I've never been the victim of a burglary.

Until this past week.

My folks still live on the same 40 acres in rural Illinois. Sure, there's been times when a rash of thefts came and went. Maybe twice in 15 years or so.

But, fortunately, the burglars skipped by our place.

Today, I live in a modest apartment just off downtown. Never really had any problems with riff-raff. The only indication of trouble occurs each morning about 6 a.m., when this lady takes her miniature dog for a walk and decides to cut through our driveway instead of walking on the sidewalk around the property.

You've probably heard by now about these church burglaries around town. Five have been hit in the past few days, with one of those having been twice victimized.

Just after we got off deadline Monday, my heart sank as I listened to a message left on my voice mail.

It was my pastor. Our church had been hit.

Since our photographer has Mondays off, I grabbed a camera and headed on over. As I walked in, it felt like a funeral of sorts.

At first, I didn't see mass amounts of destruction. Nothing immediate stood out, but it didn't matter. Just having that sense of being violated was enough.

We headed on over to the ministry offices and there it was. A wooden stool stuck in a pane of safety glass. The door was pried open. Files were strewn all over the place, computer monitors were shattered, laptops taken.

I learned that when someone's place of worship is the victim of a crime, it's not just the pastors, church workers and board members that are affected.

It's everyone who attends.

Even children aren't immune from the aftermath. After hearing about the burglary, one little girl asked her mommy, "I thought there weren't such things as bad guys."

I never asked the mother how she replied. I sure wouldn't know what to say.

But what remains fresh are the memories after entering the ransacked offices.

People were listening to Christian music, dealing with the situation at hand and doing what was necessary to move on. Whatever it took: sweeping, picking up paper, you name it. They were even smiling.

In short, it was refreshing to see people playing with the hand that was dealt to them and move on, even though it would have been much easier to do otherwise.

I don't use the above analogy to promote some members of our church. Rather, I see it being more reflective of Austin as a whole.

When tragedy strikes, no matter the magnitude, people are there for each other. Sure, we may not like how we arrived at that point. But we figure things out, work together and move on.

Someone shared a line with me in an e-mail earlier this month that now seems appropriate.

"Some things we will never understand this side of heaven, but we know God is faithful."

He sure is.

Dan Fields can be reached at 434-2230 or by e-mail at :mailto:dan.fields@austindailyherald.com