Battle For The Attic

I couldn't get anyone else to go up with me!  An entire, unexplored, third story awaited me in my "new" 1880's Victorian Mansion with rows of rooms still filled with their furniture, a dusty attic crammed to the rafters with priceless antiques and an ancient library with floor to ceiling shelves overstuffed with a rainbow assortment of faded, hard-covered books.   Left behind with the house, the fully furnished upstairs was ours but agonizingly it was nothing more than useless, unusable, wasted space.  Our whole third story was held hostage.  The desire to get lost in exploration was strong yet the fear of what stood guard at the top of the stairs kept my feet glued at the bottom.  Keeping an eye on the dark shadow that paced back and forth in the dim light at the top of the long flight of stairs, I asked my mom to come with me.  She withdrew behind me and vehemently refused.  I looked for volunteers from the rest of my family that stood frozen in fear alongside me at the base of the steps. "Aww, come on guys!  Maybe they'll let us pass this time.  They can't hurt us, right?"  We all knew the limitations of their power but none wanted to risk facing the evil that diligently guarded the mysterious third floor. Annoyed fighting the same battle night after night, I stubbornly stomped. "Well, I'm going!  It's my house and my stuff..... I want it!!!"  As my foot lifted, a pale, dark headed figure dressed in a medieval jesters outfit swiftly zipped down the stairs.  "What did we tell you?!" He growled. This new guard filled me with horror and my brain screamed for my body to turn back and run. "You can't hurt me!" I shouted as I stood my ground.  Fear flooded my veins as he came closer and stood directly in front of me.  I shrank back as he angrily put his ghastly, evil face directly in front of mine and scowled, oozing with impatience and annoyance at my stubbornness and endless attempts to access the forbidden floor.  Unnaturally strong, exactly like the others, I knew I was powerless to physically do any harm but I knew what they hated.  My voice shook as I sang the first hymn that came to mind.  He grimaced with the sound and infuriatingly wrapped a strong hand around my throat and squeezed tightly until my voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper.  "The next time you try to go up these stairs.........."  He released his vice grip on my throat as he finished his warning promising death if I were to disobey again.

Startled, my eyes flew open. I was no longer curious, intrigued and fascinated by my reoccurring nightmare.  Angry, hot tears moistened my pillow as his last words echoed in my head.  Staring into his evil, dark eyes I felt as though he were looking straight into me.....past the dream....and into me.  I knew the savage grip he held on my neck that silenced my song was also being used for a second purpose. He was angry and he wanted my voice extinguished.  Scared,  I rolled over and woke my husband and he spoke aloud what my stubborn heart was already saying.  Don't let him silence you....."Write".........

My attic dreams started as a little girl.  Every so often, I would awake in my dreams and find myself in my attic .  I became an explorer as I crawled into my closet and waded through the heavy vines of hanging clothes.  Feeling around in the darkness for the spot in the wall where a child sized door lay hidden, I'd impatiently crawl through to be reunited with my colorful and brightly lit, secret room full of toys.  Oh the sheer joy and excitement finding myself in my safe, recognizable attic dream!  Waking from my blissful slumber was always a disappointment and as the fog of sleep slowly lifted, I would linger and play in my little attic as long as I could.  As I grew, my attic slowly shifted and changed its contents from enchanting childhood toys, to a teens dream of trendy, fashionable clothes to my current adult attic of priceless and beautiful antiques.  My attic dream, I know deep in my heart, was my given to me by my Protector, Shepard and Abba Father.... Jesus.  It was a beautiful break from my childhood pain and heartbreak and the light He shone in my attic illuminated so much more than the beautiful things He brought me to play with.  My third story guardians know this and last summer, the battle for my attic began.

Without looking up from his desk, a stern, stiff postured man fiddled with his paperwork as I passed through the entrance of my attic.  Even though I was caught off guard, I didn't question his presence.  I thought he fit wonderfully in my attic with his Victorian style suit, top hat, and little round glasses.  I softly walked past him and quietly wandered the dusty, cramped aisles of my attic until I found what I was looking for.  Turning to leave, the Victorian bookkeeper looked up over the top of his gold, horn rimmed glasses as I passed him to leave.  "You need to pay for that."  I do?  "It's mine." I told him sternly. "You need to pay for that." He repeated sarcastically slower in the same matter-of-fact tone.  I didn't know what to say.  I disappointingly put back my antique and let the loud rhythmic pounding my shoes made on the hard wood stairs voice my feelings as I stomped angrily down.  Turning to get one last glimpse of my attic, I saw nothing but dark abyss.  My attic was gone. 

Laying in the darkness, I examined the frozen snapshots of the six hideous and evil attic guardians that have kept me successfully locked out of my attic.  Why are they tormenting me?  What are they keeping me from?  Out of frustration, I punch my pillow.  "I wish I could help you but I don't know how."  My husbands soft voice penetrated through the darkness and my heart dropped feeling as if though he were laying down his battle sword at my feet. I looked over at his profile in the darkness and my heart swelled remembering the boy prince I married who turned king the day I finally revealed my heart to him.  Faithfully and courageously this man has battled and fought for me and with me.  Without complaint he tirelessly worked building our kingdom into a strong and breathtakingly, beautiful fortress where my wounded heart finally found peace.  With his encouragement to write, I took up his sword and with each click of the computers keyboard I drag all six (and counting) different guardians and their master in the light.

Satan is a deceiver.   A master of disguise, (II Chor.11:14), a liar (John 8:44) and a murderer (John 8:44 and Gen. 3: 1-24).  His ultimate goal is our destruction and he will stop at nothing to achieve it.  A writers overactive imagination?  The subconscious working overtime solving the days problems?  Attacks from Satan?   All are possible answers to the terrifying, haunting nightmare that I visit without warning while I sleep.  I feel utterly alone as everyone in my attic dream refuses to follow me up my third story stairs to fight.   My brave husband, who's willing and well equipped to go.... can't....so who does that leave to fight along side me in this terrifying battle for my attic?  The only one who can and will is the one who transformed the boy, healed the broken heart and built our family's strong fortress.    Jesus, my brave defender, gently reminded me in His love letter in John 10 that He is the only one able to fight the wolf that encircles me.  His love is unchaging, His power over the enemy is sure, and His ultimate sacrifice has already sealed my victory with my dark tormentor.   His voice seemed to sweetly sing these words to my heart....and in the place of "sheep" my Shepherd speaks my name.

" I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep Tammy.
But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own sheep are not, seeth the wolf (Satan) coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf (Satan) catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.
The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep.
I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep Tammy, and am known of mine.
As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep Tammy."
(John 10:11-15)

The guardians who stand guard over my attic are strong, vicious and evil, but they are no match for my Shepherd.  They want me to stay away, keep silent, and live in fear...... but I can't do that.  The attic is mine and I want it back.  Feeling safe and secure with Jesus by my side, together we wait at the bottom of my third story mansion stairs.  Adjusting my sword in my hands, I stand ready to reclaim my attic and release the priceless treasure that awaits!

The Mouse Couch

Using his body as a barricade in the kitchen doorway, one of the boys breathlessly commanded, "You DO NOT want to go in there!" Oh, dear!!  I don't?!  The gasps, whispers, and wide-eyed glances the kids exchanged worked like Morse code and put me on full alert that something disastrous was brewing.   Never being one to follow instructions, I waded through the sea of kids and broke through the spiderweb of arms and legs.  Like the Pied Piper, I led the way as the kids followed behind in an eerie, unnatural, silence.  Gone was the excited chatter, high fives and cheers about the "dream, wrap-around Friday-night-movie couch" that was being delivered.  The air was thick with anticipation on what my reaction would be as I stopped in front of my irritated husband holding a cushion and pillow that looked as if they were sniper shot, riddled with holes and oozing with stuffing.  "What is that?!" I asked in dazed shock wondering how on earth a new couch with holes could escape unnoticed under the noses of both the owner of the furniture store and the delivery guy.  The delivery guy outside with an arm load of plastic explained how it got all the way here from the warehouse undetected, but the holes....how?!  The room erupted in "Icks!" and "Ewwwws!" when my husband announced that the guilty culprit that stealthily produced such mass destruction on our brand new couch was nothing more than a teeny, tiny mouse.  Staring down at the carnage I heard myself reassure my awaiting audience. "It's o.k.  It'll all work out. The furniture people will fix this."  The room was shell shocked with the surprise bomb I dropped.  Cocked heads, squinted eyes and wide open mouths were all I got as the dust settled. "I'm OK!" I added again.  I am?  Am I?  I looked around at the chaos of scattered cushions, plastic, confused kids and a miffed husband.  I gave myself a quick pat down to double check that I truly was unscathed and shockingly found that I really was..... OK!

On my morning run, I smiled as I thought of my successful battle with the mouse couch.  Coming out unscathed was something I could never have accomplished alone.  The grenades of perfection and control that Satan would throw wounded me for years until my Commander in Chief introduced me to the proper armor.  My ears fill with the noise of previous battles I tried to fight alone as I look back on the lonely footprints my shoes left behind in the morning snow.   Becoming deep in thought, my breathing soon gained rhythm and blended with the fun little squeaks and crunches that each new track made in the fresh blanket of snow.   Feeling childlike and energized, I jumped and dodged deeper piles of snow, and quickly sidestepped over a fresh trail of kitty tracks that suddenly appeared.  Happy to have a running partner, even if she were invisible, I ran along side them.  I felt sorry for this little kitty.  It was so cold and she was all alone.  I felt better as I continued tracking her steps and found that she had lots of company.  Deer, raccoon, opossum, squirrel and bird tracks all crossed over her petite, little kitty prints.  Being one to always have a story, I began writing as I ran, envisioning each little critter offering the lost, abandoned kitty help in her frightening new life in the country.  The deer warmly greets my kitty and points the way to the freshest, sweetest water in the county to help quench her thirst.  The raccoon and opossum offer warm hugs of friendship as each unselfishly reveal where the yummiest food can be found to endlessly fill her growling, empty tummy.  Filling the silent and still winter air, the friendly chatter of the squirrel soothes my kitty's heavy loneliness as it happily bounces along side her.  Offering beautiful song, the bird fills my kitty's heart with hope as he flies high above the house tops in search of the perfect family and a new forever home.   At the end of my run I disappointingly stop in front of our mailbox as my kitty's tracks continue.  Remembering she isn't alone, I smile as I follow her tracks as far as my eyes can see.

Like my kitty, Jesus has strategically placed people to help me on my own journey through life's landmine of emotional battles.  Family, friends, Pastors, my Christian therapist and the most steadfast and loyal fighter in my regiment, my husband.  Sometimes, faithful comrades can be forgotten and its during a fresh battle, or in my kitty's case, a fresh snowfall, that their tracks can be seen and remembered again.  Sitting together on our new, mouse-less "dream, wrap around Friday-night-movie couch", I wiggle, fluff and plump trying to find "my" spot.  It feels different from our 15 year old, broken in, familar couch.  Sensing my discomfort with the change,  my husband shoots me a worried look knowing me well from all our years of previous battles together.  Remembering the snowfall and my kitty I smile reassuringly, "I'm Ok!"