The men at the door

As I reflected more on the post, “When a Child Falls Down the Stairs,” I thought about the fact that even as a very small child, who had just gone through a potentially life-threatening event (falling down the stairs) my dad did not react in the way a normal parent would have (anxiety, concern) but laughed at his baby son, leaning upside down against the wall on his head. He told this story over and over. It was like a family joke. 

I began to realize just how unhealthy my father was. Is it possible that he is a psychopath? A person who feels no sense of moral duty? Or is he simply very disconnected from the feelings of others, as is typical of narcissism? I thought briefly but intensely of the fiery cauldron of rage that was in him, when my older brother’s first wife left him (denying my father of his grandkids). I have never seen anyone possessed by such hatred, while he fought in every way possible to win the kids back through the court system.

As I thought of these things — and the fact that I was standing up to him, and now pulling away, effectively rejecting him and denying him of his grandkids — I felt like I could see dark, hooded figures huddle outside of my front door. This is the door that I mentally saw my father forcing his way into so many times. We had to leave our home over Christmas, because my parents were in town, and I was absolutely convinced that were we here, my father would come by (despite our request that he give us space) and initiate a confrontation at this front door — a confrontation which I could see escalating verbally, and perhaps physically. I put the police on speed-dial on my phone.

These thoughts flitted through my mind relatively quickly. Thoughts like these often run through my mind these days: I am processing a lot!

Later that night, my wife told me that our daughter has been having a lot of nightmares lately. She is convinced that the house will burn down. She is concerned for her younger brother. She does not feel safe. “As she related her dream to me this morning,” said my wife, “It seemed very similar to your dreams of late.” But she could not remember the specifics.

As she said this, I suddenly remember the dark hooded figures I had seen (imagined?) outside our front door. They were dressed like the Klu-Klux clan, but all in black rather than in white. They had pointed hoods and robes, with exaggerated white circles around the holes for their eyes. I had the mental picture of opening that door, and being overwhelmed by a flood of pure evil and malevolence.

I told her about this, and at that moment I heard the wind-chimes outside begin to ring. It was eerie, because when I was typing out my dream (the disturbing one about the witch) these same wind chimes were ringing. 

“It is time to pray,” I said, rising.

I forget our prayer, except for snatches of it.

…Father, I come to you on behalf of our family, please protect us

…We declare that Jesus is Lord in this place! Jesus is Lord over my wife, over my firstborn, my second born…

…I reject and renounce any spiritual ties to spirits from my fathers side…

…I reject and renounce any spiritual ties to spirits on my mothers side…

…I do not accept any powers, any favours from any spirits. I stand against their influence over our children. Inthis house, we declare that only Jesus is Lord…

As I prayed, my words were very simple, not eloquent. I spoke like a child, stating clearly and from the heart what I wanted. Tears began streaming down my cheeks as I prayed.

…And so, with our ancestors before us, we pray…(and my wife joined in)

Our father, who art in Heaven…ww``````w

Halowed be thy name…

We finished praying then. As we got ready for bed, my wife told me, “You have been praying more from your heart lately. I like that.”

“It is not too cheesy?” 

“No, certainly not! It is when you pray from your mind that it is cheesy.”

I knew that the hooded figures were gone.

The next morning, my wife asked our daughter about her dreams. She screwed up her face and looked at her with s strange expression on her face. “What dreams? I didn’t have any dreams last night.”

And so that was that.