We were in seminary in Fort Worth when my second daughter, Rachel, was born.

About the time my wife had to take a leave of absence from her RN position,

the paper route in the seminary village became open. So I became a newspaper

carrier for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram for about nine months. Every day

at 4 a.m. and 4 p.m. I threw the paper. I loved Saturday when the morning

and evening editions combined. I dreaded Sundays because the paper weighed

a ton. Since it was a walking route, I was loaded down.

One Sunday morning, I was beginning to throw the papers across the street

from my apartment. Our apartment building was right by the railroad tracks.

A fence with barbed wire across the top stood between the village and the

tracks. It was twilight and shadowy. Darkness was slowly turning to daylight.

Someone on the other side of the fence yelled, "Hey!" I thought, "Who

in the world is that and who are they yelling at this time of the morning?" I

ignored it and faithfully delivered my papers.

Again a voice yelled, "Hey, you!" I turned and saw the outline

of three figures walking down the tracks in my direction and realized they

were hollering at me to "come here!"

I said, "I can't. I have to throw my papers." Such dedication

I had.

My response evidently angered them and the next thing I knew, they had run

down the bank and had somehow sprung over the fence, barbed wire and all.

There are times when you don't have time to think; you just react. Psychologists

tell us that in the face of danger, most of us will react in one of two ways.

We'll either fight or flee. There were three of them and one of me. I didn't

fight. I took flight.

My wife was on the porch bagging papers. As I turned to run, I hollered, "Get

inside!" She dropped everything, dashed into the house, and I sprinted

in right behind her. As soon as I got the door closed, they hit the porch

and started pounding on the door and windows.

With adrenaline pumping and my heart racing, I grabbed the phone, but the

only number I could think of was the seminary number, which rang security.

That was like calling Barney Fife to bring over his one bullet. I did fumble

through the phone book and call the Fort Worth police department and they

sent two cars.

In the meantime, a neighbor upstairs heard the commotion, came outside and

asked, "What's going on?" The three hollered something to the effect

of "he's been looking in my sister's window." The seminary student

upstairs said, "You've got the wrong man." And with that, they

took off over the fence and