Connecting the Dots

It's not often that one gets to see how the dots in one's life actually connect. Usually when a bad situation arises, I fail to think that it may actually be a 'blessing in disguise'.

About 11 years ago, Jon, Jonah, and I were at the YMCA swimming and having a grand ol' time. At the end of the day, just when Jonah was having a meltdown, we discovered that our car wouldn't start and we were stranded at the Y. Now, I don't know if you've ever had a toddler in meltdown AND were stranded with a broken-down vehicle with no money, but it's stressful! Add to that a very short-tempered husband (he has so much more control now, thank God), and a frazzled young mom and you have a highly volitale situation. We had no money for towing, and nobody to call, so a lady from the Y offered us a ride home when her shift was over in an hour. Waiting, pacing, crying, sighing, waiting, crying...you get the pic. Finally she took us home and drove off. I was never so happy to see home. I just wanted to change my baby (had used our only diaper at the Y) and put him to bed. But after she drove off, we realized that we had left our keys to the house in her car. Now, looking back, it seems like it was not that big of a deal, but standing there that day, we certainly didn't feel that way. Our nerves were shot and we were freaking out way too much. Jon started checking the windows on our house to see where we could break in. Our basement windows were those old, rusty windows that wind open. They were originally glued or caulked right to the cement opening, but since they were about 50 years old, they were completely rotted out. Jon just touched one and the entire window just fell in and shattered.

So, although we had gained entry into our home, now we had this gaping hole in our basement. And we didn't live in the safest of neighborhoods. It wasn't the worst, but we had already each had our cars broken into several times. So while I was putting Jonah to bed, I could hear Jon down in the basement throwing things around. Finally I heard his drill and when I went down to check, there was a huge piece of plywood drilled into the cement walls with 2x4's covering it. It weren't pretty, but at least the hole was covered. Eventually I talked him into spray painting the plywood black from the outside of the house so it wouldn't stick out like a...piece of plywood covering our window...permanently.

Okay, fast forward five years. It's the middle of the night and it's snowing outside. We still live in that house, a little cape cod in Delhi. Two bedrooms on the first floor. We live in one of them and Jonah and now Gable live in the other. Do you know how you hear something in your sleep, and it jars you awake, but you're not really sure if you dreamed it or if it was real? That's what happened. I had heard a noise. I woke Jon up with the words everyone dreads, "Jon, I heard a noise." And he answered the way most hard-working, sleep deprived men would, "mm". The dog, Scout (the greatest big black dog ever), was still asleep on Jon, so I figured that I dreamed the noise. Then, a second later, I heard this banging so loudly that honestly, I broke out into a cold sweat immediately. Terrible feeling. I jumped up and ran to look out the front window. What I saw still sends chills down my neck. It was footprints in the snow - from the street, through our front yard and around to the side yard. I couldn't see much because I didn't have my contacts in, so I went to the bathroom and flipped on the light while calling for Jon. By now the dog was barking and Jon was up and in Braveheart-mode, wielding a Scottish Claymore and yelling, "FREEEEDOMMM" and stuff like that. We looked out all the windows and now realized that some creep had just left out yard. By the time the police got there and walked all around, we all pieced together what had happened: Someone walked through our front yard, unlatched the gate, walked out to the middle of our backyard. They turned around and could hear and see the television flashing (I had accidentally left it on) in the upstairs window and figured we were upstairs watching it. He then walked (this part still makes me sick) all the way up to my precious boys' window and looked in. This was obviously the boys' room because of all the toys in the window. So he went to the basement window just under the boys room. Remember, he thinks we are upstairs watching television and can't hear him. So he went to the basement window, which happened to be the only window in our house that wouldn't just fall in with a sneeze. This also just 'happened' to be the window that five years ago had caused all that stress. You remember, the one that was now made of plywood and 2x4s. The only window worth a lick and he proceeded to kick it. Hard. Loudly. Several times. Enough times to wake me, the dog, and Braveheart, and start the chain of events that made him think twice. Enough times to get the dog to bark and the bathroom light to come on and flood his eyes with light telling him to get the heck outta' there.

I still can see his silent tracks through our yard and everytime I see them, I thank God for that day that our car broke down at the YMCA. And I thank Him that sometimes, and how thankful I am for those times, He lets us in on connecting the dots.