Vocal Point:Security lies in the heart – and gun cabinet

It is not a good thing to come home to find sheriff’s deputies waiting for you.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks!” the officer told us as we stumbled out of the car. Since the house was still standing with no sign of fire damage, there could be only one other problem.

Burglary.

As I ran to the ransacked bedroom, I had a strange sensation of déjÀ vu. This is how I have imagined it would be like to come home to a burglarized house, even with the part about the deputies waiting. Too many movies, perhaps.

Still, foresight never prepares anyone for the emotional aftermath. In working through these emotions, I am reminded of an old Chinese story: Mr. Sai’s handsome stallion runs off one day. He says to his neighbors, “It may be a blessing in disguise.” Then the stallion comes home with a beautiful mare. The sage old man muses, “This could be a curse.” And sure enough, his son breaks his legs trying to ride the new mare. To that, again the old sage says: “Who knows? This could be a blessing in disguise.” Soon the war breaks out. All the able young men in the village are drafted, many of whom never return. Mr. Sai’s son is spared on the account of the broken legs.

The moral? We can’t predict how events would unfold. What if the burglar smashed the glass door instead of jimmying it? Imagine the mess! And what if he ran off with one of the drawers of the dresser? Imagine the headache of trying to replace that and the annoyance of having to look at the big gap every day! What if somebody were home and walked in on him? What if I were now nursing a broken nose on top of mourning the monetary and sentimental loss? What if, what if.

In the end, I was feeling pretty lucky. Black humor exorcised the useless emotions brought on by second-guessing oneself.

Still, the nagging question remains:

Why had I put all the valuables in one box, on top of the dresser, making it so easy for the thief?

Perhaps, I just wanted to believe. I wanted to believe we were secure. Had it not been for the alarm, the kitchen sink would have been stolen as well. But above all, I want to believe in the relative security we have enjoyed in this country.

We have seen firsthand what it is like to live in fear in your own home. In the suburbs of South Africa, every house is walled, razor-wired, has fierce guard dogs behind the locked gate and, quite often, armed guards. People watch their back, even in their own house. My uncle in the Philippines has guards with machine guns by his gate. The comings and goings of the family are in front of a loaded gun.

My own family, living amid the chaos and turbulence brought on by the rapid social and economic changes, never believes me that chain link fences in the United States are more likely to keep animals in than people out .

Every time we come home, we thank God we live here in this great country, right here in Spokane, without a machine gun glaring at us. To live in fear is to live in the cesspool of all human emotions.

Perhaps the deputy was right. It isn’t as bad as it looks. What were stolen are sentimental possessions accumulated throughout the years. But no one can steal our memories. No one can steal our belief in this place we call home. No one can rob us of our sense of security in our own house. No one can shake our belief and trust in the goodness of most people.

That being said, we are also taking further precautions.

For a start, I’m brushing up on my shooting skills, for no one can steal our right to defend ourselves.