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
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
As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for
(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!
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