A bit of excitement last night: we discovered signs of an attempted break-in at our house. Lucky for the evil-doer I wasn’t around, or he would have met Papa Bear defending his den.
Looks like someone stood right at our front door in broad daylight and tried to pop the front door with a prybar. They worked it pretty good, with at least 4 leverage points visible from the damage, so I’m quite impressed (if not surprised) at our good little door. We both work from home and live on a street that gets almost constant foot traffic, so we’re a bad target for breaking and entering. But yesterday we were out between 4 and 7 PM, and that’s when it must have happened. The police officer said they typically come dressed in a delivery uniform and no one notices.
So as I say, lucky for them Papa Bear was out. Not that I wouldn’t — at any time — eagerly pick up one of the baseball bats I keep by the door, but I’ve got some primal instincts humming in my brainstem during these final days of my mate’s pregnancy. Upon discovering the damage and ascertaining that the house hadn’t actually been breached, I had two crystal clear thoughts:
- Gratitude to the Lord for his giving strength to that door as a grace to my wife and daughter
- A desire to do violence to evil-doers
Are those incompatible desires for a Christian gentleman? I’m not so sure, judging from (say) the Psalms. But I do believe they’re both heightened in me these days.
I must admit that I’ve been mulling over my augmented instincts of protectiveness. I guess I’m afraid that I might take a swipe at someone who means no harm but who pushes Papa Bear’s buttons. (If that’s you, I hope I’ll ask you to forgive me.) But as for those who do mean harm, I’ll do all I can to keep them out, and thank God for doing the rest.