The medieval looking candelabra was not quite to my taste, but it was funky so we left it where we found it when we moved into this house -- hanging over the fireplace in the family room. We knew nothing of its origin or how it came to be part of the decoration of the previous owner.
A friend who lived in the basement while we did the initial renovating and repainting of the house said that he was sure some kind of spirit was living here. I was skeptical for a number of reasons.
About nine months ago I began having accidental injuries in the kitchen -- all involving deep cuts from sharp blades. I'm kind of klutzy, but this has been extreme. By March I'd sustained five or six serious lacerations.
Sometime last Fall, Tim had the unmistakable physical sensation of something sitting down on the bed beside him.
About a month ago I had a nearly identical experience to Tim's, followed by a skin-crawling chill going through me. I was awake at the time and it could not have been a dream.
Just last Sunday morning a voice as clear as day spoke a very crude question to Tim as he was preparing to get up out of bed. (I won't repeat it here.) Tim was startled, to say the least.
After I got to church, I walked up to a friend and said words I never thought I'd utter -- "some kind of presence is living in our house."
Tonight our pastor and two other friends came over. After prayer together, we began the business of walking through the house and the property, anointing all with oil and praying for God's holy presence to drive out anything that was not of Him. As we started the process in the basement guest room, our pastor noted a distinct feeling of annoyance and anger coming at him from something he couldn't see.
When we entered the family room, I turned on the light switch -- only to have the bulb in the overhead light immediately go out with a loud crack. Turning on other lamps, we began to bless and anoint the family room. The longer we prayed, the more the black, gothic-style candelabra bothered me. It was suspended from chains and looked for all the world like something that would have hung in a dungeon of pain and oppression. Finally I realized it had to leave the house.
Tim didn't hesitate. He took it down and I marched it upstairs and out of the house for good.
The Native American dream-catchers were next. Although we had blessed them to be only decorations, I still felt their presence was a hindrance.
Immediately after that purging, everything felt lighter and cleaner.
We continued on through the rest of the house, singing praises to God when we came to the part of the living room that is home to my musical instruments. By the time we were done, ending up in the very bedroom where the presence had made itself physically real to us, the house was clear.
Our friend, John, did the same process along the perimeter of our four acres and in our RV. He too felt something leave as he walked and blessed the place, anointing the corner posts of the fences and the inside of the RV.
I don't know how to sum this up. I am amazed by what I saw and felt and heard tonight. And grateful -- so very grateful -- that all aspects of our lives are covered by Jesus' sacrificial blood and by God's tremendous grace and mercy.