It was summer and the screen door was the only barrier
between me and the evening. I sat at my
desk beside the door so I could see outside while I wrote a class paper. The yard outside was dark as the streetlight
hid behind the towering trees that lined the property between my little cottage
and the parking lot beside.
** Photo Cred: D. Boyte
Crickets and distant traffic played a quiet song as city
life battled nature.
I wrote. I don’t know
what I was writing or for which class. I
was feeling settled and safe. The
cottage was small, but quaint. My
belongings stacked up upon themselves around me.
I loved that the church was across the street. The church where I volunteered, where I
worshiped God, where I connected to people.
I felt less alone.
I saw a bright light make its way across the lawn and I
stood. It was an odd angle and seemed as
though it searched my yard. I saw a car
moving slowly down the street. Ah, just
a car turning the corner. Back to
work.
Bloomington is a big-small suburb rich with diversity. I liked it. I hadn’t been there long, only a
couple of weeks, but I liked it. I liked
going to Starbucks and hearing several languages. I liked walking to the grocery store without
fear. I liked that families played at
the park and walked along side streets together.
I heard a “whoosh” and thought I saw a dog run past the open
door. It was frighteningly close. Instinctively, I jumped up and closed the
door.
Before I could lock it I heard a shouting voice from the
back of the cottage, the side of the parking lot, the darkest place in the
yard.
“Let me see your hands!
I have a gun. I’ll shoot.”
“I ain’t got nothin’.”
“I said let me see your hands. Drop the knife. I have a gun.
I will shoot you.”
I moved cautiously to the middle of the cottage not sure
where the safest place to avoid a stray bullet would be. I wasn’t even sure where they were or why
they were there or who they were.
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” I heard my own voice whispering.
Red and blue lights lit the other side of the cottage, the
street side, and I realized I was definitely not alone. Carefully I opened a piece of the blind and
looked out. The street was lined with
police cars and officers standing at attention.
Some with guns drawn.
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”
Just outside of the back door I heard a rustle and more
angry voices, though I don’t recall what they said. Emerging from the short walk between the
garage and cottage two officers escorted a third man. Wild hair, messy clothes, slumped shoulders.
I was too stunned to feel afraid or angry or sad. I watched as they took him to the car, closed
the doors, exchanged information and cleared the space.
In retrospect, I find it interesting that no one checked on
the cottage inhabitants. How did they
know I was safe? It almost felt like a
dream or a movie or a book with me as the reality scene actress.
At one point before the exit of the crew the Assistant
Pastor, who lived across the street, called me.
“Kris? Everything ok over there?”
“Yes. Inside is
ok. I have no idea what’s happening out
there.”
“Ok. Let me know if
you need anything.”
“Thanks. I will keep
you posted.”
No shade on him or his wife for not waiting until the
hullabaloo quieted before they crossed the street to check in person. I sure wouldn’t go out there!
Though this happened many summers ago, I was reminded of it
the other day. I heard a line from a
song about the God of Angel Armies being always close. I wonder how many times I have been minding
my own business, doing my own thing, unaware of danger around me because I am
surrounded by unseen caretakers.
There are times I could almost feel the shield.
The time when Kellie and I walked down a late, dark street
on our way home and were met by a line of leering, drunken men. We simply sidestepped them and kept walking
as if we didn’t see them. What stopped
them? Or should I ask what did they see
that stopped them?
Accidents avoided, credit cards not stolen, purses recovered
untouched… how many times was I obliviously living my daily, scattered life
while I was surrounded and protected from harm?
I’m not trying to be mystic or super spiritual or tell you
to look for signs of halos and swords.
I’m just saying that there was a night when I was clearly in danger and
I didn’t know it because Someone had sent someone to find someone who meant
harm.
Just in case you were wondering, the bad guy had stabbed
someone about a block away from my quiet door step. He hid in an alcove beneath my window and
would have been safe in his darkness had it not been for a K-9 unit
dispatched. The German Shepherd was not
fooled by the hiding place and lead the rest of his crew straight to the
fugitive. This story could have ended so
many other ways, but God had other plans.
I believe that God really does care about those details of
our lives and He really does send angels to protect us. Sometimes He even lets us glimpse them.
