The last 24 hours have been very difficult...no, that doesn't quite capture it.

The last 24 hours have been terrifying.

My husband has been an ER doc in some form or another for over six years. Finally, after all this time, I felt like I had gotten a handle on my anxiety from being home alone when he has night shifts or late swing shifts. Part of it was having kids -- just too tired at night to stay up worrying. Really, though, with prayer and prayer and prayer, I have been able to get past most of it and sleep most of the time when he's gone. Since we've moved to Alaska, I've actually been pretty good about it -- we live in a very nice neighborhood, and everyone keeps saying how quiet and safe it is here.

What happened last night has probably set my progress back a fair bit.

I put the kids to bed and got my pajamas on. The kitchen was all cleaned up and the night was mine. (While I would much rather have Hubby home, I have learned how to make the best of nights that he's gone. I love to sew and scrapbook, and on those nights that I'm alone I like to spread out my stuff, put on a good chick flick or musical, and enjoy my solitary time.) I picked out a movie, gathered up all my photos that have been piling up, and settled in to enjoy my evening.

At a little before 9 pm, the front part of the house and front door started shaking violently. I actually thought it was an earthquake -- I lived through my fair share of those growing up in San Diego -- only it was too abrupt, too localized, and with it the doorbell rang. I immediately grabbed my cell phone and called my mom. I wanted someone on the line with me when I went to check the door. I decided not to go to the front door, though -- it is inset with a decorative glass panel, and I didn't want whoever it was to see me before I knew what was going on. So, I went into the room next to the front door, which was dark, and tried to peek out the window in the direction of the porch to see if I could see anything (it's not directly visible from that spot). As I entered the room, I saw shadows of at least two people on the porch. I stood in the dark corner of the room and waited. I thought that if it was just a teenage prank, they'd go away. About 5 minutes passed, and it started again -- violent slamming of the porch with rattling of the front door and banging on the doorbell. I summoned up the deepest loudest voice I could and yelled, "Who are you? I'm calling the police so you better leave." I picked up the house phone in my other hand and dialed 911. After a few seconds I heard running footsteps, and then saw two men (either late teenage or college aged I think, it was really dark) come down the driveway and take off down the road on foot. It was pretty dark and shadowy but I was able to gather up a bit of a description -- one had on jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt, the other was in black with what appeared to be blond hair (it glinted under the street light as they left).

The 911 dispatcher was very nice and said an officer would be right out, and would probably drive around the neighborhood first to see if they could spot the men, then come to the house. My parents stayed on the cell phone with me the whole time even when the policeman arrived.

When the policeman arrived, I realized that the porch light was burnt out, but I could see his uniform enough to feel okay opening the door. At this point, I was completely trembling from head to foot, and continued to while I talked to the officer. He was really nice, and didn't seem the least bit to think I was a crazy hysterical lady. I told him what happened; whoever it was wasn't out on the street anymore on his drive around. I told him that I thought at first it might be a prank, but the shaking and rattling of the door was so violent, and happened twice. He told me that this type of behavior isn't unusual with home invasions, including ringing the doorbell -- the would-be intruders are checking to see if anyone responds. He said that it was very wise that I shouted at them, because if I hadn't demonstrated that someone was definitely home, they may have tried to kick the door in.

It was all I could do not to beg the officer to sit on my porch with his nice big gun until Hubby got home. He was the patrol officer for the local area, and he promised to circle through my block as much as possible. When he left, I barricaded the front door with the large bench we have in our foyer, and turned on every light I could find. My parents, who had been on the phone with me the whole time, had me set up my laptop and get on Skype, and we switched to videoconferencing. They were actually having a get together with some of my extended family that were visiting and some of the neighbors, so I joined the party via computer. They all "hung out" with me and kept vigil as late as they could. It took me about two hours to finally stop trembling.

My wonderful parents, after everyone had gone home, actually took their laptop upstairs and set it up in their bedroom so they could see me from their bed. Even if they fell asleep, all I had to do was call out and they would hear me and could see what was happening.

Hubby finally got home a little before 3 am (as the sole doc in the ER, he just couldn't leave until then), and I realized how hard it had been to keep it together. I sobbed in his lap for about 30 minutes (and started trembling all over again), then tried to go to bed. We both tossed and turned all night and I woke at every noise.

This morning we were both wiped out, so we took shifts sleeping and watching the kids before he had to leave for work again. I replaced the porch light bulb, went over and introduced myself to my next-door neighbor (who is a parole officer and told me to call anytime), and picked up some sliding door locks and restraining bars at Lowe's. We contacted the alarm company to have a system installed (which we usually have done right away in our other houses -- why didn't we here??), but that won't be for another week or so.

So here I am...keeping vigil again. I feel a little better with the precautions I took today, but not better enough to be up in our room. I'm on the couch, with two phones and internet readily available, and the DVD changer loaded with non-scary musicals and corny old rom-coms. I still jump every time I hear a noise, even if it's just the ice maker emptying in the freezer.

The hardest thing has been the waves of anxiety. Last night, when I was standing there in the dark and it sounded like someone was busting their way into our house, all I could think of were my three babies upstairs and how powerless I was to protect them. I knew if anything happened to them, it would have to be over my dead body, if I didn't get whoever it was first. For the first time in my life, I suddenly understood why people have guns. I have always known there is evil in this world, but last night it was right on the other side of the door. Today in the hardware store as I picked out sliding window locks and such, I just started to cry. I was overwhelmed by fear but I didn't want to alarm the kids. The thought of not being able to protect them was more than I could take at the moment.

I know that the Lord loves me, and loves those 3 babies asleep upstairs even more than I do, if that's possible. But I also know that as Christians we are not promised a life without pain, danger, or persecution. Trusting in Him means trusting that His victory surpasses anything we may suffer here on earth. Trusting in Him means TRUSTING. All the time. In every situation. And that is what I am learning tonight -- on a minute-by-minute basis.