I am lulled into thinking certain things to be true.
(Basically I lie to myself so I can go to sleep at night)
I tell myself a good a neighborhood is a barrier from the bad guys of the world.
I tell myself I am safe.
I live in Ladera Ranch –an awesomely Disney-esque suburb. It’s supposed to be exempt from murder and rape and break-ins and a thousand other awfuls –or at least that’s how they justify our exorbitant property taxes.
But Ladera Ranch is a place, like any other place where a “neighbor” can commit a heinous atrocity.
The darkness of the human heart isn’t finicky about addresses.
I thought about this long and hard after driving my kid’s to school yesterday morning as I watched helicopters and police cars circling around our little neighborhood.
A shooting rampage that began in Ladera Ranch and traveled all over Orange County was underway.
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to drop off my kids. Kolby’s preschool and Faith’s middle school were only about two minutes away from yellow tape and a dead body.
Mostly I just wanted to hug my kids and hubby and hold them close and I couldn’t relax until I knew the suspect was dead.
One of my friends whose child attends my daughter’s school confronted the administration a week ago about school security. They claimed “stuff like that never happens here” and “we don’t want to inconvenience the parents.”
Hmmm?
Last week we had a massive manhunt for Christopher Dornier-the cop killer. A few months ago a guy tried to blow up a bridge next to my office with enough explosives to take out a mile radius. Now this teenager from my own neighborhood has gone Rambo on us.
Am I the only one who feels like simply opening the front door these days is an adventure?
A few weeks ago the police informed us our own block had been cased and multiple homes robbed. One man posed as a solar panel vendor and the other as a magazine salesman. In truth, they were going door to door assessing homes to see if anyone was on the premises.
Both came to our home.
I slammed the door in the face of the fake solar home salesman after he yelled at me for not wanting to save money on my electric bill. Let me say that again…a man came to my door and yelled at me for not buying his product.
I was astounded any solicitor would yell at a potential customer.
At least now I have clarity.
The other young (mid-twenties) man came to the door and met my husband.
Tim took the young man out on the porch and sat down with him. I offered him lemonade and he kicked back and chatted with Tim for about thirty minutes. We ended up giving him $40 for a magazine I imagine we will never get.
But he didn’t rob us-either because we were home or because we bought him off or maybe because he liked us.
Three other homes were not so lucky.
I wonder if my husband’s effort to build a relationship with the robber made a difference.
Did my lemonade and smile thaw out his desperation?
As my mind tries to wrap itself around the pain, I try to make sense out of the senseless. I want to know why and how and analyze ALL the details. I watch the news like an investigator and try to peice the clues together. But deep down -if I am honest, I know my job is simple… it’s to pray to God, surrender and look for opportunities to love. Because all too often I miss them. Don’t we all?
I believe love is the only thing big enough to make a difference.
I still feel wobbly, scared and numb almost twenty-four hours later.
And I am left with more questions than answers .
But mostly, I am sad –sad for my kids, sad for our community and sad for these lost souls who live in a fatalistic land of hopelessness.
How are you coping with all the violence?
