Sometimes God speaks through the dramatic. In fire, blood, and rolling thunder. Other times he whispers in the wind or wakes a lone boy from his sleep with a soft calling. For me over these last few months, all I’ve heard is deafening silence. We’ve done everything for our children to go back to their old sleeping habits where they loved their room, chattered happily, and dropped off peacefully. Everything. And they still don’t. Some nights are better than others, and we have seen answers to many prayers for them, but in the throes of a volatile night, I don’t hear him, I don’t see him, I don’t understand him. I feel frustrated and alone.

Tears of despair and bitter disappointment rolled down my face two nights ago. I just didn’t get it. Everyone was happy as the girls showered. Ray bounced around her room through the process of brushing her teeth, brushing her hair, and singing our nightly songs. “In Christ Alone” is her current favorite, and instead of simply going through the motions like she does some nights, she engaged in a rendition of the song that I have little doubt was as sweet to the Lord’s ears as it was assaulting to human ears. We prayed together, praising and thanking God for his multiple blessings that day. We prayed for forgiveness for all the moments we sinned against one another. We prayed against the fear, against the devil, and asked for God’s presence to surround the girls giving them his overwhelming and inexplicable peace. Then we turned on “G.T. and the Halo Express” and walked out the door, Willa snug in her spot, Ray lying at the threshold to her room where she could keep a weather eye on all the goings and comings from the bathroom.

I glanced at the clock, proud that we were able to complete the bedtime process by 7:45. The evening was cool, we have a new lamp to enjoy in our living room that gives off a soft and cozy light, and we were looking forward to a night of chocolate soup (or unset no-bakes) as just the two of us. We showered and readied ourselves for a restful evening, but instead of falling asleep, the girls lost it. The anger emanating from both of their rooms was extreme. There was no fear this time, no insecurity. Just pure rage.

For the next two hours we sat on the couch, waves of violent screaming pummeling us over and over. We set a timer for three minutes, and every three minutes I would go to Ray while Brian went to Willa for a time of prayer, encouragement, and explanation. Then we would meet back in the living room and wait for another three minutes. During many of these meetings in the not-so-peaceful living room, we prayed, asking for wisdom. We were sure it was right to encourage them to work out their issues, but I begged God to show himself to us, to show us the right path. And I wept, because all I heard coming back to me was the deafening silence.

Shortly after crying out for God to do something, Willa did drop off to sleep. When I went back into Ray’s room to encourage her, I saw that she had transitioned out of her anger and into insecurity. I pushed her to engage with me on it, and found she was scared we were going to leave her. The night before, Brian had left at 1:30am in order to deal with a security incident on one of our properties. He ended up spending the rest of the night on that property to discourage any continuation of the nefarious activities, as well as to give ease of mind to the residents. So I talked through why Daddy left the previous night and reminded her of our love. Reminded her that even if one of us goes somewhere, the other will be there. She won’t be alone. Then I reminded her of Jesus and his faithful nearness. She settled, but not well. So we changed our tactic and Brian laid down with her until she fell into a fitful sleep.

As we finally turned to bed ourselves, emotionally drained, I felt a stirring in my heart. I checked on Ray and she didn’t look right. She had fallen asleep, but it wasn’t restful or peaceful. I talked to Brian about rearranging ourselves that night; pulling her into our room with me, while Brian camped out on the bed in Willa’s room. He immediately agreed, confirming that though it seemed counterproductive, it felt like the right thing to do. So I scooped her up, with her blanket and her Pooh, and fell into a wonderful sleep cuddled up next to her.

Ever since we returned to PNG and fought the demons of sleeplessness, Brian and I have been desperate to fix Ray’s relationship with her room. Right now it’s broken. She came back and expected her room to be safe and free of fears, but it wasn’t. There were dark men with red eyes coming out of the wall, touching her shoulder. There were snakes. There were monsters. There was evil. Though we feel confident through our prayers and the prayers of others, the evil is gone, the betrayal of that room is still in her heart. We pray night after night that God would fill the room. That he would redeem it for her. It’s a constant source of heartache for all of us. We’ve had small victories in this battle, but ever uphill we climb.

In the wee hours of the morning, with Ray curled up happily next to me on my bed, I jerked awake when a loud crash sounded from Ray’s room. Sometime in the night a silent storm had swirled in and settled briefly over Madang. There was no lightening or thunder, but the wind was powerful. Brian and I both rushed into the hallway to find the source of the crash, and found the curtains in Ray’s room draped over her bed and onto the floor. The strength of the wind had picked the rods right off their base and sent the curtains (and metal rods) directly onto the spot where Ray would have been sleeping. Our battle would have been utterly lost had she been smacked by those curtains.

The Lord spoke to my heart that night about my child, and I heard. He spared Ray (and us) from a very traumatic experience after a very traumatic evening. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be walking this road of difficult sleeping habits, but the sound of crashing curtains will be my personal reminder of when he “showed up” after never leaving. He never left.