For as long as I can remember, my bedroom has always been my personal refuge. I can light a candle and curl up in bed with a book or my laptop and I feel like I'm in my safe place. All this abruptly changed on Tuesday.
Our house was broken into and a couple rooms were vandalized. Our bedroom was one of them. I stood off to the side and watched the police officers gather up their evidence and realized that not only was I angry at the destruction of our personal property, but I was furious that my safe place was violated. My bedroom no longer felt like it was mine. It felt like it belonged to the stranger who committed this despicable act.
Tuesday night was horrible. I don't think I slept more than an hour. Every little noise had me on high alert. Wednesday night was almost as bad. After checking with the police to determine if they had all the evidence from our house that they needed, Brett and I decided to replace some of our bedroom furniture in hopes that I would be able to rest a little easier. Our new stuff was delivered yesterday and we spent a couple hours installing the new pieces and arranging everything to suit us. Last night was the first night that I've slept soundly since this happened.
Tonight, I came to the realization that the refuge I thought I had lost had never been taken from me in the first place. You see, material things can never be a true refuge.
My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge, and Savior -- from violent people you save me. -- 2 Samuel 22:3 NIV
This verse has taken on new meaning since Tuesday. God's word is true. He
is my refuge. He
is my shield. He
did save us from violent people. Using the time stamp on the computer this person(s) accessed, they were in our house from 11:30 a.m. until shortly before I came home from work. What would have happened had they been here when we came home? The what ifs scare me something silly.
God is always faithful. In Him I can rest peacefully.
