I'd just drifted off to sleep when our puppy awakened me by jumping up on the side of the bed. Normally I would have been delighted to see her. But because of the way the kitchen door was hinged, I knew immediately that someone had let her out of the kitchen—and I panicked. My husband was away at a conference, and my children were asleep. Someone was either in the house, or had been in and left. Sure enough, when I went downstairs I found that the heavy, alley door to the kitchen had been pushed open.
Trembling, thoroughly checked each room, then got a pillow and blanket and lay down in front of the doors to our children's bedrooms. Minutes later I heard footsteps on the stairs and melted with relief when my husband appeared. He said he'd had second thoughts about staying at the conference overnight and decided to drive back into the city even though it was late. After hearing my story, he called the police, and once they'd checked the house, we went safely to bed.
I've often thought of that night when my initial fear was replaced by courage. I'd had to move beyond the fear to something constructive, because while fear immobilizes, true courage accomplishes. The courage I found was a kind of protest against evil—a quite literal refusal to let evil in.
