On April 3, Gary Woods went home to be with the Lord. He left an enormous hole in our hearts. This article is a tribute to our writing buddy.
With his colorful language, one Monday morning, he came to our writers’ group and threw a sack of dried buffalo manure on the table in front of one of our writers. She was writing a story about a covered wagon traveling across the prairie in the 1800s. He wanted her to see what she was writing about.
An excellent writer, having lived in Washington, D.C., before coming to Pagosa, he wrote descriptive spy novels. Hopefully, they will be published one day.
One morning, he read his “Story From The Heart.” He surprised us with his tender side. This tough guy had been in the presence of God and we have no doubt he is with Jesus today. This is an abridged version of his story.
‘True story’
By Gary Woods
I had always known there is a greater being than myself. I derived that knowledge through nature. When I was a kid, my parents had me baptized, took me to Sunday school; and as I grew older, I was made to suffer through the ordeal of “church.” I remember the highlights of those teachings — the 23rd Psalm, John 3:16 and the biggies of “The Rules”: Don’t lie, cheat, steal or kill. I didn’t know the Bible very well. I still don’t for that matter. But, hey, I was a Christian, or thought I was; after all, I was a good guy.
I don’t remember how “good luck” worked out for me as a kid. Things just seemed to work out for me. I always seemed to come out on the other side unscathed. The fact is I had very good fortune in my life and therein is half the problem. People took notice and pointed out the fact that I was very lucky. My family and I had a pet name for it. We called it my “little white cloud.”
I’m a passionate bowhunter. On Oct. 12, 2004, I was in pursuit of that passion and, as I had done thousands of times before, I left our house to go hunting.
Two or three days before, my wife asked if I was carrying my cellphone when I was hunting. I told her no, I didn’t need to call anyone while I was hunting. She had a little different perspective and asked, “What happens if I have to call you?” I started packing my cellphone.
The sun was already up the morning of Oct. 12, 2004. It was 7:30 in the morning when I left our house. I was a smoker in those days and I was hurrying right along when I had the thought, I think I’ll smoke a cigarette before I get to my deer stand. Don’t want to stink up the area around my deer stand and spook the deer. I finished the last cigarette I’ll ever smoke and bent over to pick up my pack and bow. The pack felt as though it weighed a ton and I couldn’t pick up my bow at all. I did not feel well. I hurt from the top of my legs up to my teeth. Being of the “6-feet-tall-and-bulletproof” nature, I had never experienced this sensation before. Then it dawned on me, at 7:45 a.m., on the morning of Oct. 12, 2004, I was having a heart attack. In the woods. Alone.
I had my cellphone. How very fortuitous. After calling my wife at work, she was able to find me out in the woods even though I was dressed in camo. After much misunderstanding, eventually the 911 operator understood where I was and got an ambulance close (within about a quarter mile) to my location.
Before I was put on a MedEvac helicopter flight to the much larger hospital in Washington, D.C., I was lying on a table in the emergency room at the local county hospital. I was talking with my wife and my dad who were standing beside me and, just like the TV hospital shows, I could hear the heart monitor behind me going beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.
While I was talking to them, in mid-sentence, things started to grow dim and my sight started to close down to a small opening of light. I heard the monitor change from the steady, rhythmic beep-beep, beep-beep, to beep-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ...
This was not a good sign. I remember a scurry of activity in the room. Then my own perspective changed. I was no longer lying on the table. I was rising above the table, looking down on myself lying on the table, along with the scurry of activity going on in the room, including a nurse pushing both my wife and my dad out of the room. I continued to rise. Something had drastically changed.
I had a couple of realizations or epiphanies, if you will. If this was death, it didn’t hurt. It was ever so easy to slip from life to death. I felt no pain. One might think that there would be a feeling of loneliness or sorrow. I felt neither. I felt no fear. In fact, I felt as though everything was really OK. Peaceful. As one might imagine, I had questions, but before a question was fully formed in my own head, it was answered. It felt as though I had some form of universal knowledge and I knew everything.
I saw no one at first, but all of a sudden I was hearing, feeling, sensing, knowing, understanding, being given information; but, this was not in a verbal conversation form. I was informed, “All this (at which point there was a sweeping gesture of an arm from behind my right shoulder that indicated across the river) can be yours.” I understood that across the river was better than this side of the river. I was instructed to, “Share this experience.”
At this point, I realized and fully understood the source of my “little white cloud” and His proper name: Emmanuel.
It was external of me. It was overpowering. I could not ignore it. I would not have been able to stick my fingers in my ears and sing to drown it out. It was an impending flood of information, language and feelings all at the same time. The closest I can describe it is it is as if the ground shook.
At that point, I started slipping down the bank, the sand giving way under me. Thinking that it was a bad thing to get wet in the river, I began to push back with all fours. I was kicking and flailing with all my might to get back up to the edge of the grass.
As I made it to the grassy edge, there was a sudden jolt and again something happened. I was back on the table in the emergency room at the local hospital. The entire episode lasted 15 to 20 minutes, which is another curiosity concerning the sense of time. My wife, afterward, informed me the real clock time that elapsed was only about four minutes while I was flatlined.
I sound like one of those Jesus freaks. Guess I am one. “Well, now, isn’t that just special?”
Final brushstroke: Gary Woods is with us in spirit. His time had come and he was ready. He was ready to cross the river.
Views expressed do not necessarily represent those of The SUN.
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