While in Texas for missionary meetings last week, we were robbed. Our house in Mexico was invaded. Mattresses were overturned, drawers emptied with their contents dumped all over the floor, pants and suit jackets with pockets turned inside out in search of dollars and pesos, my jewelry box left barren.
When we first received the e-mail a week ago Wednesday stating the fact, we were shocked, angry and sad. I wanted whoever did this to hurt and have pain to the same degree that we felt.
An eye for an eye. No grace surfaced on my part. It was pure law I wanted. My DH said we should pray for whomever did this, and my first thought was, ‘yeah, like ask God to send the lighting bolt or have the earth swallow them whole. Amen.’
Surprised? Should a missionary like myself really be feeling these things? Does this blow your image of a super spiritual pasted-smile person who walks around saying Praise-the-Lord anyhow?
I used to be more “spiritual” like that, but that mask doesn’t fit anymore. Somewhere over the years of sickness and struggle, trials and tears, like the Velveteen Rabbit, I became real.
A couple days after receiving the news, my shock and anger subsided. We were among friends. We had laughter, good devotionals, and good worship. I went shopping and found clearance items at Penney’s. My mind was distracted and my spirit was refreshed.
Then it was time to return to Mexico.
It wasn’t until yesterday when we arrived back to Oaxaca, left the terminal and were in our car heading towards the house that anxiety and apprehension appeared. Suddenly the car was quiet- even with two teenage boys and their eight year old sister in it.
We pulled up to the gate and sat there. Usually one of the boys wastes no time in hopping out and unlocking the gate, but no hurry was present this time. After a few minutes and a “well, here we go“, the gate was unlocked, the front door opened, and our arrival complete.
Then I regressed to those same feelings I shared exactly a week earlier.
The violation hit hard in our presence. Someone out there had invaded our space. OUR space, not THEIR space. They took OUR things, and now those things are gone.
The spot where the TV used to sit wailed in it’s stillness. The hands of a teenage boy can’t pick up that electric guitar to play out the melodies that brought him joy and comfort. The empty jewelry boxes gaped at me, stirring a bitter loss as my thoughts turned to my grandmother and mother, to whom those treasures once belonged. Add these to the rest of the items missing and our losses near five thousand dollars.
An eye for an eye? Sounds good to me. Presently, that is.
I’ve a feeling that love, mercy, grace and forgiveness will soon come knocking on my hearts door. Should I let them in?
It’s a choice I have to make. It’s a choice, one time or another, we all have to make.