One Friday long ago I came home from work to find glass from my back door scattered across the patio and the door standing open. I didn’t go inside, because someone could still be there, looking (unsuccessfully) for a cache of things he could pawn; instead, I went across the street to a neighbor’s house to call the police.
After declaring the house safe, they left and I went inside to check on my little Shadow, a little schnauzer/terrier, and found her safe but trembling in fear under a bureau. Somehow in desperation, she had scrambled under a six-inch space she was barely able to squeeze out of, now that she was safe. She remained traumatized for a week and trembled at the smallest unusual sound.
When I took stock, I found nothing missing that affected my daily life—even my new microwave, a modest TV and record player were undisturbed. Nothing that I’d have to replace for daily living--all that was missing was my mother’s wedding ring, pearl and silver earrings my dad had brought me from
When my aunt asked what I’d lost, she became very emotional about the terrible loss of Mother’s ring so I quickly terminated the call. I couldn’t sink to helplessness or fear. A deacon in my church, owner of a construction company, came Friday evening to nail the door shut and repaired it Saturday. I was safe and the repair wasn’t a huge expense. I suddenly saw this episode in a new light.
Whenever my aunt began to moan, trying to get me to grieve along with her, I explained that since I had been divorced, sold “our house” and bought a smaller one, I had gratefully told God that I considered the house and everything in it His and I was happily His steward in residence. The few things taken from this home left in a thief’s pants pocket. They weren’t mine so I would not grieve for the loss; they were God’s. Wherever they now were, they were still His. And I wouldn’t stand in the shoes of that thief for riches far beyond their value, when God came to collect what was His!
In the years since then, at various times God brought me someone needing a place to stay for a weekend or a few months and He provided them refuge in His house and His peace filled it. Since I became unable to live alone, the proceeds of the sale still provide for me. My aunt? I regret she never learned what I had learned—the peace of knowing God truly can be trusted for life before Heaven! After her husband died, she kept his closet intact; she refused to give away his suits to a charity where "some dirty bum would wear her husband’s clothes until they fell away in dirty rags". And she slept fearfully the rest of her life, unaware that God was keeping her safe.
