Break-In

A week ago, someone broke into my parents' house and robbed them. Someone smashed in their patio window, trashed their bedroom, and took my mom's jewelry and my dad's laptop. It was, ironically, the night before I was preaching about trusting in God rather than in money or physical security.

When my dad called to tell me about it, I was floored. I've always believed that my parents' house, the home I grew up in, was safe. My hometown is tiny, and crimes like this hardly ever happen there. Even the police officers were surprised, noting that a crime like this hasn't happened in town in years.

I've spent my life traveling, and that house has always been my home base. As I've traveled to four other continents, moved away for college, grad school, and jobs, my roots have always been there. That is the place I could count on: it was the one constant, my safe place to come home to when I was otherwise rootless. It has only been in the last few months that I've moved into an apartment that's a semi-permanent home, instead of a temporary location for school.

And now that home I'd always taken for granted as being safe and unchanging has been violated. My heart breaks for my parents, whose home has been violated. My heart breaks for the generations-old family heirlooms that are now gone, probably lost forever. My great-grandmother's pearls, my great-grandfather's watch, my mom's wedding pearls, my parents' Phi Beta Kappa pins, the earrings and necklaces my sister and I gave to our mom for Christmases and Mother's Days: all gone. The safety and security my parents counted on: destroyed.

What led the thieves to this course of action? What need drove them to this desperation? Or was it just greed? I'm still trying to find the words to pray for those people who are now my enemies.

It's going to take me a while to come to grips with this. It's going to be a long, difficult recovery for my parents. God help us.