Okay .. setting the timer for five minutes, and .. GO.
It was 10:30 in the morning on a weekday when I arrived home in Cape Town with my three kids in tow. Before putting away the groceries, we saw it.
Broken glass on the floor by the back door. It took me a while to process what had happened.
An attempted break-in.
In South Africa, a good portion of the population lives on properties with secure gates, metal fences, high perimeter walls adorned with spikes or barbed wire, and burglar bars in the windows.
The burglar bars of our rental home were still in tact, so it didn’t appear that anyone had actually succeeded in entering the house, but I still went into every room and checked behind every door to be sure.
My heart pounded, but I tried to remain as calm as possible for the sake of my kids.
I picked up the phone and called our pastor to find out what I was supposed to do first — call the police? The landlady? The insurance people? While explaining the situation to him on the phone, my eldest son tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Mom! There’s a guy in our backyard!”
My pastor told me to call the police.
I whisked my kids into a bedroom, and with the phone in my hand, locked the door. I told them to get under the bed while I called the police, watching the burglar through the window the whole time.
This is definitely one of those stories that require more than five minutes for the telling. During this unpleasant situation and in the aftermath, I realized a few things about myself, about God, and about how to overcome fear.
To read the rest of this story, click here.
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