What would you do if you had nine minutes to live? My wife and I were in Hawaii. I was preparing to speak the next day. I know, it's a tough life. All that sand in your shorts.
Ramona and I enjoyed an early breakfast. Then suddenly at 8:07 a.m., the world went crazier than a cageful of monkeys. A zillion cell phones buzzed and a message flashed onscreen: "Ballistic missile threat inbound to Hawaii. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill."
Now, I'd be a liar if I told you my first thought was "Yippee!" I have a family. Grandkids. A ministry.
Below, pandemonium breaks loose. Some curse the U.S. president. Scream. And flee through the streets. Tearful goodbyes are said. Underground parking lots fill.
"It's North Korea," says someone. "It takes a ballistic missile 20 minutes to get here."
With nine minutes left to live, my wife and I descended nine flights of stairs. A lady was carrying a Bible.
"That's a good book," I said.
"The best," she said with a smile. "Especially this morning."
Call us delusional, but we stopped and talked about heaven.
"We're in God's hands," we agreed.
With six minutes left, Ramona and I walked past the Trump tower and toward the Pacific.
A hundred thoughts flood your mind when you have five minutes to live. The kids. Is there anything unsaid? No. They know we love them. They know where the will is.
"I wonder if we'll see the missile?" I say. "Let's watch."
Four minutes left and I'm thinking about Kim Jong-un. I'm not confident he can hit a basketball hoop from five feet. Can he pinpoint this tiny island 7,500 kilometres away? Stranger things have happened. Well, maybe not.
Three minutes to go, and a man stops us. He's furious at world leaders.
"We can't put our hope there," I say. "Our hope is in Jesus."
I'm braver than normal. What's he gonna do? Kill me? With two minutes left it's important to know that your worldview works. I'm happy to report that Christianity does.
I was a little jittery, but filled with peace. I held my wife's hand and said, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear; though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea" (Psalm 46:1)
One minute to live and we were laughing. There were the mountains. There was the sea.
My watch said time was up.
"We're still here," I said.
"Shoot," Ramona answered. We laughed again. Most of her family are in heaven; there are days she'd love to see them. But this isn't that day.
It took a whopping 38 minutes for authorities to issue a retraction. Someone hit the wrong button. Oops. Did they hire a bit of a joker? Maybe he pushed the button thinking it said, "Go for lunch," when it said, "Go for launch."
It was too early to go for lunch, so we continued our walk along Waikiki Beach. It was the emptiest I'd ever seen it, but people were beginning to return.
I wanted to yell, "Don't go back to the way you were. This is not the land of the living. It's the land of the dying. You have one life to live. One story to tell. Write it well."
Perhaps each day should start with a missile scare. We'd be a little more aware that we're not here long. A little more prepared to share the hope of Christ.
At 10 a.m. a friend emailed to ask if we were okay.
"Ya," I said, "but it's been a blast."
Phil Callaway is a speaker, best-selling author and host of Laugh Again Radio. Check it out at laughagain.org
