"Your father and I are going to commit murder tonight."
The words were said post-dinner during clean-up. Our 13 year-old-son stopped in the midst of cleaning the table, brown eyes wide in confusion. Mackenzie, 13 months his junior, halted the chore of sweeping and stared at me, then her daddy, who was still sitting at the dinner table answering an email. Without so much as a cursory glance up from his phone he confirmed with a clipped, "Yep."
Both sets of eyes turned towards me and waited for an explanation.
"The frog. Your father and I are going to kill the frog."
A sigh of relief accompanied by slight eye rolls proceeded their dive back into their post-dinner chores. In other words, this thought scrolled across their minds, Oh, this is just mom and dad being mom and dad. All is right in the force.
But you see, all was not right in the force. We were sleep deprived and very, very tired . . . because of the frog.
Every morning for 2 weeks at the same exact time (3:57a.m.), as if we'd set an alarm, both of us sat straight up in bed with a cross between and ribbit and croak echoing in our ears.
Jeromy: It's in the room.
Amanda: It's not in the room. It's outside my window. Go back to sleep.
Amanda: Not impossible. Go. back. to. sleep.
Neither of us really went back to sleep and this night, we were officially DONE.
Therefore, we'd decided to launch a hunt for the offending creature that very night.
The frog must die.
But it rained, and exhausted, we fell asleep.
But the frog did not.
It was plotting.
In the wee hours of the morning, I'm startled awake by a panicked, "It's on my face! It's on my face!"
Once I got my bearings, I reached over and patted Jeromy's arm in sympathy. We had both been traumatized by the frog and now it had invaded our dreams. Poor man. "Babe, you are dreaming. Go back to sleep."
He replied with an eerily calm, whispered command, "I am not dreaming, Amanda. Don't move."
O . . . K . . .
I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and slowly turned the flashlight toward the other side of the bed. All breath whooshed out of my body as my eyes beheld a pillow case with some type of wriggling, croaking creature confined in its folds. I had no words.
Jeromy looked at me, and motioned toward the front door.
Hearts racing, we tiptoed through the house, so as not to wake the children. I may or may not have had a pillow stuffed in my mouth to stifle a scream. We walk out into the dark of night and Jeromy, with great flourish, shakes out the pillow case. Both of us stared in horror as NOTHING came out.
Dear Lord, it had escaped!
But then, we saw it. I swear it had a sinister look in its beady little eyes as it victoriously hopped away. The vile, slimy creature had sought revenge. He'd heard our declaration earlier in the evening and proceeded to attack.
We walked back to our bedroom, adrenaline pumping. And then the reality set in. A frog had invaded our bedroom and accosted my husband's person!
Anyone who knows my husband can visualize him scrubbing his face with every cleaning chemical short of actual bleach, and brushing his teeth. (Just in case. I can't even go there.)
And I sat there laughing until tears poured down my face.
And then he spit toothpaste out of his mouth attempting to NOT laugh.
You see, we were going through a valley, and the Lord provided a swing that sent us soaring upwards and sideways, making us screech and laugh and giggle at the ridiculous in the midst of the unspeakable broken.
We are back in a valley.
And guess what? I'm not even kidding. After 6 months, the frog is back. And this time, I know it's in our room. Croaking, ribbiting, teasing . . .
We have turned everything upside down, but to no avail.
His presence has been made known, and now we sit . . . waiting. Any theories of murder are not proclaimed in the dining room, but are whispered under the covers.
And now you may highlight us on your prayer list.
Amanda Williams is a forty-year old wife and mother of two who can still swing her pony tail and display just a tad of sass. She is also a Jesus loving girl who realizes she is nothing without the One who saved her. Amanda has two degrees specializing in serving students with special needs and is currently working in the field of Leadership Development. She is a Christian author, speaker, blogger, and publisher who loves serving beside her husband at her local place of worship, First Baptist Church of Ocala.