March 9, 1970

About this time, Nate and I received a long letter from Mom that had us laughing at the beginning but disturbed by the end:

Your father and I attended a co-ed baby shower on Friday. It was different having the daddies there, and you would have gotten some jollies out of seeing the fathers diaper and dress some large baby dolls. It was hilarious! We timed them. Those poor dolls…

Then she wrote:

From there we dropped in on Aunt Agnes and partied further. Your pa and I were driving separately, since I had had to be at the shower early. So, as I arrived home first, it was 12:30 AM. Dad was 15 minutes behind me.

When I unlocked the back door and stepped into the house, everything was topsy-turvey. Burglars!

I hurried back outside to the front of the house to await your father but then noticed the front door was standing open and bedroom shades were pulled down. I ran next door where they helped me call the police, who came in just a few minutes. They asked us to stay outside while they searched the house.

When your dad finally arrived and we got back inside, we saw the definition of the words “ransacked house.” Every drawer had been pulled out and overturned, and there are many of them. The closets were torn apart, clothes walked on, boxes torn in haste. All kitchen cabinets were opened, though nothing was taken from those.

The den was the worst. They had pulled every book off our wall of bookshelves and thrown stationary everywhere – looking for cash. The officer said it was strictly profess- sionals looking for money and jewels. The police found that they had removed a grate off the basement window well, broken the window, and come through.

Dad lost the new engraved watch he was given at his retirement party, and they took the treasury of my women’s club, $85 [about $575 today].

This is a jolting, revolting experience. But let me say, we are counting our blessings. It all could have been so much worse.

Then she went back to her usual jovial style of writing:

Glad you’re making a fast quarter-hundred by giving blood. Remember, “The life is in the blood.”

After reporting the family news, she ended by referencing the biblical John’s writing:

As John writes in his epistles, “my little children,” so I write. Be good. And rest assured of our love and prayers.  Mom

She was remarkable in her casual attitude about the break-in, and we wondered if recovering from the shock of it was as easy as she made it out to be. But as she had often said, “I never have to worry about a thing. Your father does enough of that for both of us.”

It was true. I saw her consistently live that philosophy throughout my growing-up years, and I suppose it’s a pretty good attitude for all of us to emulate. God instructs us not to worry about things, because the Father “worries about things” (i.e. takes care them) enough for all of us.

Jesus said, “I tell you not to worry about everyday life. Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? Don’t worry about tomorrow.” (Matthew 6:25,27,34)