I awoke with a splitting headache, and no recollection of where it had come from.

I lay staring up at the kitchen ceiling, puddles of milk pooling all around me on the ground.

Reaching up, I found a large lump along the back of my head, and when my hand came away it was covered in a sticky thick substance. Blood.

I lifted myself to a sitting position and noticed the pieces of glass laying around me.

So, it had been a glass milk bottle that made this mess.

Scanning the kitchen, there didn’t appear to be any sign of a struggle other than the broken bottle, and of course, my splitting headache.

After taking two Tylenol for the headache, I made my way into the living room and began to look around. Surely there was something out here that could help jog my memory.

The front door had been left ajar and right away I realized my wallet was missing from the table beside the door. Whoever had hit me with that bottle most likely also took my wallet.

I knew I should have invested in that home camera system.

Shutting the door, I noticed the small Bible sitting on the table from which my wallet was missing, and it all came back.

I remembered the two boys then. They had been in their twenties, dressed in nice suits, and they had ridden up on bikes. I remembered noticing that one of them had an almost flat bicycle tyre.

They have come to the door, and offered me The Bible, suggesting that I open my door to Jesus and that Jesus’s door was always open or something like that.

I had declined the Bible, but offered them both something to drink. One young man asked for lemonade, the other, milk, which I thought was terribly odd.

I had invited them in and gone to the kitchen to pour the glasses. I didn’t even hear them come up behind me. I don’t know which of them hit me, but I guess that doesn’t really matter.

One thing’s for sure, that’s the last time I’m opening my door for Jesus.