It has been almost a month since our home was invaded. Working through the grief cycle, I find myself coming back to gratitude; and yet, I still have to deal with negative after effects too.
- I still have the phantom sensation of a gun pointed at my head.
- I have added security features to my house, but those features are a reminder of what happened.
- Although my wife could not understand, I had issues, doubts, and feelings in my heart that would not go away with kind words and assurances.
I decided that professional help was not such a bad thing after all. I told my wife that I wanted to pursue counseling and I asked her to go with me. A friend recommended we consult the Pastoral Care staff at Woodmen Valley Chapel, the church we have been attending.
We went to our first session together and spent 2 hours with a member of the pastoral care staff. We decided, from that session, we would go individually the following week.
In my second session, I spent about 2 1/2 hours with the pastor. I walked through the incident with the pastor and we examined my feelings in light of them.
See, I struggled with guilt for not doing enough the night of the invasion. I felt like I should have run the thugs out of my house-or incapacitated them, or done more--somehow.
When the criminals told me to lay on the ground, I conceded and I was helpless. I did the only thing I could do . . . the most powerful and commanding thing I could do. I prayed. My prayer was that God would protect my wife and child. While fighting with my perception of how I could have done things differently, I lay on the floor, simultaneously in my dining room and at the foot of the throne of the creator of the universe.
My thoughts turned to my son. What must be going through his mind? How could I protect him? He needs his mother. This third thought was ludicrous. These creeps did not know about him. Telling them was too much of a risk. The crazy guy was still spouting threats--tie, tape, cuff, hit, shoot, kill. And yet, he needs his mother. . .
I took the risk. I asked "benevolent thug", "can my wife go get my son?" These seven words mark the turning point of the incident. These seven words revealed my catharsis.
Here is what I was missing:
- I heard my wife scream. I love my wife. I rushed to protect her. My ability to protect her is limited. My love for her is unlimited. These facts did not escape my wife--or me.
- I lay on my floor. I prayed. God answered my prayer. Here is the key: God answered my prayer by prompting me to take a risk; to trust him (my son needs his mother).
- Once prompted, I had a choice to obey or disobey. Like Abraham, I could put my son at risk and trust my God to deliver him. Like Judas, I could rely on my own strength, ideas, preconceptions, and logic--at the risk of all that is most important to me. I chose to obey. I spoke seven words and gave my family, home, life, and the thugs into the hands of God Almighty.
- As I lay on the ground with gun at my back, I wondered where they would shoot me, in the head, the back, the leg? Five, ten, fifteen minutes, I am not exactly sure how long I was there. I "knew" my wife and son would be OK. My fate was in the hands of my God. As a follower of Christ, I wanted to be with Him. On the other hand, I did not want my wife and child to suffer loss. I felt guilty about being torn until I faced the fact that I was in good company with the Apostle Paul.
- While I am grateful to God, I was frustrated too. So much of this incident is beyond my comprehension. It is OK, though, to be frustrated with God. He can handle it. I have known this in my mind, but now I know this in my heart. I did not want to admit it was true for me, but truth is true regardless. Many of David's psalms address anger and vengeance. When I read them now, I read with empathy and understanding rather than obscurity and confusion.
Like the picture of the Monarch Butterfly above, I crawled from the cocoon of misplaced guilt and flexed my wings.
Paul, Abraham, Esther, King David. I walk along a path well worn by the footsteps of great figures of the Bible. I am not so brazen to compare myself to these biblical greats, rather, I follow their path as I walk with the same God. Understanding so rich, so deep, does not come cheaply or easily. The price was high, but I dare say this understanding, so rich, must surely be worth it. It is my hope that the price I paid might be enough for others to share in the blessing.
I still have a long way to go, but I get to take the journey without some unwanted baggage.
