05/07/2026
September 11, 1989, was my own version of 9/11—a day when I nearly lost my mother and my only sister at the hands of my father. It happened exactly 12 years before the attacks on September 11, 2001, a date that would later become etched into the nation’s memory.
September 11, 1989, was a true tragedy—but it also marked the beginning of deliverance for my mother, my sister, and me. What could have ended our lives instead became the turning point that led us out of years of pain.
I was raised by a devoted Christian mother who never stopped sharing the love of Christ with us. Through every hardship, she held tightly to her faith, praying without ceasing and trusting God to carry us through the darkest season of our lives. Even in the most terrifying moments, she refused to lose hope.
My mother married my father at just 17 years old—an age when it’s easy to believe you understand life and not understanding the importance of seeking God’s will and direction for your life. That decision brought years of painful consequences, not only for her, but for my sister and me as well. During the 13 years they were married, my father struggled with alcoholism and developed a drug addiction, becoming increasingly abusive over time.
My mother and sister endured far more than I did. As the youngest, I believe I was protected in some ways from the worst of what they experienced whether it be physical, verbal or just having to endure his behavior in the moment. My father worked as a truck driver and was often gone for weeks at a time. In those stretches of absence, there was a sense of relief—my mother was spared, at least temporarily, from the constant verbal and physical abuse.
In the years leading up to 1989, his addiction grew increasingly unbearable. While he was out on the road, we made the difficult decision to leave our home and move into a small rental house, hoping he wouldn’t be able to find us when he returned. Unfortunately, he eventually did.
Even in that season of fear, there were countless moments I can only describe as “God moments”—times when His protection over us was undeniable. As the days turned into months, my father’s threats became constant and more intense. It reached a point where my grandfather, my mom’s dad, came to stay with us, sleeping on the couch in the living room each night, determined to protect his family.
On September 11, 1989, the threats became a terrifying reality. At midnight, he fired a sawed-off shotgun through our front door, continuing to shoot and missing my mother’s head by mere inches. The house was completely dark, which kept him from seeing exactly where he was aiming. By God’s grace, my mother was able to escape his sight and run back to her bedroom.
Meanwhile, my sister, startled awake, ran straight into him. He grabbed her, held the gun to her head, and began leading her toward the front door. In that moment, my grandfather spoke firmly, “Let her go.” Miraculously, he did. But then he turned his weapon toward my grandfather. By the grace of God, my grandfather was able to retrieve his own gun and shoot first, killing my father and sparing all of our lives. I remained in my bedroom through it all, unaware of the full extent of what was happening just beyond my door.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t thank my Lord and Savior for sparing our lives. The events of that night shaped my faith and deepened my trust in Him—then and still today. He was there in every moment, even in the smallest details.
One of my favorite verses is Psalm 46:1: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” This verse has stayed with me and continues to carry me through some of the most difficult moments in my life. He is my refuge and my strength. There is no problem too great for my Heavenly Father, and in that truth I find a peace that surpasses all understanding.
I am deeply grateful for all that the Lord has brought me through and for all that He continues to do in my life each day here on this earth.
❤️Shelli Hogan
