Family Life

I’d been asleep for half an hour already when Debbie came to bed at about 1:00 am last night. We’re not terribly good at going to bed at a sensible hour. Sometimes we blame it on the kids, but mostly it’s procrastination.

Anyway, Debbie was drifting off to sleep when she heard something that woke her. She shook me awake, wanting to know if I heard any strange noises. I listened for a minute, and yes, I did hear some odd bumps and clunks. We live in an old house that creaks a lot, especially at night in the winter, when the furnace turns down and the house cools and contracts. Noises from the ancient heating system, or from settling, loosely-fit beams carry in the dead quiet of night. We also shut our cats in the basement at night, and occasionally there will be a clatter as one of the cats knocks something over. But no, these noises were nothing like that. Too regular and loud for timber creaks, too close at hand for basement antics. It actually sounded like slow footsteps. For a moment I wondered if one of the boys was up and sleep-walking, but again, the noises were different from what a small, bare-foot boy would make. These were big feet.

I blearily rolled out of bed and walked toward the hallway to see what was making that noise. As I got to the bedroom door a large man walked past me and into the dining room. For a moment I was frozen in place. Where had this person come from? What was he doing in our house? Why was someone breaking in while we were home? I was shocked by this sudden, unexpected turn of events.

He hadn’t seen me, or given any indication that he knew I was there, so I went back into the bedroom and grabbed the phone by the side of the bed. I dialed 911, gave the emergency dispatcher my address and name, and then proceeded to give a blow-by-blow account of what I could hear. Occasionally the dispatcher would ask clarifying questions, and every now and then would offer helpful comments like, “The police are on their way,” but for the most part just listened as I whispered urgently into the phone. I could hear rapid typing on the other end of the line.

Meanwhile, there were sounds of the intruder rummaging around in the kitchen. He was being fairly quiet, but when the house is silent any noise is obvious, however muffled. From the kitchen he made his way back down the hall, past our bedroom, and up the stairs. The two older boys were asleep in their room next to ours, but the baby was upstairs all alone. And now there was a menacing stranger upstairs with him. Debbie scrambled across the bed toward me, afraid for our family, terrified for the baby. I listened and prayed. There was no noise. No shuddering and creaking of doors opening or closing (the doors are old, too). This was significant because we had shut the door to the baby’s room before going to bed. Then I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs.

For a few moments there was silence. Then we heard the burglar, or whoever he was, start to play the piano. This was surreal. It wasn’t coherent, musical playing, just a bunch of keys pressed at random. I explained this incredulously to the emergency dispatcher.

I must have slowed down in my narrative, because the dispatcher asked if I still heard any noises. I said no, I hadn’t heard anything for about thirty seconds. Another thirty seconds later I saw flashlight beams play over the walls in the dining room and hall. Then there was a rapid knock on the door, then a loud voice in the hall call out, “This is the police!”

Phone in hand, I walked out to the hall and greeted three cops. What a relief! What a welcome sight! One of them suggested I hang up the phone, so I thanked the dispatcher and clicked off. One of the police pulled out his notebook and started asking me questions as we stood there in the entranceway. Meanwhile, the other two systematically went through the house checking to make sure no intruders remained. They were thorough, checking the basement and the attic. Baby Micah woke with the commotion and I went upstairs and lifted him out of his crib. While I was up there I did a quick scout of the rooms, looking into the closets, under the beds, and into the attic. I knew the cops had already checked, and one of the officers was with me as I did my own inspection, but I was feeling nervous and jittery as I opened doors to look into storage spaces, as if I expected someone to jump out and yell “Boo!”

Nobody was there and nothing had been taken. Not a thing had even been disturbed. I continued with my inspection downstairs. The DVD player was gone, a house-warming gift from years ago, and the stereo was disconnected, as if the burglar intended to take it but changed his mind. The small fire extinguisher in the kitchen was gone. Other than that, nothing else had been touched. Our stuff was intact. More to the point, we were safe and unharmed.

The police stayed for three quarters of an hour or so, and said there was a whole string of burglaries reported in the neighbourhood, possibly all the same guy. They called in a K9 unit, a police dog to track him down. One of the officers chatted with us while the others went outside to organize a search. Debbie realized we knew this cop. He was married to the sister of our friend Dan’s wife (yes, OK, you might have to diagram that one on a scrap of paper). We’d met him at a birthday party a year ago. Debbie asked, and yes, it was him. He’d actually remembered us as soon as the call came in on his radio. It was grins all around and we relaxed as we recognized the social connection. What a blessing that one of the responding officers was known to us. On this night of unpleasant, unexpected events, it was a solid link to the sane, law-abiding segment of society (and not just society in general, but our society), also unexpected but very welcome.

The investigating officer came back inside and told us another house had been broken into, and the owner was now following the intruder on foot, talking to the police on his cell phone, and that they were all off to join the hunt, but would be back to let us know how it all turned out, and could I please write a statement.

The house was quiet once again. Debbie walked the baby. The other boys slept on, unaware of the drama. I pulled out my laptop and began to type. Eventually one of the officers came back to tell us that they’d arrested a man, that he didn’t have our stuff with him but that they’d found it anyway with the help of the dog. The man was drunk, and in the police’s opinion he’d probably broken in looking for more alcohol. The officer said they’d take our DVD and extinguisher in for evidence, but that we’d eventually get them back. He sounded a little disappointed than the intruder hadn’t taken more. If the value of stolen goods is below $5,000 it’s hardly worth their time to arrest, charge and prosecute. The penalties aren’t much of a deterrent.

The cop thanked me for the statement, gave us his business card, and left. We went back to bed. It was about 4:30 am. What a night.

Daniel woke up at 7:30 am, right on schedule, bright and cheery and noisy as ever. “I’m hungry, Daddy. Make me breakfast!” And so the day began, for the second time.

The burglar broke in through the front door, and the police suggested a better lock and some security lights on the front porch. So while Debbie did the week’s grocery shopping I took the boys to buy some lights and a lock. I installed the lights while she prepared dinner, and I installed the lock after the boys were asleep in bed. I put my tools away, cleaned up, and went to bed. Once again it was 1:00 am.

News travels fast, and in the aftermath I’ve been offered several baseball bats to stand in the corner, I’ve had a firearm training course suggested (because guns are the answer to any security concern, don’t you know), and I’ve been directed to many, many alarm systems. The thing is, at the time it never crossed my mind to wish I had a bat or a gun to fend off the intruder. I didn’t feel regret for our lack of alarms. Rather, I prayed to the Lord that He would keep us from harm. In particular, I remembered David’s statement of faith as he strode to confront Goliath:

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 22nd, 2008 at 7:53 pm. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site. Your comments will be moderated if this is your first time, otherwise they will appear immediately. I reserve the right to delete inappropriate comments.