In an old farmhouse hundreds of miles away in a small town in the eastern hills of Kentucky sat what appeared to be a frail, aging woman. She was certainly aging, but her appearance hid the strength that she kept in ready reserve. She was thin with a small frame, but she had been steadily working, keeping up her small farm for almost more years than she could count. A widow for the past seven years, Hannah Moore readily admit- ted her own amazement at being able to take on and accomplish all of the work the small farm required.
It was just after 7:00 p.m. and she was now allowing herself some down time. She sat comfortably in her favorite rocking chair in the bedroom. The old coal stove was ushering its heat, pushing back the wintry cold that invaded other parts of the house. Coal trucks that constantly worked their way up and down the winding road of the hollow “dropped off” free fuel for the residents of this otherwise-forgotten back road. The warmth of the room soaked into her body allowing her to finally relax.
She was grateful for the rest. It had been a frigid day. But, still, the chores had needed to get done. She had awakened early to feed the chickens, hogs, and her two dairy cows, and after making sure that they were as warm as the weathered buildings would allow, she turned her attention to getting back inside and to domestic concerns. Though she certainly didn’t like the cold spell that had hit, it did allow her to focus on things that still needed to be done around the house.
Her old mountain home was still in decent repair after nearly a hundred years. Her husband had been born in this house. So many good memories, she thought as she wrapped up folding her laundry. Their six children had known this side of the mountain as their home, as well. And, those six had given them fifteen grandchildren. It was a shame that John hadn’t gotten to see and know all of them before he passed. A couple of those grandchildren were approaching marrying age. Would she get to be a great-grandmother? God, you are so good!
Leaning over to a corner table, she picked up her Bible and opened it to the Psalms. With so many friends and kin who lived nearby—resulting in somewhat frequent, somewhat unexpected visits—she didn’t always have the luxury of reading the Word in the evenings. But, she never missed a morning. Her quiet time with the Lord was the elixir she needed daily for her loneliness.
Those first few weeks and months without her husband had been the most difficult in her life, having to enter into every new day alone. If the Lord had not been present with her each morning she’d have surely gone mad. The first words from her lips each new day were, and continued to be, Good morning, Jesus. No, it wasn’t an instant fix for the pain, but she was determined to continue her conversations each morning with someone that she loved. There would be no more Good morning, Honey. No more Ready for breakfast? But she could still converse, and she could still drink in love and acceptance. She could still feel comfort.
To wake up with her Lord close by was a bona fide treatment that gave her a measure of what she needed to get through her days alone. Oh, how she still missed her husband.
She turned a few pages, settling on Psalm 100. She began to read aloud to herself. There was always something about hearing the Word of God spoken, even if it was she who was doing the speaking.
“‘Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness; come before His presence with singing.’ You sure are good to me. Thank you for your love and your provision. ‘Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.’ Jesus, thank you that you are great enough and big enough to handle all of our challenges.”
Tears came to her eyes as she surrendered her loneliness to him for the ten-thousandth time. “‘Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise; be thankful unto Him and bless His name.’ You are worthy, Lord. Worthy even when things do not go the way I’d like. ‘For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting; and His truth endureth to all generations.’” She placed her finger between the pages to mark her spot, closed the book, and looked through her ceiling to Heaven. “You have shown me your mercy, O Lord. You have not forsaken me. Never forsaken me. Now, that’s not to say that I always felt that way. No, Sir. Thought you had abandoned me for a time, but I was wrong. You got me through. And, You still do.”
She leaned back her head and just sat silent for a moment, enjoying his Presence. She sighed with contentment. Then it came. A disquiet rose up in her spirit. She sat up.
“What is it, Lord? I feel you quickening my spirit.” She closed her eyes and waited for an answer. It wasn’t what she expected. It was a Scripture reference that came to mind. It was distinct: Psalm 91:14-16. She opened her eyes immediately and flipped open her old King James Bible. The pages hardly stayed in the binding any longer after years of constant use. One of her grandchildren had given her a brand new, modern version of the Bible earlier in the year because of the condition of the one she held. While she appreciated the gesture, her old Bible was a gift from her husband; a gift that wouldn’t be traded in.
She found the reference. And, until she began reading it, she didn’t know what it was going to say. Again she began to read aloud. “‘Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore I will deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.’
“What, Lord? What does this mean? Are you warning me? Is this for me?” She fell into a wary silence. A word formed in her mind … Grandson.
SATURDAY,
JANUARY 10 – 1:07 A.M.
HE LAY AWAKE, exhausted. Brent’s mind was moving a million miles a minute. It was all his fault. He should have known from the very beginning that he didn’t have a “gift.” Ha! What a joke. A dark, ugly joke. And the joke was on him.
How could his life end up in such a mess because of five stupid bottle caps, a penny, and a deck of playing cards? It was planned. It had to be. These things … these dark beings that whispered to him every night had set him up. It was so clear now. It was clear … now. And now was too late.
“Hello, Brent.” 1
Oh God, no. Please, God. Please keep them away.
“Brent, let us in. You wanted power. We can give it,” the almost audible voice claimed.
This is not happening. This isn’t real. You’re creating these voices yourself, and you’ve got to stop it.
“Brent, you know us. We’ve been with you for a while, now. We’ve chosen you to give our power to. You can finally have control of your life.”
Panic began to rise within him. Would he give in this time? Would the arguments that these voices made be more convincing this time? He felt his protective resolve waning.
“Brent, take control. Take charge of your life. You’ve been trying to use your gifts to influence those around you. You’ve seen small results. You need us. You need us in you. Allow us to enter.”
No. I won’t. I won’t do this. He felt a cold sweat seep to the surface of his skin. “Leave me alone,” he demanded in a strained whisper. “I don’t want you in my life anymore.”
“It’s too late for that, Brent. There’s no backing out now. Let us give you what you’ve been seeking. Power.”
“I don’t want it anymore. I don’t need it.”
The gravelly whisper continued in his mind, “Sure you do, Brent. You need what we can give. It’s free. It won’t cost you a thing. You will enjoy the pleasure that we can give you. You will feel the warm, physical ecstasy of letting us enjoy your body. We’ll give you such intense pleasure that you’ll wonder why you waited this long.”
Brent knew what they were claiming. They were promising sexual gratification. He could have the power for which he’d been yearning, if he would allow them to defile him sexually. It was insane! There was a price. It wouldn’t be free. And, Brent was too scared to allow it.
“No! I won’t allow it. Leave me alone!”
“Brent …”
“I said no!” Brent rolled out of bed, tears trailing down his cheeks. Why wasn’t God doing something? Maybe he didn’t exist after all. No, that wasn’t true, and he knew it. The fact that something was haunting him every night proved that there was a spirit realm.
Brent walked to his dresser and stared into the mirror set into the hutch above. He was terrified. He could see it in his own eyes. I want out of this. I need out of this. I can’t take it any longer. Without breaking eye contact with himself, he opened a small drawer built into the right side of the hutch and found his Boy Scout knife. Unfolding it, he lowered his eyes to his left wrist. The scar was still there. How many times had he stood here with the same intention that he had now? Only one time had he set aside the fear of penetrating the skin. He remembered how the blood had pooled on his wrist before spilling over and down onto his dresser. Could he actually do the deed this time?
I hate my life. I hate it! God, please, help me do this. Help me get it done. He placed the tip of the blade onto the scar. The voices returned.
“Brent, maybe you’re right. Maybe this is the best solution. Your fears will be over. You will no longer cause your parents’ marriage to fail. You will finally know peace.”
“Shut up,” Brent demanded through clinched teeth. He began to apply the needed downward pressure.
1:10 A.M.
HANNAH MOORE KNEW that sleep was not an option. Not now. Not while she felt the Lord’s continued call to prayer. Initially she didn’t know which of her six grandsons she was to pray for. But it became clear as she began to intercede. It was Brent. She hadn’t seen him in nearly seven months, not since the annual visit by her daughter, Sharon, and her family. The family came down from Millsville, Ohio, once a year for a two-week visit, something she always looked forward to. She loved all her children and grandchildren deeply.
Remembering their last visit, Hannah recalled the somber mood that Brent seemed to have upon arriving. He was distant and looked … tired. She remembered thinking that he looked like many adults who had been shouldering too many worries. He’s too young to look that way, she had thought then. But, a few days into the family’s visit, Brent looked completely refreshed and happy, without a care in the world. With that her concerns had evaporated.
Now she focused her prayers on the boy. She knew that “old slew foot” was up to no good as far as her grandson was concerned. She was familiar with Satan’s devices. She’d battled him off and on for years. He and his demonic horde were formidable. But, since the Lord was directing the prayer, she knew that God was going to move on Brent’s behalf. All she had to do to keep God’s hands—and his plan—moving forward was to remain diligent in her supplications.2
She had gotten out of her chair nearly an hour ago, falling to her knees beside her bed. She intuitively knew that this situation, whatever it was, was going to require more than casual prayer, and she grew up believing that intercession happened on one’s knees.
The Spirit persisted in his urgings. Therefore she would also persist. Maybe it would be a night without sleep, but little did that matter. She would keep a long-distance, prayerful vigil until the Holy Spirit gave her release.