MATT COOPER’S DAMASCUS ROAD

The Covington police officer was shot between the eyes while responding to a shoplifting call on Sept. 3, 2018. Though his miraculous physical recovery has been wrought with difficulty, it has strengthened his marriage and resulted in spiritual renewal for an entire family.

by NAT HARWELL

Matt Cooper chose his words carefully. I had asked him about what his family calls “the accident” and the day the Covington police officer responded to a shoplifting call at Walmart. He had pursued the fleeing suspect and rounded a corner of a building before being shot between the eyes at nearly point-blank range. The man I call “Coop” stunned me when he spoke.

“I don’t know why it was me that took the bullet,” he said softly, “but as I’ve had time to think about it, I feel honored that God chose me to be there. I don’t know if it was because God believed I was strong enough to bear it and maybe someone else would not have been, but I’m honored, in a way, that God chose me.”

Cooper’s words humbled me when I realized what manner of man he had become since I had coached him as a football player at Indian Creek Middle School. The poignancy of the moment was made even clearer as he continued.

“I’d seen a lot of bad,” said Cooper, a former Army sniper who did two tours in Afghanistan. “To be honest, I’d lost my faith, grown away from God; and I saw a lot of bad as a police officer. Getting shot saved my soul, got me closer to God.”

I thought about the man called Saul of Tarsus, who pursued and persecuted Christians in the first century. It took a bright light and the voice of God to knock Saul to the ground and bring him—now known as Saint Paul—to a new relationship with his Creator. For Matt Cooper, it took a bullet between the eyes.

The miraculous story of Cooper’s survival and recovery is well-known to local residents and, thanks to widespread media coverage, to people flung far and wide across America and beyond. A brief recap entails miracle after miracle—the first being that the bullet hit cartilage, diverting it down behind his right eye and eventually lodging against his carotid artery, blocking the flow of blood to the brain. It was later discovered that Cooper had inexplicably grown a network of smaller blood vessels which took over the task of supplying his brain with blood and life-giving oxygen throughout the trauma.

Airlifted to Grady Memorial Hospital’s trauma center and then later to Emory University, Cooper underwent multiple and unbelievable surgeries, including the temporary removal of part of his skull. His story became widely reported, prayer groups sprang up and Badge 148—his number—began appearing on signs, banners, flags and even on the iconic incinerator smokestack at the intersection of I-20 and I-75/85 in downtown Atlanta. Friends, family and untold numbers of everyday citizens rallied in support for him and his family. Two years later, Cooper was the starter for the Covington Police Department’s annual 5K Fuzz Run. The Atlanta Braves honored him with a day, as did the Atlanta Falcons. I am reminded of a Paul Simon lyric from “Slip Slidin’ Away,” which reads: “God only knows. God has a plan. The information’s unavailable to the mortal man.”

An Unlikely Union

Kristen Osburn was a quiet, somewhat shy, student when she was in high school. As it happened, when Matt was deployed, Kristen was working with Sharon Cooper, his mother, who suggested the two them should date when he returned home.

“Oh, it was so prearranged,” Kristen said. “In high school, I’d always been quiet, and Matt was the popular, handsome stud athlete. I told Sharon that I didn’t think that dating would be a good idea, but... she persisted. I finally gave in, figuring I would at least get a good steak dinner out of it and that would be it.”

Matt and Kristen had been together for eight years when “the accident” occurred. Their two children, Noah and Natalie, were but 4 and 2 years old. In the blink of an eye, this shy, lithe brunette with Miss America good looks had to make some quick and impossibly difficult decisions.