, respect us, and we will respect you!’”
“For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.”
The same man who had spoken to me earlier turned on his heel and rushed back towards me.
The church building was unfinished, and a rickety wooden plank spanned a ditch of sewage runoff. I crossed the street to meet him.
The man reached into the waistband of his trousers and pulled out a handgun. I was shocked.
Cursing, he pointed it at my head.
Time slowed. I don’t know how long we stood there. I was frozen in place. It felt unreal, as though I was hovering over the scene, witnessing something that was happening to someone else. But it wasn’t.
Four friends had followed me onto the street. They stood beside me, as shocked as I was by how quickly things had escalated. I felt more for those around me, and for my family, if they had to watch me being shot dead on a dirt road in front of the church.
I asked God if this was how my life was to end. Then I asked him to take care of my wife and our kids.
Bloque 10 of La Bastión Popular, Ecuador, was known as a massive squatter’s area.
We were at a stalemate. I needed God’s protection.
The man continued to point the gun at me and scream at me in anger. We were in a stalemate.
What must have been seconds seemed to stretch longer, and I felt an urgency to do something. With countless movie scenes playing in my head, I grabbed at the gun, attempting to wrestle it out of his hand, but wasn’t successful.
That only infuriated him. He pushed the barrel to my head.
I saw the others in his gang moving towards us and watched as one of them pulled a machete from beneath his jacket.
I realized things could get a lot uglier, not just for me, but for my friends standing beside me.
I needed to act.
It may have been God’s prompting. I don’t know what propelled me to do it, but I just waved my hand in the air in front of me, saying, “Nothing is going to happen here, let’s go.”
I turned and hustled the group back into the safety of the church.
To my surprise, the man with the gun lowered his arm and walked away. So did his three friends.
It was over as fast as it began.
As we crossed the foul-smelling ditch and entered the church, I hoped my wife and kids (family?) hadn’t seen everything. I felt a great relief that the moment had passed and we were all safe, and that I had felt God’s protection and presence throughout.
A typical view of the street from behind the bars of the church where friends had gathered.
God’s promise of protection
Once inside the church, people bear-hugged me or told me they prayed for God’s protection as they watched the whole event from behind the barred windows.
I knew I didn't want what happened to ruin the evening for the people gathered, and suggested we start our meeting. As I strummed the guitar, the weight of the moment hit me and left me feeling a bit shaky.
“How strange,” I thought, “That now we were all singing as if nothing had happened.”
Later, two of my friends who stood beside me in the street told me they heard two clicks as the man pulled the trigger.
The aggressor had fired the gun, but it hadn’t gone off.
The next day, I heard from one of the people who lives in the neighborhood that the handgun had been fired by the gang later that afternoon in a robbery nearby.
There was no reason the gun, which was successfully fired a few hours later, didn’t do so when it was pointed at me. There is no question in my mind: God intervened to save me.
A typical gathering on Bloque 10 of La Bastión Popular, Ecuador, where Timothy B. Horne served as a missionary in the 1990s.
God’s protection turned a life-threatening confrontation around
The peace I felt still surprises me. I struggled through a couple of sleepless nights. I felt shaky in the days after as what happened sank in.
But in the moment, a peace I can only attribute to faith and to God filled me and allowed me to make sure my companions were safe. I love my wife, Lil, and my kids, and I was thankful to have more time with them.
More than anything, I realized that God is merciful. My life is always in his hands, even when I am not aware of it.
What I told the man “guarding” our van — the same man who had pulled the trigger that never fired — is true: God’s wise and perfect care is greater than any man-made protection.
For that, I believe God is worthy of our praise and our service.
Timothy Horne is a recently retired missionary and social services support worker living on the beautiful east coast of Canada in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. He dedicates his time to writing and supporting the work of his church through volunteering. Singing in the choir, enjoying downtime with his wife, Lil, and any of their children who may be around. He also enjoys exercising and reading. Follow him on Substack or read his website.
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God’s protection: Timothy B. Horne was serving as a missionary in Ecuador when a confrontation with a gang member turned violent. While aware of God’s presence, Timothy didn’t have time to say a specific prayer — instead, God’s hedge of protection surrounded him and four friends who might have otherwise died in the street in front of their church.