I lost a bit of faith in our neighborhood watch program one night a while back, and I say this despite the fact that I’m an alleged block captain of said watch.

It had been a long travel day and my wife, Cathy, and I rolled into our driveway, at last, at almost 2 a.m. on a Sunday morning. The comfort of our own bed awaited, in mere moments, after a week away.

If only: In those mere moments, we discovered that our kindly friend and neighbor, the one who generously looked after Otis the cat while we were gone, had done as she should have and locked the house up tight. She didn’t realize that, in my cagey travel planning, I’d decided to have fewer things to empty from my pockets at airport security and had left all my keys behind but the one for the car. 

So, it was dark, extremely late, a little chilly, and we were locked out of the house. Now, a couple of our neighbors do have extra keys to our place, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to pound on their doors at 2 in the morning. Instead, we decided to rely on our criminal expertise and began wandering about the yard, not all that quietly, trying all the windows we could reach to see if, by chance, any of them were unlocked. They were not. As we contemplated other, even louder ways of breaking in, we remembered that we always leave the window by our bed unlocked because we like having it open whenever we can at night. It was, however, on the second floor.

No worries. Swinging into action, we dragged the extension ladder out from behind the shed, making a tremendous amount of metallic racket, and loudly propped it against the house, following some grating adjustments. Despite this, no lights went on in any of the surrounding houses. So, up the ladder I went, popped the window open, and landed headfirst on our bed. We were in! And no one within earshot apparently was any the wiser. We just left the ladder there for all to see.

In defense of our very excellent neighbors, I’m sure I’ve slept through small nuclear explosions and other crimes committed in their houses and yards before. Sound, deep sleep is important, and I pursue it enthusiastically.

Looking back on that night, a couple things occur to me. One, I’ll take every key we own on every trip we ever take for the rest of our lives, even if I miss flights bogged down in TSA lines.

And two, attempting to live this life I’ve been given as a person of faith means that just about everything is an opportunity for God to teach me something, if I’m willing to pay attention. Even, and maybe even especially, the mundane events of everyday living. I wouldn’t necessarily consider breaking into my house at 2 a.m. mundane, but as I picture my neighbors peacefully snoozing through the ruckus Cathy and I were making, I think about the popular Biblical book of Psalms, where it says, “He who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.” As block captain, I should have been taking notes.

In truth, the Psalms tell me that there’s never been a moment when I’ve been entirely alone, though I don’t often pause to appreciate that. I have, though, felt what I believe to be God’s strong, calming, loving—and instructive—presence in places like airplanes, hospital rooms, restaurants, behind the wheel, sitting in my office, outside, in church, in conversations, and elsewhere. And I believe that, if I’m willing to slow down and be more attentive, that Presence can be felt anywhere by those who look for it.

Several hundred years after the Psalms were written, Jesus also assured us that He is “with you always, to the very end of the age.” That’s pretty reassuring, no matter the circumstances—whether you’re in the midst of an actually serious crisis or just scrambling up a ladder in the middle of the night.