Saturday Morning Felony

One year ago, I almost got shot. 

In the post below, originally written in May 2011, I wrote the entirely true story about the morning an armed robber came to my door, exactly one year ago. 

It's funny how time changes your perspective on things. A year ago, the intended moral of the story was to wonder why God chooses to intervene to save some lives in situations like this, but not in others, before concluding that some purpose must remain for my life since I'm still here. 

I wouldn't finish this story the same way if I were writing it today.  But the one point that still resonates is that regardless of whether I survived this close call by Divine intervention or random chance, had just one little detail gone differently that morning, I might not be here now writing this blog.  

I don't know if God intervened or if fate just happened to work in my favor, and in a sense it doesn't matter.  The point I wanted (and still want) to make was that if we still have life, we should use it in a way that matters, because who knows how long we'll have. 

It might have been God's will that I didn't become a crime statistic last year, or it might have just been an accident.  Regardless, I suggest we mark our continued existence by living on purpose.




Someone is pounding on the door at 8:10 on Saturday morning. 

I don't know who it is or what they want, but that is one seriously loud knock. 

Should I answer it? 

I had wanted to sleep in this morning.  It's probably just a Jehovah's Witness anyway.  I got some literature from them in the mail yesterday.  But it might be the guy I found to cut my grass two weeks ago.  My lawnmower is broken, so I'd really like him to cut it again. 


Maybe I should go down.

But I don't have a shirt on.  If it's a sweet old lady trying to save my soul, I'll feel like awkward discussing religion with her half nude.  I'd better grab a shirt before I go down. 

But there's a problem.  I have on blue shorts and every available clean t-shirt within reach is green.  I'm going to look ridiculous answering the door like that.  But it might be the grass guy, and I really don't want to cut the grass myself. 

Finally, my wife implores me to come back to bed.  Let the yard guy cut the neighbor's yard, and I'll find him in an hour, when he's done. 

Two minutes later, there's an indecipherable shout outside.  My wife and I run downstairs, and look outside.  The scene is calm by the time we open the door, but there are police cars all over my yard, my neighbor's yard, and my street. 

I see some officers standing by their police car on the street and ask why they knocked on my door. But they all swear they hadn't.

It turns out someone had just robbed a fast food store about 1/4 of a mile from my house at gunpoint.  And he left a bag of money in my driveway and a trail of bills in my neighbor's backyard. 

I learned from my neighbor that the shout I had just heard was the cops apprehending the robber--in the bushes beside her house.  The same bushes that are 20 feet from my front door. 

The same door on which the armed robber had apparently pounded just minutes before, intending to do God knows what, had I answered it. 

The door I would have opened had I slept with a shirt on the night before. 

The door I still would have opened had I been wearing shorts that matched a green shirt. 

The door I would have opened had I not gotten a Jehovah's Witness track in the mail, leading me to think they were the source of my morning caller.

The same door that leads the to the porch where my wife sits almost every Saturday morning, with the front door open, to drink her coffee and soak up the morning with our kitty. 

But somehow, this particular Saturday morning, she slept in.  Or else the armed robber would have been on the porch with her, or, had he preferred, had free access to the open front door to get in the house. 

But somehow, none of that happened.  My wife wasn't on the porch, and I didn't answer the door.

I don't know why God protects us from harm sometimes, but not others.  Lots of bad stuff happens in this world.  Often, it happens to people better than me.  More often than I'd like, bad stuff happens to me too, though on a smaller scale.  There are people who feel immune from life's greatest difficulties because of their own presumed righteousness. 

I'm not one of them.  I don't claim entitlement to the special protection that God for some reason, provided Saturday. 

But I sure am thankful for it. 

Some might argue that the whole thing was just chance, and I just got lucky this particular Saturday morning. 

That's possible.  I can't prove one explanation or the other.  I can't argue with you if you want to see it that way.

But I'd rather see this as God's protecting me for some grand future purpose, yet unfulfilled.  There's something else I've been put here to do, and my time to do it hasn't yet run.  The Divine Plan is that I'm supposed to be around for some future opportunity that's going to knock on my door. 

Just hopefully not at 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning.