The nightmares have returned.
They were once a constant companion, starting in college and
continuing on for almost a decade. Vivid, graphic, unnerving dreams that
tormented me in the night.
Undoubtedly, they were spiritual warfare raging in my soul and mind.
Despite their continuous recurrence, I had learned how to manage their effects.
Waking up in terror, I simply had to reach over in the darkness to the other
side of the bed and wake him. And
in an instant, I was wrapped up in his arms, protected from the invisible
attacks. Scripture and words of prayer whispered over me in the darkness,
shinning light and truth into my fearful heart. He was my comforter, my
protector.
When he died, the dreams stopped. I don’t know why. I just
know I was thankful. But last week, they returned. I awoke in the middle of the
night, sick from the images that were screaming through my head. Desperately
afraid. And very, very alone.
He wasn’t there. I had to face the terror of the night
alone. As if that weren’t enough, his absence, my aloneness, sent an unbearable
wave of grief through my being. Fear and sadness were suffocating me in that
dark bed. Even the light of day could not seem to drive away the horrible
feeling.
The nightmares have continued. My flesh has responded with
lies. Lies that the sadness and loneliness will never really go away. That,
regardless of time, some wounds just do not heal. My flesh hurts. My heart
hurts. I thought I was past this. I want to be done with grief. It is not my
friend.
I have to fight the lies with truth. Just as night is followed by the light
of dawn, weeping is followed by joy (Psalm 30:5). I will not remain clothed in
sackcloth and ashes. One day I will get a beautiful headdress and garment of
praise (Isaiah 61:3).
And I am not alone. The deeper truth is my husband was never really my comforter and
protector. He was simply an instrument used by God to bring me comfort and
protection. Despite the illusion of being alone in the darkness after the
nightmares, I am never really alone. I am still held and protected. Still covered in words of truth and
intercession to the Father. My physical senses may not register it, but my
heart does. And I have hope.
So I wait for the dawn of a new day. Not simply to escape
the terrors and loneliness of the night. I wait for the dawn of a new day that
I know will bring a joy so deep I can’t help but dance in praise to my loving
God. He has promised me that a new day is coming…
