Midnight caller.

12:34am….I am sound asleep….phone rings and I shut it off….rings again and I answer.

It is a heavy middle eastern  accent of a man and he’s talking too thick and fast for my mind to come up to understand.

My first thought is the men at the stables are calling to tell me my horse is collicking. But they have Spanish accents.

This man is now yelling at me to answer my repetitive, confused, sleepy,  “what?”

“HANG UP AND OPEN THE DOOR.” He hung up on me.

That got my attention. Was someone outside our house? I could visualize a gun in his voice.  In the dark of my room a fear I haven’t felt before  took over my physical being. I became immobile, cemented to my bed, nausea overtook my middle, and I knew if I stood up I’d faint. My thinking went out of control towards insecurity and fear. I watch too many movies.

Was someone prowling around our home? Had someone been sent for me? My mind started to fly like a run away horse with concerns, fears, and outrageous possible scenarios considering the enemies I collect in Uganda. I scrolled down my recent calls and he’s called me several times before.

The phone rang again, “Hello?” More angry this time and less weak with my attitude though my body had forsaken me, abandoned me to where movement was inconceivable. “What do you want?” I demanded.

“uh, is this summerglen?”

NO!

“uh, open the gate, this is the number they gave me.”

“You have the wrong number.”

I rolled around in bed for an hour sighing, wishing my husband would wake up and give me a counseling session. I needed to use about ten thousand of my words. I wanted to call the police. Our neighborhood has a security gate and he wanted me to let him in. I wanted the police to carry him away with his bad manners. I wanted someone somehow to guarantee my safety.

I felt insecure during that intense period of wondering what to do. What if it wasn’t the wrong number? What would I do? What if Craig had been on a business trip?

I poke my husband, “Craig, did you lock all the doors?” Yes.

Sigh. I tossed. I had to admit to myself that all this mess I get involved with overseas could possibly touch my life here. That scared me. In fact, while working in Uganda I don’t feel scared at all. I feel shielded and protected by God. Here? I feel raw, exposed, and wide open. I am not sure why or what the difference is. It wasn’t making sense, and sleep refused my request.

I’m not sure what is stopping me from waking him up at 6:am from his sleep. I think I might have to call him today and give him my mind for scaring the wits out of me. Mercy.  I am working on mercy. I will divide what I want to say by ten and then set it on ice before I make that call. Hopefully it will slip out of my mind but I doubt it.

ROAR!!!

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