We reached Michelle's parents' house at 3:00 in the morning. I tried to drive away from the fear, but it wasn't fast enough, even on the turnpike where speeding is a prerequisite. The conversation was subdued, consisting mostly of Charlotte saying, not whimpering but with a matter-of-fact tone: "Daddy, I don't want those five guys to come to our house anymore."
"Daddy, I don't like those five guys to come to our house."
"Daddy, why did those five guys come to our house and take your computer? Did they not have a computer?"
She needed reassurance, and Michelle and I did our best to provide it despite our fear and exhaustion. "Maybe they do need a computer, Charlotte. But it's wrong to take things from other people."
"Do they not know it's wrong?"
And on and on went the questions until we were safe in the driveway and Michelle's dad was putting away their pit bull in the laundry room. We went inside, exchanged pleasantries, and did our best to get everyone back to sleep.
There are two spare bedrooms over there, right across the hall from each other. We put the big three kids in one bed and ourselves and the two little ones in the opposite bedroom. Michelle and I began to pray against the fear, praying over Charlotte, that she would not be affected negatively by this. We were deep in prayer when I looked up and saw that one of the kids had come into the room quietly and was now standing right next to the bed.
My mind had time to process all this in an instant. I even had time to think, "Calmly let Michelle know that there is a child standing next to the bed, because that will definitely startle her much as it did you."
I did not, however, have the time to put any of this into action, because even as all this went through my mind, Michelle turned and saw and we both, the two of us, screamed in hyper-vigilant terror. Of course this startled our poor little one, who ran screaming and crying out of the room and back to their bed.
Michelle and I immediately realized the error of the way we'd reacted and moved quickly to calm fears and heal emotions. It wasn't long before we decided we all needed to be in the same room--the separation, even by a hallway, was too much to bear.
Thus began the first of many nights of layers of quilts on the floor to create a sort of bed. Over the next two hours, the seven of us went through various configurations of sleepers: kids on the floor, parents on the floor, a parent in the bed and some kids on the floor... we tried many permutations until sheer exhaustion forced a stalemate.
Constance was apparently affected the most and refused to settle down. She'd never cried that much before, and she hasn't since. She was inconsolable, but Michelle did her best, often taking her into the other bedroom to give the rest of us a modicum of solitude.
Everyone finally lay still, and quiet once more enveloped our night. But the loudest sound to me was in my mind as I kept replaying, over and over, the events of the evening. Kept hearing the BANG! Kept hearing Michelle scream, sending a shiver down my spine each time I recalled it.
I tried to go back to sleep but my mind would not let me, instead forcing me to relive it, each time trying on a different ending to see how much better or worse things could have gone. My self-deprecating and analytical natures weaving themselves together to study the event.
In each scenario, I would do something different, or Michelle would, or the thieves would, and in every instance, it ended worse. Even changing one variable led to a disastrous imaginary outcome that usually ended with violence. I tried to keep my mind from going there, but it felt right to me, in the moment, to embrace these alternate endings. Maybe it was a part of the way I processed the trauma, or maybe I was just too tired to resist them.
None of the endings I came up with felt satisfactory to me, even ones where I got to be a hero. There was only one. A single time where I thought to myself Oh, if only...
In my imagination I saw it all happening again, saw the criminals in my house, saw the guns, saw myself locking down the children, saw Michelle crossing in front to take care of Charlotte, saw myself walking to my money, saw it in my hand, saw the lead thief's hand take it. All as it happened. Up until I said, "That's all I got, man."
Then came the imaginary variable. I imagined this man thinking about the way I look, and how it resembles most artistic representations of Jesus. I imagined him feeling conviction that he was robbing Jesus. And then I imagined myself in the role of Jesus and began to speak to him as Jesus would: "Everything I have I give to you, ______________." I knew his name and said it. "I give it to you because I love you."
"How do you know my name?" he said.
"I know everything about you! I know how you got those guns. I know you have a car waiting outside, and I know you stole it from ______________ and ______________. And I love them, too! Oh, if only you knew how much I love you, you wouldn't be living like this!"
And that's how the scenario ended in my mind. I didn't have enough imagination to take it farther than that, or perhaps God wouldn't let me. I don't know.
The thought stuck with me for the rest of the night, what little was left. Jesus. The depths of His love, even for men who would show so little concern for His children.
I didn't want them to suffer. I didn't want them to die. And believe me, I tried those scenarios on. Multiple times. They didn't satisfy.
In the end, I had to let go of my bloodthirsty desire for vengeance and see the bigger picture. These thieves needed to be brought to justice, to be sure, and I was all for that. I wanted them to be punished to the fullest extent of the law--and still do.
But mostly I just want them to know the love of Jesus. I want them to realize how valuable their lives are and how selfishly they're wasting them.
I want them to know the love I'm learning more about, day by day. I want them to realize the depth, the width, the breadth, the height of Jesus' love.
That's the one that fits. That's the one that feels right.
The sun was up too soon, the first light of a new day. God's daily kiss on my cheek, the whispered promise of a new day. I took a deep breath, prayed for strength for the day, exhaled, and thanked Him that we were all safe, snuggling on the floor of my in-laws' house, not knowing what else today would bring.
I heard the heavy, slumbering breaths of the children, and added an audible breath of my own. I thanked him again for the air I just moved through my lungs. The sound of life. The sound of love.
