Holler for Healing
Can you remember the last time you screamed? Not those little embarrasing shrieks that pop out when we are startled by an unexpected person, or the halfhearted muttered yelps during a 'gotcha' moment in a movie, or even the uncontrollable hiccuppy holler when your tickle spot gets prodded, no, not like that. But like this:
It's New Years Eve and I am just turned 9. I live with my mom. In our house I know that at least one of my brothers lives with us, as well as his girlfriend, and some other guy that eludes my memory just now. Mom and I and Sandy (my brother's girlfriend) are sleeping on the floor of the living room, having decided to just sleep there after seeing the big ball drop in Times Square on TV.
Awoken by a noise, I see a shadow of man at the front window. I am instantly rigidly filled with terror. Shadowman moves to the front door and attempts the doorknob. It is locked and the knob only twists with a small sound. "moooom!" I whisper intently, not taking my eyes of the twisting doorknob. Mom looks up, with that supermom sense that alerts to danger and gazes at the front window as shadowman hunches over slightly and passes by, going around to the side of the house. I can't clearly remember every single thing, only that shadowman tries each and every window in our small house, and God has smiled upon us and allowed that each window was tightly shut and locked. I remember creeping down the hallway, mom in the lead and Sandy at the caboose, because mom thought one of the windows might have been open and she wanted to be on the attack and not the defense. I remember mom telling us to stay put as she tiptoed across the entryway and into the kitchen where she slowly reached up for the wall phone. At that same moment, shadowman appeared at the sliding glass patio doors, right there next to my mom and the phone. For one impossible long moment, mom was frozen in place, hand outstretched for the phone while shadowman attempted to lift the sliders out of the tracks and open them up. My memory ends with me lying cocooned in a blanket, under a coffee table, shaking, and my mom and Sandy lying on either side of me just waiting for shadowman to leave... but I didn't scream.
The next night, mom and I are too scared to sleep in our rooms so we camp out in the living room again. And again, I hear a noise that wakes me. This time I look up to see the sliding glass doors open, curtain billowing in the wind, and shadow man standing in the open space. This time I scream. This time, I scream and I scream and I scream. I am calling out for my brother with every cell in my body, even my toes are actively involved in my screaming. My mom bolts to the door and begins pushing shadowman out and doing her tiny mom best to shut the doors on him. The struggle is frantic and I can only scream scream scream. It ends when mom realizes that this time it isn't really shadowman, but my brother himself having stepped outside for a cigarette. As I am screaming for him to help, he is fighting to get to me, and mom is fighting to keep him out, not realizing who he is. My memory ends with the three of us on the couch, all of us weeping.
And that's the last time I truly screamed. Until Saturday night.
I had been warned that the cat had brought home a houseguest in the form of one small slightly chewed Chipmunk. I was told that the small harmless little guy had managed to get downstairs and was probably finding his little way out via the crawlspace. I believed every word I was told. Right up until I walked into my bedroom Saturday night and heard a very odd "chirrp" sound as well as the immediately identifiable scrabble of teensy claws. Even though I was carrying the baby in my arms, I brazenly walked over to the dresser whereupon my bright idea to kick the dresser was met with a sore toe, and a frantically scrabbling rodent streaking between my feet, under the bed, and towards my closet. I screamed.
My scream wasn't because I was afraid of a chipmunk, I mean, they are too cute to be afraid of, but it was out of sheer surprise and the unexepectedness of a rodent fleeing across my floor. My scream also wasn't one of harmless shock though. The thing that came out of my mouth was reminiscent of that night some 30 years ago when I screamed for help with every fiber of my being. My shadow-man-rodent-scream came from somewhere down in my feet and roared up like a steam engine with a force all of it's own. I scared myself with my own scream. And the baby.
Oh, my friends, it does not end there. After David AND Steph had scoured the bedroom and closet with flashlights, a colander/plate creative trap thing, and intense bravery, after they had assured me that the critter was gone, after they had emptied and refilled the closets and under the bed, I took them at their word. After all, certainly he'd made it up 2 flights of stairs and could very well make it back down so the potential for his reappearance was slim. At least, thats what I told myself. Right up until I was sorting laundry and when I lifted a pile of towels from the bathroom floor that darn flipping chipmunk came flying out of MY HANDS and scurried behind the laundry basket. My word, the scream that came out of my mouth put the first one to shame.
Later on, when all was said and done, Steph even told me that the second scream had made her think I was hurt. That made me wonder if the things that hurt you emotionally can show up physically... I know that there is validity to that statement when you discuss survivors of war, abuse, etc. There are common themes in those two categories particularly that lend themselves to physical wounds that either don't heal or continue to reappear as the body fights to overcome the emotional wound. But what about just plain fear? I've certainly had other moments of fear, some big ones too, and yet the feeling I had that came with that one scream was the feeling of being 9, being helpless, of seeing "the end" unfold.
Today? Today I am going to give my chipmunk to God. And I am also going to give my 9 year old little girl to Him also. If there is healing to be done, it is for Him to do. For, He has not given me a spirit of fear but one of love and power... (a slightly modified 2Tim!)
May you also be healed today.
Dionne
It's New Years Eve and I am just turned 9. I live with my mom. In our house I know that at least one of my brothers lives with us, as well as his girlfriend, and some other guy that eludes my memory just now. Mom and I and Sandy (my brother's girlfriend) are sleeping on the floor of the living room, having decided to just sleep there after seeing the big ball drop in Times Square on TV.
Awoken by a noise, I see a shadow of man at the front window. I am instantly rigidly filled with terror. Shadowman moves to the front door and attempts the doorknob. It is locked and the knob only twists with a small sound. "moooom!" I whisper intently, not taking my eyes of the twisting doorknob. Mom looks up, with that supermom sense that alerts to danger and gazes at the front window as shadowman hunches over slightly and passes by, going around to the side of the house. I can't clearly remember every single thing, only that shadowman tries each and every window in our small house, and God has smiled upon us and allowed that each window was tightly shut and locked. I remember creeping down the hallway, mom in the lead and Sandy at the caboose, because mom thought one of the windows might have been open and she wanted to be on the attack and not the defense. I remember mom telling us to stay put as she tiptoed across the entryway and into the kitchen where she slowly reached up for the wall phone. At that same moment, shadowman appeared at the sliding glass patio doors, right there next to my mom and the phone. For one impossible long moment, mom was frozen in place, hand outstretched for the phone while shadowman attempted to lift the sliders out of the tracks and open them up. My memory ends with me lying cocooned in a blanket, under a coffee table, shaking, and my mom and Sandy lying on either side of me just waiting for shadowman to leave... but I didn't scream.
The next night, mom and I are too scared to sleep in our rooms so we camp out in the living room again. And again, I hear a noise that wakes me. This time I look up to see the sliding glass doors open, curtain billowing in the wind, and shadow man standing in the open space. This time I scream. This time, I scream and I scream and I scream. I am calling out for my brother with every cell in my body, even my toes are actively involved in my screaming. My mom bolts to the door and begins pushing shadowman out and doing her tiny mom best to shut the doors on him. The struggle is frantic and I can only scream scream scream. It ends when mom realizes that this time it isn't really shadowman, but my brother himself having stepped outside for a cigarette. As I am screaming for him to help, he is fighting to get to me, and mom is fighting to keep him out, not realizing who he is. My memory ends with the three of us on the couch, all of us weeping.
And that's the last time I truly screamed. Until Saturday night.
I had been warned that the cat had brought home a houseguest in the form of one small slightly chewed Chipmunk. I was told that the small harmless little guy had managed to get downstairs and was probably finding his little way out via the crawlspace. I believed every word I was told. Right up until I walked into my bedroom Saturday night and heard a very odd "chirrp" sound as well as the immediately identifiable scrabble of teensy claws. Even though I was carrying the baby in my arms, I brazenly walked over to the dresser whereupon my bright idea to kick the dresser was met with a sore toe, and a frantically scrabbling rodent streaking between my feet, under the bed, and towards my closet. I screamed.
My scream wasn't because I was afraid of a chipmunk, I mean, they are too cute to be afraid of, but it was out of sheer surprise and the unexepectedness of a rodent fleeing across my floor. My scream also wasn't one of harmless shock though. The thing that came out of my mouth was reminiscent of that night some 30 years ago when I screamed for help with every fiber of my being. My shadow-man-rodent-scream came from somewhere down in my feet and roared up like a steam engine with a force all of it's own. I scared myself with my own scream. And the baby.
Oh, my friends, it does not end there. After David AND Steph had scoured the bedroom and closet with flashlights, a colander/plate creative trap thing, and intense bravery, after they had assured me that the critter was gone, after they had emptied and refilled the closets and under the bed, I took them at their word. After all, certainly he'd made it up 2 flights of stairs and could very well make it back down so the potential for his reappearance was slim. At least, thats what I told myself. Right up until I was sorting laundry and when I lifted a pile of towels from the bathroom floor that darn flipping chipmunk came flying out of MY HANDS and scurried behind the laundry basket. My word, the scream that came out of my mouth put the first one to shame.
Later on, when all was said and done, Steph even told me that the second scream had made her think I was hurt. That made me wonder if the things that hurt you emotionally can show up physically... I know that there is validity to that statement when you discuss survivors of war, abuse, etc. There are common themes in those two categories particularly that lend themselves to physical wounds that either don't heal or continue to reappear as the body fights to overcome the emotional wound. But what about just plain fear? I've certainly had other moments of fear, some big ones too, and yet the feeling I had that came with that one scream was the feeling of being 9, being helpless, of seeing "the end" unfold.
Today? Today I am going to give my chipmunk to God. And I am also going to give my 9 year old little girl to Him also. If there is healing to be done, it is for Him to do. For, He has not given me a spirit of fear but one of love and power... (a slightly modified 2Tim!)
May you also be healed today.
Dionne
Hilarious Dionne! Hilarious!
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