To the person who broke in to my car last night,
This wasn't how I wanted to start my morning – with my trunk thrown open carelessly, and my belongings scattered on the ground. You didn't take much, but you took about as much as you could have.
If I'm being honest, though, it's not about the few things you managed to grab on your way out. That's not the point. It's the thought of you rifling through what I have worked so hard to earn, as if it were your own. It's the gift from my uncle that you snatched from my trunk, as if he had given it to you. It's the sight of my papers thrown thoughtlessly in the back seat, as if they were meaningless – but then again, how could they mean anything to you?
As I drove to work this morning, I thought of what I would say to you if I had the chance. Maybe I would tell you that I've spent my summer working as many hours as possible, or that I had worked a 9-5 shift - the same day you decided to make some quick and easy money off of a stranger's belongings.
I might mention how terrified I am of the student debt that awaits me in the next three years, or that I'm saving up to go on a mission trip in the near future. I might tell you that you don't deserve the items that you took from me or deserve to have come so close to my house, my loved ones, my safe place.
I might even find the nerve to tell you just what you do deserve.
It would be so easy to choose anger. To choose revenge. To choose harsh words and bitter, unforgiving thoughts. But then I start to wonder: What were you feeling as you popped my trunk? Were you plagued with guilt, or were you energized by a twisted sense of excitement? Were you taking because you needed, or were you taking because you've become numb to the ways in which your actions impact others? Were you acting out of desperation? Out of fear? Out of malice? Out of hurt?
No matter your answers, my heart aches for you, and for the state that your own heart must be in. You're searching for more than just some spare change in the ashtray of a beat up 2007 Kia. You may be searching for a way to escape your current circumstance – be it homelessness, hunger, abuse. Or maybe you're mad at the world and are searching for a way to rebel against it. Regardless, you're searching for something more; for something to heal whatever hurt you're in.
Now I start to wonder again: do you know that you're loved? Do you know that you're meant for more than this? Do you know that the same God who ate with criminals, is still pursuing you today? And as I ask these questions, I realize that you and I are not so different after all – because I need to hear these things too.
While you're searching for valuables in cars, I'm trying to find joy and satisfaction in the approval of others. I'm looking for security and peace of mind in my report card and success at work. I'm trying to obtain hope through my friendships, a sense of worth through my physical appearance, and comfort through my family. The problem is that you and I are searching in all the wrong places, and no matter how much you steal, or how hard I try, we're doomed to come up empty-handed and just as broken as before.
Suddenly, I no longer want revenge. All I want is to heal whatever brokenness lead you to my car last night. I no longer want to scold you with my bitter comments and resentful remarks. Instead, I want to tell you that you're loved, and that because of that, you can stop searching. So as I write this to you, I choose grace instead of anger. I choose grace, not because you deserve it, but because I was given grace when I least deserved it too. I choose grace, not because it's easy, but because it's worth it. I choose grace, because whether you realize it or not, grace is exactly what you've been searching for all along.
