A dark, wispy shadow hovers in the room.

It leans down over the edge of the crib, it’s slender arm extending toward a sleeping child.

Before it can reach the toddler’s shoulder, a winged man rises from the boy's side and stabs at the figure, driving it back.

The boy startles awake.

Pushing the shadow back, the angel doubles in size. Then triples. Its head now scrapes the ceiling.

Brilliant rays shoot in every direction, disintegrating the shadowy figure and washing the room in light.

This vision, seen by my friend Anne and now being described to me line-by-line over text, finally explains why my youngest son had been crying for the last 30 minutes despite never having problems sleeping before.

It was a Sunday night.

My wife and I had just gotten back from a long weekend trip with our four kids.

Exhausted, we get the kids put down, unpack, then finally crawl into bed around 11.

Midnight, we wake up to our youngest absolutely losing it.

My wife and I take turns holding him in our bedroom.

His blanket? Not having it.

Pacifier? Nope.

Water bottle? Offensive to him.

He kept going, gasping for breath between sobs. Eyes darting back and forth.

After about 30 minutes of trying everything, I began praying out loud. I commanded fear to leave in Jesus' name and spoke calmly over my son.

It helps a bit.

In the lull, I grabbed my phone and texted my friend Anne:

"Can you pray real quick and see what you hear? Our youngest woke up from a dead sleep terrified and has been screaming and crying for like 30 straight minutes without stopping…”

While waiting for her reply, I called another friend, Huy.

He prays. Feels it’s a nightmare and that we need to keep comforting our son and prepare for a late night.

Then my phone buzzed.

Anne:

"Ok. This might freak you out. It's freaking me out a bit but I got a vision…”

As I sat reading her messages with my son in my arms, I wasn't frightened.

I was encouraged.

Then she sent another message.

"I just heard 'sing.'"

I pulled up some hymns on my phone, and my wife and I started singing together as she held our son.

An hour in our son’s breathing finally starts to calm.

As we finished the third song, we prayed together. My son looks content as my wife lies down with him and I lay down.

He starts crying again.

As a parent, you spend a lot of time trying to protect your kids from things they don't realize are dangerous.

Running with scissors. Hot stoves. Crossing the street without looking.

You do your best to keep them safe.

You can't control everything, though.

A fever spikes overnight.
A bully says something cruel at school.
Your toddler wakes up screaming and nothing you do calms them.

You are their protector. You are supposed to keep them safe.

So you fight harder, trying everything you can think of.

And if nothing works, you start wondering if you've failed them.

As my son began to cry once more, sat up and returned to singing.

Over the next half hour, my son’s breathing became less ragged.

It was steady.

Then finally quiet.

I kept going.

I couldn’t tell you when my wife and son finally fell asleep. 

My eyes were closed as I sat in bed.

It was just me and Him.

Peace.

Eventually, I finished my last song, thanked God, and rolled over to join them.

Paul writes in Romans:

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” -  Romans 8:37

What are all these things?

Paul has just listed trouble, hardship, persecution, danger, even death.

He doesn't promise we'll never face them.

He says we're more than conquerors in the middle of them.

A conqueror fights to secure victory.
Paul says we're more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

That night, we prayed, asked friends for help, and sang over my son.

We weren't passive. My wife and I had a part to play.

But we weren't the ones who saved our son that night.

Jesus took care of that for us.

Until next time,
Addison