We spent some time on Monday morning with my husband's dad's dad (E's great-grandaddy Bost) and his wife, Jenny. When we went out for lunch, we somehow got on the topic of his history with the U.S. Navy during World War II, and I sat with a mouth open-wide as he told a story of how he - as an 18-year-old - not only survived a torpedo attack on the USS Donnell, a destroyer en route to Europe, but then also went on to join the forces in the attack on the beaches of Normandy.
At the time of the torpedo attack, he should have been asleep in his assigned bunk. Instead, he had traded bunks with another soldier that was on duty. If he had been in his assigned bunk, his life would have been taken along with the lives of the 29 other men that day. Instead, God had other plans.
He went back home after the war, back to his mom's house (who had signed a waiver for him to be able to join the Navy at the age of 17 at the time of the draft), back to his preacher to find out just why God had spared him his life that day. "I don't know why he chose to allow me to live that day," he said very candidly as we sat around the table.
Ohhhh...but I do Grandaddy Bost. I'm sure there's a million, but I've got living proof of one perfect little reason why God spared your life that day.
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