The Man with the Yellow Sweatshirt

One of our big household crises this fall has involved demons, magic, and evil spirits. Comic books of this nature had crept into the house without our permission and we realized we had to address it.

Now, let me just say, I am well aware that there is a wide variety of views on this topic, even among Christians, and I’m not about to delve into the specifics. But Marnell and I were not comfortable with having some of these items in our house. So we had a conversation which resulted in a big explosion. He would never have anything to do with Christians after this. We were taking away their entire life. He used to like Christians, but now that God was being forced upon him, he would never go to church again after he left out house, and etc.

(Did I say we had one explosion? That was an understatement.)

Well, last Monday night, we had a guest I’ll call Bill.

Bill has a speech impediment and some social handicaps, but he also got a B in high school geometry. I think that deserves some academic acclaim. I wonder if his environment hindered Bill as much as his handicaps, but I don’t know.

“You can stop by whenever,” I had told Bill at church the previous day, “but I don’t let men into the house if Marnell isn’t home. But we are having soup for supper tomorrow night and you can come if you want.”

Bill called me much too early Monday afternoon, and I told him to wait. Finally, since the boys were at home, I acquiesced. Soon, Bill called me again.

“I can’t find your house,” he said. He was coming on foot of course.

“Do you know where you are?” I hollered into the phone. I think I was talking louder because I was having trouble understanding him. Lol.

“On Brady Street,” he said.

One of the boys ran to the front porch and flagged him down from a position too far down the road.

“Nice sweatshirt!” Dracko said.

It was a yellow zombie sweatshirt.

(A Google search defines a zombie as follows: a corpse said to be revived by witchcraft, especially in certain African and Caribbean religions.

“The boys are doing homework,” I said. It felt like a rare and beautiful moment just for that reason. “Dracko is working on math and Nick is doing an art project. Dracko why don’t you show him what you’re doing?” So he and Bill went off to the couch.

Well, Marnell came home and we had taco soup and the blueberry muffins that Dracko made from a mix, and we got onto the topic of zombies again as we ate. I think it was one of the boys asking him if he liked zombies.

“NO!” he said forcefully. “Before I became a Christian, my ex-girlfriend got me into demons. I had a demon inside of me,” he said, with a sense of terror that remained with him still. “It would say things sometimes. And they locked me up two times.”

Well. We can never know who might come to our assistance, can we?

And I was really grateful for Bill’s presence at our table. And for the warm blueberry muffins. And for the boys who bailed me out when the company came.

Happy Thanksgiving!