This post is about how I teach my children compassion.
The muscular intruder smashed into a wall as he tried to get away from me. Panic confused him. I stopped dead when he bounced, fearing that might come back at me. Instead he took off again. Delirious fear and excitement pumped through my body. Chasing him like this, no weapon, no plan, was bloody dangerous. His desperation grew by the second. At some point soon -- I sensed it -- he might abandon hope of escape to make a final stand against me; try to take me down with him.
I pursued him into the living room where he flew over our green leather couch, hurtling headlong into the wall two feet behind, then tumbled into the space between the two where I couldn't see him. I crept to the opposite end of the couch and braced myself, ready to defend against a sudden counter-attack or to seize my chance to take him out. He remained hidden, but I could hear him moving. I would surprise him. I just needed to steady myself. Heart in overdrive and chest twitching a uselessly shallow breath each second,I was all tension.