It was 6am, Monday morning when my husband kissed me goodby as he went off to work. I decided to go back to bed for a bit; so I laid down and drifted off to sleep. I was awakened by the sound of the doorbell ringing persistently. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was 10am. Who in the world? Well, perhaps it was dad. He'd recently acquired transportation and was happily driving around visiting family; so I figure maybe he's driven the 40 miles and made an unexpected visit. Though, being a bit of a distance, he normally calls ahead to make sure we are home. Still, it might be him. Groggily, I roll out of bed. I've made it a habit not to go to the door, instead looking out a side window first to see if I know the person. I peered through the blind in the den and saw a very tall man standing on the porch. I don't know this man, so I decide I'm not going to answer the door. Instead, I observe him for a couple of moments as he walks away from the door. He gets in his car; and I assume he's looking for someone and had the wrong house and that he will drive off.

I should not have assumed he would drive away. I should have watched him to make sure. But, hindsight is always better than foresight. I sleepily laid down, drew the comforter over me and began to drift back to sleep. In a few moments, I heard what I thought was the sound of my husband putting his keys in the lock at the back door. My husband always parks in the back and comes through our back door. However, it began to bother me that he hadn't called. It was too early for him to be home; and he always calls if he gets off early to tell me he's on his way home. And it bothered me that he'd seemingly stopped trying to get in; apparently, having trouble.... My heart jumps as I realize that none of what I'm thinking makes sense. He never has trouble using his key. No. Something else is going on. I quickly slip out of bed and head to the guest bedroom which overlooks the back yard. Where I can easily peer between the blinds into the driveway back there.

My heart jumps again as I realize that the car that I thought had left had, in fact, pulled around to the back of our house and was backed in. Why is this car backed in? I look down and see the top of the man's head that had previously been at the front door. My internal alarm went off with a jarring intensity. This man is looking for a way to get into my house!! Oh, Jesus! I look down at the phone in my hand. How did it get there? I don't remember picking it up. I quickly swipe the bar across and key in the code that will allow me to make a call. I feel as if I'm having an out of body experience. God, help me. My hand is shaking badly as I try to dial. At the same time, I am trying to put as many obstacles between me and this man as possible. I quickly make my way to the bedroom, lock the door. I've managed to dial 9-1-1. I hear a voice immediately, as I make my way to our private bath, locking that door say, "9-1-1, what is your emergency?" I speak in a voice that doesn't seem to belong to me, because me....I .... The woman who feels desperately alone and vulnerable, is screaming and crying....HELP! But the voice I hear is a quiet, soft, controlled voice, "Someone is breaking in. I'm home alone." The soft-spoken make voice, calm and reassuring speaks, "What is your address?" Again, the hysterical woman screams in my head, I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T KNOW! JUST FIND ME!" But there is that calm, cool, together voice reciting our address - exact and precise. The operator says, "Okay, stay on the phone with me." I want to whimper. I want to cry, but I am saying, "Ok. I've locked myself in the bathroom." He asks me if I can hear anything going on. I say, No. The seconds are ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. He's going to be in my house soon. Tick. Tick. It won't be long before he gets to the bedroom. Tick. A voice, my voice, speaks quietly, "How much longer?" His voice, reassuring me, "They're on their way." Tick. Tick. Every second seems like an eternity. My hand tremors as the inside me reveals the quiet unravelling that is taking place inside me; the part that wants to unleash all the terror she feels. That wants to cry. That wants to go back to the comforting bed and sleep and pretend this isn't happening. I have a strange disconnecting feeling. I seem to have separated. The sound of my breathing seems so labored, I feel as if the man would surely hear it. I peer out of the bathroom mini-blinds, where I can see the front yard, the street where my help will come. Soon. Finally, my knees nearly buckled with relief as I see the first officer responding. He pulls up quietly in front if our neighbor's house and gets out. I see him draw his gun as he makes his way down our drive. I can no longer see him. I thank the operator and calmly tell him the officer had arrived, and I need to call my husband.

I disconnect from the 9-1-1 operator. I jump at the sound of a gunshot. Oh Lord! Has the man shot the officer? Has the officer shot the man? My hand shakes nearly uncontrollably as I try to make sense out of my phone. It suddenly seems like a foreign object. I can't remember how to access the contacts. I can't remember if I have a work number for my husband. HELP ME! WHAT'S GOING ON? The silence is deafening. I wonder what has happened to the air conditioner. All these crazy thoughts kept firing in my brain. STOP. I hear the voice. It's ok. Just stop. Look at your phone. You don't need a work number. You know your husband has his cell phone on him at all times. Call him. I hear sirens everywhere. I dial my husband's number. He quickly answers, "Hello, baby. Are you all right?" "No! Baby, someone tried to break in!" He kicks into his emergency mode. He's a God-send in an emergency. His voice is calm, "Are you hurt?" "No." "Have you contacted the police? and are they there yet?" "Yes. And yes." His direct way of asking questions helps me to think clearly, "Ok, baby listen. I'm on my way. You're going to be all right. I'll be home soon. I love you." "I love you too."

There's a sudden, sharp rapping at the front door, an officer announcing, "POLICE, MA'AM!" I head toward the front door; but still leery and shaking, I peek through the louvres in the living room, and I see it is an officer. Quickly, I unlock the door and allow him in. Although he identifies himself, his name rushes through my head; and I immediately forget it. He asks me, "Is that your car in the back driveway?" Heading through the living room into the kitchen toward the back door with the officer, I say, "No sir. That's not our car." He seems jubilant. "I was hoping you would say that. They seem to have abandoned the car for some reason." I think how strange. Coming out on the deck, I look down the steps that lead to the driveway where the vehicle still sits with doors ajar on both sides. "Their car." The officer asks, "Ma'am?" "You said they seem to have left their car." "Yes, ma'am. There were more than one. We chased three." Three. There were three. I answer questions and questions. Did you see them? No, well, one from a distance. Would you know him if you saw him again? No. Well, I don't think so. I only saw him for the briefest of moments.

My husband arrives and holds me. He makes sure I'm all right before he goes about from officer to officer to detective asking questions. The officers have retrieved three cell phones from the car. They show me a picture. Is this the guy you saw? I'm ... I just can't be sure. The phones start ringing and in a surreal comical moment, the officers began answering the phones. Trying to get someone to talk..,people immediately hang up. The officers disappear to the front of the house with the cell phones. Two wallets. I remember standing by the back door looking at the damage where the perpetrator had tried to pop the lock with a crowbar. The crowbar had been thrown into the neighbor's yard as they had ran through the yard. I am numb. Confused. Why did God allow this to happen? I remember the verse, It rains on the just and the unjust alike. I think about that back door.

My husband had installed steel doors and dead bolts; replacing the wooden doors that had been on the house when we bought it. Thank God. The officer told me, "These men are rapists and killers. They don't leave witnesses." Had the man gotten in the back door when he was trying to, I would still have been in bed. Thank you, God; he couldn't get in. Had there not been an officer patrolling right on the street behind me, it would have taken much longer. The men might have been in the house by the time police arrived. Thank you, Jesus. The officers discovered that the car that had been running fine had mysteriously stalled out when the men were trying to leave. They left behind enormous amounts of evidence. Without this evidence, the police probably wouldn't have had any leads. Thank you, Jesus. I remembered the verse, All things work together for those who are called according to His purpose.

So many things could have gone wrong. But so many things didn't. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, my Lord because your hand was on me that day. I thought about how the disciples were alarmed at the storm that threatened to overtake the boat. And Jesus was asleep. I felt like I was in a storm and Jesus was asleep. But I know, just as the disciples discovered, that He was not asleep at all. He was there in my voice giving the operator my address in a clear, calm voice. He was holding that back door firmly closed against the enemy. He was there when their car wouldn't start, leaving behind precious evidence. He was there holding me together when I wanted to fall apart. Thank you, Jesus!!