The phone rang and I began to speak a little, but only angry, hostile words. Not the ones that rang inside my head. Inside, my voice pleaded "Pray for me, love! I think I'm under spiritual attack." But all that came out was "It doesn't matter. I don't matter." He couldn't hear the voice inside, but he knew. Somehow he knew to pray and so he did. I got out of bed, still being hostile, angry, defiant, hurting. We were headed towards a big fight. Then the doorbell rang.
He ran downstairs and I heard him greet whomever it was cheerfully, "Hello Stranger!" Who could it be, I wondered? Certainly he wouldn't greet his mother that way and we weren't expecting anyone else. Sullenly I asked who it was. He answered "T". With his words, the dark spell broke. I don't know how or why, but the chains fell away and I could be me again. A great big smile took over my face as I welcomed her in and offered breakfast. We laughed and joked, as peace and joy reigned again in my home. He made us breakfast(egg in a hole), overjoyed to cook for his wife who had been stubbornly determined not to eat. When he finished cooking, we fellowshipped together over eggs, toast and coffee.
I was okay again.
I can't say with certainty why the darkness came, or even why T's presence broke the spell or how she came to be at my door just then. But I have my suspicions. Once again, I am reminded of the power of prayer, the direction of the Holy Spirit and this crazy, overwhelming love of the Father.
Joining with Em for Imperfect Prose today. Oh the blessings of those husbands who pray for us and never ever give up.