The Time My Landlord Stole My Bed Because It Was Actually His Door

Three robberies. One missing bed. One very awkward explanation. And a reminder that restoration is still possible.

Have you ever had something stolen from you?

I have. Several times, actually. But there are three memorable instances that stayed with me, and each one taught me something I did not expect.

The First Robbery

The first happened when I was around nineteen. I was sharing a house with a single mom and her young daughter. We had been at a midweek church service, and I happened to get home first.

As I opened the front door, I heard the back door slam shut. I didn’t think much of it at first because there were tenants living in the basement, so I assumed someone had simply gone outside.

As I walked through the house, though, I noticed that my roommate’s makeshift office in the living room looked messier than its usual messy. Something seemed off, but I couldn’t quite explain why. I just remember feeling unsettled.

It wasn’t until she arrived home that we discovered what had really happened.

We had been robbed.

Their bedrooms had been completely ransacked. Dressers were overturned. Jewelry, musical instruments, and treasured, irreplaceable family heirlooms were all gone.

When I looked through my own sparse room, all I could find missing was a little bit of cash. Nothing with a lot of monetary value, but I didn’t have much back then.

Even though I hadn’t lost much personally, something else had been robbed from all of us: our sense of security.

But wait—the story doesn’t end there.

The following week, after the break-in, I was tired and decided to stay home from youth group. I headed to bed early. I was nervous about being in the house alone, but I still thought I could do it.

Every little creak sounded suspicious, and it took forever for me to finally drift off to sleep.

And then I shot awake to a huge bang and a crash.

I pulled the blankets over my head, absolutely convinced someone had broken into the house again. I lay there frozen. Seconds felt like hours. I listened for footsteps, whispered voices, anything.

But nothing.

Finally, I gathered enough courage to peek over the top of the blankets. There on the floor was a wooden plaque that had fallen off the wall.

The inscription on the plaque read, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a shaky laugh, but it was still a laugh.

Looking back, I realize my fear was not based on what was actually happening in that moment. It was based on what had happened the week before.

Yesterday’s experience had become that day’s assumption.

How often do we do that spiritually? We’ve been hurt once, so we expect to be hurt again. We’ve experienced loss, so we brace ourselves for the next disappointment. Something was stolen from us, and before long, we start living as though we are always one step away from another robbery, constantly looking over our shoulder.

A few months after that, just so you know, we did move.

The Second Robbery

The second time I was robbed was far less traumatic and much more humorous.

I was serving as a missionary in Thailand, working in a refugee camp. One evening, I came home after a long day and discovered that my bed was gone.

Yes, my bed.

Now, my first thought was not, “I’ve been robbed.” My first thought was, “I know exactly who did this.”

There was another missionary living near me who was a legendary prankster. If something disappeared, he was usually at the top of everybody’s suspect list. So off I went, determined to catch him red-handed.

But Sherlock Kath failed miserably. He was out of town.

Well, if it wasn’t him, then where on earth had my bed gone?

It turned out my landlord had taken it.

Now, before you feel too sorry for me and start hissing and booing the landlord, let me explain. My bed was not really a bed, but I didn’t know that. I had inherited it when I moved into the room a few months earlier.

It was a wooden door resting on a homemade bed frame.

Apparently, my friendly landlord needed the door back for some reason. So while I was out, he asked our housekeeper to let him in, and he reclaimed it.

Technically, he wasn’t stealing. He was just taking back his door.

I have to admit though, it did leave me in the awkward position of wondering where I was going to sleep that night. Thankfully, I managed to find a real bed before the end of the day. And at least he left me my pillow and sleeping bag.

The Third Robbery

The third time happened while I was renting the basement suite of a police officer and his family. Their home was robbed, and many valuable items were stolen from the main floor.

When the thieves entered my suite, they grabbed only one thing: an old boombox. Then, at some point, they suddenly fled.

Later, we discovered why. The door to the storage room just outside my suite had been left wide open. It had been closed previously, and just inside that room, my friend stored his police-issued winter parka.

Our guess was that they took one look at that coat and decided they had better get out of there quickly.

The police caught up with them several hours later, and most of our belongings were recovered.

But my poor friend endured weeks of good-natured ribbing from his fellow officers because it appeared he was the last one out, and he had forgotten to lock the back door.

What Those Robberies Taught Me

Three robberies. Three very different stories.

But over the years, they have reminded me of an even greater truth.

Sometimes we lose things because of our own poor decisions. Sometimes someone else’s choices affect us. Sometimes the enemy barges in without invitation.

Whatever the reason, God is still our Restorer. He is still our Redeemer. He is still our Avenger.

The enemy may steal, and people may fail us. We may be left shaken. But God’s word is restoration.

Listen to this incredible promise in Deuteronomy 30. I love the picture Eugene Peterson wove in his paraphrase:

“God, your God, will restore everything you lost. He’ll have compassion on you. He’ll come back and pick up the pieces from all the places where you felt scattered. He will give you a good life. God, your God, will cut away the thick calluses on your heart, freeing you to love God with your whole heart and soul, and live—really live.”

God does not merely hand us back what we lost. He picks up the scattered pieces. He heals what was broken. He restores what seemed beyond repair.

Maybe you have allowed the enemy access into areas of your life. Maybe someone else’s actions left devastation behind. Maybe you have simply been carrying yesterday’s fear into today’s circumstances.

But hear this today: there is not one life, not even yours, that is beyond God’s redemption.

There is nothing you have done, and nothing you have failed to do, that places you or your circumstances beyond His reach.

When you turn back to Him and give Him those circumstances, Jesus is still rebuilding broken walls. He is still restoring joy. He is still restoring peace. And He is still restoring a future.

If you call out to Him, He will meet you right where you are. He will welcome you back into His strong tower. He will restore the ground the enemy stole, and He will remind you that your future is not determined by what was taken from you, or how it was taken, but by the One who restores.

Until next time,

Kath