To Catch a Thief

My son’s house was burglarized last night! They weren’t home, and thankfully not much was taken, but what an unsettling experience! Coming home and finding your closets ransacked and things in disarray is bad enough, but the uneasy feeling of being violated lingers and is hard to shake. I remember that feeling from many years ago when we had a similar incident.

It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon; the house was quiet with my husband having taken the kids to the variety store, when the phone rang. “Mrs. Summers, I know this is going to sound strange,” a voice said, “but we would like your cooperation with something.” Identifying himself as the sheriff, the caller went on with his request. He said he had been tipped off that our house was supposed to burglarized that night! “Would you allow us to have a stake-out in your home so that we can catch the thieves?”

I was aghast, but I quickly called my husband at the store and had him speak to the sheriff. The authorities explained that they had received this tip from someone who knew the set-up and wanted to report it. It turned out to be a girl we had known when she was younger who used to come to our house and knew our family’s habits. Evidently she had helped plan the break-in, but was having second thoughts and was going to the police.

We were informed that the robbery had been scheduled to be committed the previous Sunday evening while we were at church; they were to call our number and let the phone ring 13 times, then if no one answered, that was their all-clear. But I had stayed home with a sick child that night, and when I answered, they hung up and the plan was shelved until tonight. The sheriff wanted us to depart as if we were going to church, then they would hide in our house and wait. We were a little shaken, but we agreed.

Telling us about it later, they described the uncanny scenario. They had parked their undercover vehicles in the church yard down the road and walked to our house, letting themselves in to wait while they hid in our darkened house. It wasn’t long until the phone rang eerily 13 times.

The officers took their positions, one behind the sofa in our den, one in the bathtub and one behind our bedroom door. They heard someone try the backdoor, then brazenly approach the front door, but it was locked with a deadbolt. A few minutes later, they heard the unmistakable sound of a window screen being slit. We had left the casement windows cranked open, and soon a ski-masked intruder slid through it sideways into our living room.

Just as he entered our bedroom, where he thought there would be a briefcase with cash from the store’s receipts (which my husband in times past had sometimes brought home with him from the family business) he was stopped with the nose of a gun and put up no resistance. His accomplices were quickly apprehended, as well.

We slept a little uneasily in our beds that night, and I had to console my then 5-year-old daughter to settle her down. “Amy,” I told her, “You know this house was built from an old church.” I reminded her of the Word of God that had echoed from these rafters in long-ago sermons. “Besides, you know how our front door has the shape of a cross in the top part and the shape of a Bible in the bottom part? That is called a Cross and Bible door.” (The investigators had even remarked, ‘That’s a good door!’) I went on, “And you know that Daddy and I have anointed our doors and windows many times with oil for God’s protection over our house. And tonight He has protected us.”

“Gosh, Mama,” she said before she drifted off to sleep, “With all of that, no wonder nothing bad happened to us!” She was right, and even the bad memories had begun to fade, until we got the news this morning. But God is still faithful. Their most valuable possessions were left untouched by the intruders. Howard said an angel probably slapped their hands away. Either that, or maybe they weren’t allowed to see them!