Story recounted by Melissa Baker and Susan Smith
“Trust in him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.” Psalm 62:8
It was life, as usual, that night. I added purchases at the cash register, wrapped them carefully in delicate white tissue paper, and then sealed each packet with an embossed gold sticker. Smiling, I handed the bag to the customer, thankful for my new job in the upscale women’s clothing store.
A few weeks earlier, a girlfriend and I had come to the mall to scope out potential employment. I can’t remember what her litmus test was, but mine was to walk into a store for a few minutes to see whether or not I could survive the music.
So, I ended up working in a store where mostly middle-aged women shopped listening to a lot of boring music, which, while not exciting, was still better than a headache.
One slow evening, I looked up to see my mother and sister stopping by, after shopping, to say, “hi!”
True to her natuure, my mother was interested in my safety. While she had the standard momism such as “The early bird gets the worm” and “Haste makes waste,” she had even more regarding our safety.
“Always check the back seat of your car before you get in,” she would say. And “Lock all the car doors,” or “Keep your purse close.”
To be sure (and I feel, as a biblical counselor, the necessity of saying this), she didn’t instill unhealthy fears or anxieties in us—but she did teach us to be careful.
To be aware of any possibilities of danger.
So, it was no surprise that she agreed my younger sister would wait and ride home with me.
Because she could protect me.
We should just let the irony of that thought sit with us for a moment.
Closing time came around 9:30, and we made our way down the thoroughfare of Briarwood Mall. The halls were silent, and the occupants sparse. There is never a shortage of conversation when my sister and I are together, and that night was no exception. Our voices and laughter echoed across the marble expanse.
For a little while, we were oblivious to anyone but ourselves, then, almost in sync, we sensed another presence. Not too far away strode a very tall, large man who seemed a little too interested in our conversation.
A little too interested in us. Suddenly, our mother-installed spidy-sense kicked in.
Together, we began to walk faster, lowered our voices, and crossed to the other side. As his strides lengthened to keep up with us, we went on high alert.
Moving faster (but trying to look nonchalant), we rounded a corner slightly ahead of him. We were relieved to see lingering patrons around the cinema. Winding through the small crowd, we made our way to the doors, exited, sprinted across the parking lot, and then hunched down, panting behind a car.
Safely out of view, we watched as his eyes scanned the cars. Slowly he made his way to a Volkswagen “bug,” all the while continuing to scrutinize the lot. Finally, he casually unlocked the door and climbed into the Volkswagen, the eerie glow from the surrounding lights making his sizeable body look massive in the petite car.
Without a word, we made our way to my car as quickly and quietly as possible, slid in, locked the doors, and breathed immense sighs of relief.
After our hearts resumed beating normally, we began to think that maybe we had been wrong about the entire thing and started to laugh. It wasn’t the first time our crazy, over-active imaginations had gotten the best of us. I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, figuring that our little escapade would be forgotten by the time we pulled in our driveway.
This was definitely not a story to share with our mother.
As I pulled out into the road that circled the mall, I looked into the rearview mirror, another car was not too far behind. That’s when I saw the silhouette again.
“I think he’s behind us.”
“What?” turning to look, my sister confirmed my fear. It hadn’t been our imaginations.
All we could think about was getting home.
Driving as fast as I dared, I took the ramp onto the highway, all the while trying to get other vehicles and distance between us. Conversation stopped, and a tense silence filled the air while we both fervently prayed that we would shake him.
Hands clenching the steering wheel tightly and foot firmly on the gas, I eventually turned on to Huron River Drive, our sparsely populated semi-country road. As Susan glanced back, we knew what we had to do. Assuming that he was unfamiliar with the road, we were suddenly grateful for the dimly lit curves that lay ahead.
All we had to do was stay one curve ahead. And we did—tires gripping the road. It was a dark, almost moonless night, and our house sat a long way off the road. If we could get even partway up our drive before he rounded the last bend, we would be hidden under cover of darkness.
Thank goodness, those were the days your car lights would extinguish when you hit the switch. Turning into our driveway, I raced up as far as I chanced, hit the brake, turned the car off, and squelched the lights. Ahead of us, quite a distance away, the house sat darkened. Barely breathing, we turned around slowly to see if the car would pass.
It was with great relief that we watched the menace speed by cluelessly. After waiting a while to make sure our pursuer was well-past, I started the car, drove the rest of the way up the drive, and hid it behind the garage. Jumping out, we ran into the house.
Once inside, we slammed the door, locking it behind us. In an unusual twist, our parents were not home. Without turning on a single light, we stealthily crept to the front windows. Mother would have been proud. Then, we waited to see if he would return. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the distinct headlights of the now-familiar VW came around the bend, its pace noticeably slower, as if searching for us.
Even though we knew he couldn’t see us so far away in the dark, we still felt his ominous presence through the blackness and shivered.
We hadn’t imagined it. He had been following us.
But we were safe. And, though it would have been wiser to stop at the police station we had passed, we sank down with relief because we had made it home.
The truth is, when uncertainty got our attention when danger threatened, it urged us to safety—it drove us home.
We had been taught,
we were careful,
we knew what to watch for.
But we forgot and walked along, laughing, and not paying attention.
Until it became real.
Danger. Became. Real.
As I try to process what is happening in the world around me,
in Russia and the Ukraine,
in my beloved Canada and my blind U.S.A.,
For you, it might be a child, or a health crisis,
a lost job or an uncertain future—
whatever it is, a sinister presence looms large in the rearview mirror.
The last two years have been fraught with ups and downs. We’ve been taught to be careful; we’ve learned the things we should do, but, somehow, we have become complacent.
It is so easy to take things for granted. Safety isn’t a given. At least, not here—not in a world bent on self-rule,
mocking the truth,
shaking its fist in the face of its Creator.
Make no mistake, there is danger nipping at our heels. We must each do our part in protecting what we have too long taken for granted—
for the generations to come—
for the sake of the gospel.
But first, we must run to our refuge. First, we’ve got to go home.
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