For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Ephesians 6:12
Since it is autumn and Halloween is in the air, I thought it would be fun to share with you, my very own version of a ghost story. Don’t worry, I don’t think it will give you bad dreams. It doesn’t involve any murder or mayhem. It’s just a fun little story and you can take from it what you will... I think it’s important to remember that there are forces at play around us every day, forces that we can’t see, touch or smell, but are there none-the-less. Fortunately for us, our God is the biggest force in the Universe and he is always on our side, no matter what invisible forces may be at work.
***
When I was in high school I was a tour guide at a local historical museum and point of interest in my town. I would work for several hours every weekend. To be honest, it was a pretty boring job. I was drawn to this job because I was a theater-geek in high school and I was good at memorizing scripts and reciting them. Each weekend I would work with another tour guide, a widowed woman who was about seventy-years-old. She may have been younger, but when you’re seventeen, everyone over twenty seems ancient. The other tour guide, who’s name I’ve forgotten (let’s call her Joan), loved working at the museum, for all the reasons that I loathed it… She enjoyed it because it was boring.
Joan would arrive for her shift, make a cup of Sanka (the aroma of Sanka will forever-more take me back to the museum), and settle into her desk to read a thick, dog-eared romance novel. She didn’t visit with me. She didn’t small-talk. Sanka, seat, book, wait. When (and if) a person or persons arrived to take a tour of the museum, we would look at each other and silently decide who would lead the tour. Usually we would alternate back and forth, but since I was often less interested in doing it (or anything for that matter, keep in mind I was a teenager), she would lead the tour. This would inevitably leave me in the office, alone. Or at least, I thought I was alone.
It wasn’t very long into my stint at the historic site that strange things started to happen; strange sensations that I couldn’t explain: a sudden burst of odor, not unpleasant yet not pleasant would come and then just as quickly dissipate, lights would mysteriously turn themselves off and then back on, creaking floorboards, chilly breezes and door knobs that would refuse to participate... It was one of these door knobs that gave me a particular insight in the possibilities of the oddities of my place of employment.
One day, Joan and I arrived for our early-morning shift at the museum. It was Joan’s responsibility to unlock the front of the museum and disarm the alarm. Then she would unlock the office, gift shop and kitchen, where she would go about making her first cup of Sanka. This one particular morning, Joan had no problem opening the front door and disarming the alarm, but she subsequently could not get the office door to unlock. She tried over and over. The lock wouldn’t budge. She even tried other keys on the ring that we both knew were not the key to the door.
Finally, after many exasperating minutes of this task, she decided that it was necessary to make a phone-call to the Curator of the museum and alert her to the issue. Joan unlocked the kitchen and gift shop with no trouble, then used the phone in the gift shop to call the museum’s Curator.
The Curator arrived about ten minutes later in sweatpants and hair unkempt. It was obvious she had still been sleeping when she received Joan's call. The Curator (again, I have no idea what her name was, so let’s call her Sue), Sue, attempted to unlock the office with her key to the same result. The knob would not budge.. Sue chuckled at this. She smiled at Joan and me and asked Joan for her key, to which Joan obliged. Surprising none of us, Joan’s key did not work.
At this, Sue let out an earnest laugh and without warning spoke very loudly, “Alright, Mrs. Barclay. You’ve had your fun. Please let us open the office so that these ladies can do their job.” Sue inserted her key back into the lock, turned the knob. It clicked and the door swung open. Everything in its place, everything undisturbed, a momentary scent of lavender in the air.
This event took the better part of an hour and fortunately for us, no one showed up for a tour at that time. We went about our work day, Joan with her Sanka, Sue returning, I can only assume, to her bed.
Later, when she wasn’t engrossed in her novel, I asked Joan about Sue’s magic words that unlocked the door.
“What did Sue mean about Mrs. Barclay having fun and unlocking the door?” I asked her.
“Oh,” Joan seemed to chuckle, then continued matter-of-factly. “She was talking to Mrs. Barclay’s ghost. She can be quite the trickster at times.”
I was intrigued and hesitant at the same time.
“Mrs. Barclay’s ghost?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Joan began, “As you know, this historic house was originally the property of Dr. Forbes Barclay and his wife Maria. They were pioneers who came to Oregon in the 1850s and were a prominent family in the area. They had seven children and were involved in the establishment of our town. When they died, the house stayed in the Barclay family. Then in the 1930s it was moved and made the headquarters for this historic site. Since then, there have been many unexplainable events happening in or around these grounds... People have been seen in the building when it is closed and locked tight... The local police have come numerous times to calls of intruders who were never found... Personally, I have heard footsteps and turn to see an empty room. There are sounds of children crying and laughing when no one is around... and then of course, there is Mrs. Barclay’s perfume.”
“Her perfume?” I asked. Not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
“Sure,” Joan replied, “I smell it every once in a while. Mrs. Barclay loved the smell of lavender and always wore lavender perfume.”
*****
I don’t believe in ghosts. I believe that when we die, we go to the next installment of our existence. I don’t think there is anything unfinished or any need we can meet by sticking around as a spirit bound to the Earth... But, I also know that I experienced something, numerous somethings, in my brief career as a tour guide... I don’t believe in ghosts, but when I was seventeen I experienced something that was not of our dimension. How interesting it would be to be able to look at that experience with a different set of eyes and see the spiritual world at work. It would be fascinating to see just who or what was at work keeping the office doorknob locked.
Maybe it was just a faulty knob and coincidental timing.
Or maybe it was a mischievous spirit.
Regardless of what happened that morning, I know that there are workings going on in the heavenly realms. Mysteries are masks that allow us to dissect what we believe. I think God keeps us in the dark sometimes so that we will trust, and have greater faith.
We cannot see the armies that God has amassed for our protection and our deliverance. But they are at work fighting a spiritual war on our behalf. For that, I hope we will all be thankful…
...AND if you ever find yourself at the End of the Oregon Trail and want to take a tour of the Barclay House and John McLoughlin Historic site, I highly recommend it. Just tell them Mrs. Barclay sent you.
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