Last Night
Just a year and a half ago I was more afraid. Afraid of the unknown behind next the corner ready to jump out and attack. I can remember on more than one occasion coming home to an empty apartment from school and wondering if it had been broken into and who would be waiting. I cannot even begin to tell you how irrational that fear was in a Metairie apartment. We lived in a "dangerous place" or so we were told by my wife's more affluent coworkers. What made it "dangerous" was that the street consisted of some older apartment complexes which were occupied by a racially mixed blue collar population, taxi drivers, medical workers, grocery clerks and the like. Living in a gated apartment complex only helped to encourage such stereotypes. In reality the people who we lived around were normal nice people, many with children, most who were probably more afraid of losing their jobs and their livelihood than my wife's friend's were of them. Needless to say nothing ever did jump out at me other than my own shadow and the occasional mosquito.
I cannot help but think back to that fear now as I sit in my den in our home on a lower income, mixed race, blue collar, West Bank street after the events of last night and this morning. Around 1am last night Christina awoke to a loud thump. She tried to get me to wake up by pushing on me and telling me she heard a noise. I had just been woken up by our beautiful 17 month daughter just an hour before and was not too interested in waking up again before our 5:40am alarm clock started singing its usual morning lullabies. My first still asleep response to Christina was to start mumbling. After a few more prodding I began to make comprehensible words, "I don't want to get up. I'm not getting up." But she told me to go check the noise, so begrudgingly and half asleep I started stomping around towards the kitchen mumbling about how it was not right to have to get up at this ungodly hour. Upon seeing nothing in the kitchen I promptly returned to my pillow. The next morning after I got out of the shower, Christina came into the bathroom with a somewhat confused look on her face asking me if I had left the window open last night. To which I said no. I went to check the window in the den and sure enough the blinds were pulled half way up and the window was open and there was a foot impression with tree bits on our couch. Nothing was taken however so we called in the attempted break-in to the police. It seems the would-be-intruder got startled by my loud mumblings and decided he did not want to come in after all.
After the events of this morning I spent most of my free time today thinking on the incident. What should my response be to this event? In some ways we had been violated, our sacred and secure place called home had been entered without permission. I immediately dismissed the option of having no response at all and to just ignore what happened. So this leaves me with two choices in my mind. I can ask the question how can I protect myself and my family more and close in on myself, take extra security precautions, buy bars for my windows, become paranoid about the stories I hear, etc. Or I can ask how is this calling me to love, to be Christ to my neighbor, to love my enemy. While the first option has some immediate attraction, similar to my fear from just a year and a half ago, I cannot see myself as being honest with myself and my family if I choose it. The second option seems to go against what I was raised to think, protect yourself and your family at all cost. The easiest way to help others is to throw your money at them and occasionally work in a soup kitchen. I want to protect my family. But not at the cost of their (or my) salvation. The grace that my fatherhood and husbandhood channel comes from my being Christ to and for them. If my family cannot see Christ in me what value does my fatherhood or husbandhood have?
Who was he (or her)? What did he want? Was he looking for money or a place to rest? Did he have a home? Does he live around here? Is he a victim of the vicious cycle of poverty/drugs? How could I have helped him? How could I have loved him? What more should I be doing in my community?
Christ you ask so much!
I cannot help but think back to that fear now as I sit in my den in our home on a lower income, mixed race, blue collar, West Bank street after the events of last night and this morning. Around 1am last night Christina awoke to a loud thump. She tried to get me to wake up by pushing on me and telling me she heard a noise. I had just been woken up by our beautiful 17 month daughter just an hour before and was not too interested in waking up again before our 5:40am alarm clock started singing its usual morning lullabies. My first still asleep response to Christina was to start mumbling. After a few more prodding I began to make comprehensible words, "I don't want to get up. I'm not getting up." But she told me to go check the noise, so begrudgingly and half asleep I started stomping around towards the kitchen mumbling about how it was not right to have to get up at this ungodly hour. Upon seeing nothing in the kitchen I promptly returned to my pillow. The next morning after I got out of the shower, Christina came into the bathroom with a somewhat confused look on her face asking me if I had left the window open last night. To which I said no. I went to check the window in the den and sure enough the blinds were pulled half way up and the window was open and there was a foot impression with tree bits on our couch. Nothing was taken however so we called in the attempted break-in to the police. It seems the would-be-intruder got startled by my loud mumblings and decided he did not want to come in after all.
After the events of this morning I spent most of my free time today thinking on the incident. What should my response be to this event? In some ways we had been violated, our sacred and secure place called home had been entered without permission. I immediately dismissed the option of having no response at all and to just ignore what happened. So this leaves me with two choices in my mind. I can ask the question how can I protect myself and my family more and close in on myself, take extra security precautions, buy bars for my windows, become paranoid about the stories I hear, etc. Or I can ask how is this calling me to love, to be Christ to my neighbor, to love my enemy. While the first option has some immediate attraction, similar to my fear from just a year and a half ago, I cannot see myself as being honest with myself and my family if I choose it. The second option seems to go against what I was raised to think, protect yourself and your family at all cost. The easiest way to help others is to throw your money at them and occasionally work in a soup kitchen. I want to protect my family. But not at the cost of their (or my) salvation. The grace that my fatherhood and husbandhood channel comes from my being Christ to and for them. If my family cannot see Christ in me what value does my fatherhood or husbandhood have?
Who was he (or her)? What did he want? Was he looking for money or a place to rest? Did he have a home? Does he live around here? Is he a victim of the vicious cycle of poverty/drugs? How could I have helped him? How could I have loved him? What more should I be doing in my community?
Christ you ask so much!
Labels: Discipleship, violence
