sinners’ club – mysterious ways

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For over three years we’ve had a child experiencing night terrors (at home or away) almost every single night. ONE started having them around her third birhday, and when TWO turned three she started experiencing them as well. Some nights they both had them. We spoke with doctors, changed diets, and adjusted sleep/activity schedules, but regardless of any success we experienced, the terrors always returned. After 1,000+ nights of crying and screaming and unreachable children, I finally started to break down. I was up several times a night, exhausted and cranky all day, and then wired when it was time to go back to sleep because I knew just after I drifted off one of them would wake me and start it all over again.

Sometime in February a friend suggested that we contact our church’s healing prayer team and ask them to pray over our house. I smiled and thanked her but knew I’d never do it. I loved our church and was in constant prayer myself, but the idea of “healing prayer” for our house was a bit much. What difference should it make who said the prayer? What could possibly come of it? And would they have to march around it like the wall of Jericho? That would be fun to explain to the neighbors. No thanks.

Around that time TWO’s terrors got worse. Unlike ONE’s, which ranged from screaming in a temper tantrum-style to being stuck in a nightmare she couldn’t get out of, TWO’s were physical. She started getting out of bed, throwing things around her room, and thrusting herself against the door while screaming. It was really scary. And after a solid week of nightly screaming, ONE’s constant tears on behalf of her sister, and our utter helplessness to make anything better, we were desperate enough to contact someone on the healing prayer team. We had nothing left to lose. Not even pride.

Concerns over the actual experience turned out to be silly on my part. There was nothing cinematic or embarrassing about it. It was actually pretty peaceful and serene. Two really nice women from the church walked with us through the house and said a prayer in each room. When we stood together in the girls’ room they prayed that the girls would feel no more fear as they slept.

At the mention of the word “fear” my heart was pierced with the thought, “As long as you live your life in fear, it won’t matter what you do, or how many times you have people praying, it will come back into the house with you.” The thought struck me so deeply I started to cry. Me? Living in fear? What did I have to be afraid of? I didn’t understand the thought, or share what I was experiencing with anyone. Instead I prayed that God would reveal what I was afraid of.

A montage of forgotten memories started playing in my mind. Being threatened as a kid, how I allowed myself to be treated by boys, the drugs, being stuck in NYC on 9/11 and listening to the helicopters all night long, wondering if I’d ever get back home, the panic I felt every time I heard a voice outside our house when I was alone with my kids, and on and on and on it went for the next few days. Things I hadn’t thought of in years, or addressed at all, resurfaced. And somehow the experience wasn’t overwhelming. It was as peaceful and serene as the prayers.

When the memories finally ceased I was exhausted, but the experience didn’t stop there. Next came the ways in which those fears were engrained in my thought life and how they manifested in my daily life with my kids.  I had no idea I was afraid. (I’m not sure how I missed it.) No idea that I was living a lifestyle that promoted fear. But I knew I had a choice. I could either push everything back down or deal with it. I decided to face it head-on. Since then I’ve been working on my thought patterns, acknowledging and addressing my fears, and moving forward. I no longer feel controlled by the girl I used to be; the kid who got lost for all those years and almost didn’t make it out. I’m no longer obsessing over fears for my girls. The freedom is intoxicating.

And the terrors? Gone.

I’ve been waiting to write about this experience until I could clearly explain it. But I can’t. I don’t know why the terrors started or why they stopped. I don’t have the answers and I’ve accepted the fact that I may never understand. Just like I’ll never understand why we lost our baby. We just did.

What I do know is that I’ve been given a gift. A glimpse into the me I didn’t realize I was, and a chance to change. I also know that for over three years -1000 nights- our family was plagued by terrors. And since the prayer team went through our home we’ve had one hundred and twenty nights terror-free. Not once have I had to wake up ONE from her tears, or bring her into our room to sleep. I have not had to hold TWO’s struggling body in my arms to keep her from hurting herself. I have not since whispered, “It’s okay. You’re just dreaming. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re at home. Nothing can hurt you here. Wake up, baby. Wake up.”

Instead I’ve been waking up, too. After long, full nights of sleep.

©2011 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED