I’m in this – house? mansion? tower? I’m not sure – and war rages all around me. It is obvious that wherever I am, it used to be beautiful, grand. The drapes on the windows had to have been a rich shade of scarlet once, with golden trim, which is now filthy and faded. A place once so lovely, probably the home of royalty, turned to dilapidated old ruins.
The war is raging loud, and fiercely. Yelling, shouting, blasts. Angels and demons, I realize later. As I stand in the middle of this giant room, or maybe it’s a hall, I’m terrified. Terrified that a demon could break free from the war at any moment and come after me. They’ve taunted me already. In my fear, it’s almost easy to believe an angel could be defeated, and all it takes is one for it to all be over.
I’m scared for my life.
But in my fear, I remember the only thing that might have any power. The first time I open my mouth, I stumble over the words I need to say. The second attempt is much clearer. With all my lung capacity, “I declare the name of Jesus over this house!”
1:50AM: I am awake. And confused. And completely and utterly afraid to get out of bed, even to go to the bathroom. There’s paranoia that a demon will be physically present, waiting to grab me as soon as I stand. I lay there for a moment, nervous, until I breathe a few words of prayer to my Savior and will myself out of bed.
I went back to bed around 2:10, after reading a little Scripture and praying some more, but…I’m not entirely sure what this was about. My soul? Someone else’s? A metaphor? Something to continue praying about.