The Phantom in my Attic and the Mess on my Floor

Eight policemen rushed into my house last Monday night.
But let’s back up.
Earlier in the day I noticed the attic door in the ceiling of my garage was unlocked and askew. Neither my husband nor I had touched it, so my mind immediately went to that early-90s horror movie, The People Under the Stairs.
I quickly went inside to check the second attic door. The two barrel bolt locks were firmly in place and I thought—well, if someone is up there, he’ll have to go back out the way he came.
And I had stuff to do.
I didn’t really think about it again (my brain is accustomed to dramatic wonderings, so I don’t usually take them seriously). That is, until late that night when my husband and I were watching a movie and heard a loud thud. Our four young kids were sleeping, so we hit Pause and waited for the crying of some poor child who’d fallen out of bed.
Nothing.
We pushed Play.
A few minutes later, there it was again. And again. Okay, three thuds is weird. Either some kid is repeatedly banging his head against the wall or…I went upstairs to check the attic door, and my stomach dropped when I saw the locks that had been tightly closed that afternoon were now angled down, ready to slide out of place.
I ran to Dallas and whisper-explained the whole thing, and he agreed—I should call the police while he stood guard with our 357 Magnum.
And here’s the blog-relevant point: While I was on the phone with 911 dispatch, I realized my house was messy. I had spent the day re-organizing, but there were still piles of stuff in the hallway.
So while I’m waiting for the police to arrive and my husband stands watch over our children, I start frantically cleaning and shoving stuff into drawers and closets—because, God forbid that with guns drawn and yelling “THIS IS THE POLICE” into our pitch black attic, the cops notice I left stuff on the floor.
I’m a piece of work.
Long story slightly less long, no one was in my attic. Our guess is that someone tried to gain access through the garage but gave up. The insulation over the door, according to Joe Beefcake Policeman, was almost too heavy for even him to lift. He also said the whipping wind likely knocked a piece of drywall against the attic door, jostling the locks. And the thudding turned out to be my little girl’s pitching net banging against the house with every large gust.
Darn you, confusing acoustics.
Clearly, I’m not completely out of the perfectionist woods. Sigh. Praise God for His patience with me and my often messed up priorities.
And praise God He’s not done fixing me yet.
“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Phillipians 1:6