You free me up...

So, after a wonderful week of hanging out with students, painting houses, six flags and white water rafting, we came home at 10:30 Saturday night to find that our house had been broken into. I went to unlock the door, and for some reason turned the handle instead, finding the door already unlocked. Our house was a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, things not where they had been left, piles of stationary, magazines, picture albums, empty baskets where our stuff once was, and the obvious absence of some of our most "prized" possessions - namely Craig's Taylor and Fender, the two Youth laptops, and the small diamond necklace Craig had given me for our one year dating anniversary that I wore when we were married. Not to mention the sack full of credit card offers to be shredded, our new mail and all of my checks, and about $350 in cash (#75 of which was from the Youth to give to Blood Water Mission).

Needless to say, it was not a happy evening. I was angry, frightened, confused, but most of all I felt sick. Knowing that someone, most likely more than one someone, had been in my house for who knows how long, meticulously going through my personal things, looking at pictures of my family, and carelessly throwing things about made me feel very violated. I did not sleep that night. Actually, it's been a rough few days afterwards. Our landlord promptly had our door fixed (they came in through our bedroom door off the patio, used a crowbar and tore off the inside door frame so it wouldn't lock) and that made me feel a little better, but I still don't feel comfortable in my own home, and don't like to be home alone in the evenings.

So in saying all this, there are a couple of strange things to mention. One, whoever was clearing out my closet, throwing things about looking for money, happened to miss a huge, clear box with brightly colored folders containing all my actual credit cards. Now, isn't that odd? Secondly, my baby's room wasn't touched.

I don't know what it is about Caleb's room, but ever since it has been set up ready for a baby, it has been the most comfortable, safe, and sacred room in our house to me. I used to go in there and read before Caleb was born, and when I couldn't sleep Saturday night, it was the only place I could go in my house and feel safe. It's like the thieves who came to steal were blinded to two very important things - I of course went ahead and cancelled all my credit cards anyway, but the fact that I had the actual plastic was amazing to me given the condition of the room. And the fact that my baby's stuff wasn't touched at all was such a blessing, knowing that my child was somehow protected from all of this, even if he doesn't know it. I don't know if that makes any sense, but it does to me...

The other thing that surprised me about both Craig and myself (but mostly Craig because it was mostly his very few precious things that were taken) was the surfacing attitude we found we hold toward our stuff. And it wasn't the attitude I expected; it was an attitude of 'it's just stuff.' The sickening feeling did not come from the loss of our stuff, and I was very to find out in such a tangible way that we are not people who 'store up for ourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.' I hope this is the last time we are confronted with this issue in this way...

You free me up to live this life

Far from any Earthly sense of hope

And there's a place where I belong

But there's nothing here I really own

I really own.

-Downhere