Sometime on Thursday, between when I kissed my husband goodbye in the driveway at 8 a.m. and when he arrived back home at 5 p.m., someone broke into our home.

We are okay. They didn't take much. We have insurance and a police report and supportive friends and family and fingerprint dust covering our furniture. We feel blessed, so very aware of how much worse it could have been.

Still, we're grieving. We've lost a modicum of innocence and a whole lot of peace of mind. The minute you're violated, everything and everyone becomes suspicious. My husband, a leader and protector, is angry in the face of a vulnerability he/we can never fully guard against. I, a girl wired for security, am newly afraid to be alone in my own home.

Not knowing why and who and when and if is troubling.

But I am grateful that my husband's first inclination was to be together, to trust one another and above all, to expect God to protect and direct and teach in the midst of this unexpected and unusual circumstance.

We'll get over it. We'll learn from it — buy a safe, turn on our alarm system and maybe get to know our neighbors better. But, for right now, we're going to explore why and how this experience shakes us. And I'll keep looking out the window and leaving the television on and wishing/praying people weren't so broken …

Has this ever happened to you?