The Journey No One Chooses
I screamed.
My husband lying in the bed next to me didn’t move.
I screamed louder.
Gary still didn’t move, and neither did our border collie on the floor. The walnut paneling and thick drapes kept our bedroom dark even during daylight hours, so during the middle of the night in the utter blackness I could see nothing. Yet I could not move.
What kept me pinned to the bed?
I wanted to pray, to talk to the Lord, but the words didn’t come. Screams ripped from deep inside. Was I losing my mind? Could it be a spirit of darkness—an evil spirit?
If I questioned my preacher husband, would he laugh at me? He’d found signs of sacrificial idol worship north of town. He’d reported the burned carcass to the police, who said it was just kids delving in childish witchcraft—the badger, candles, and fire pit were harmless, the officers said.
Was it possible some sort of spirit from the site attached itself to Gary? Could he bring such a thing home? The whole scene felt like something from some movie, not like what happened in a parsonage bedroom.
Trembling, I slid my left arm to the edge of the bed, grabbed tight, rolled to the left, and slid from under the weight that held me down. My heart thumped loudly in our silent house while I stumbled to a rocker in our living room. A streetlamp sent slivers of light through the mini-blinds, lighting my way.
“Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” I cried out when I slumped into the chair.
Instantly the sense of doom and darkness fled, but the fear of telling anyone or trying to describe the horrific event lingered.
Night after night the same scene occurred. During the day I could pretend things were normal—although I was tired, life went on as usual. My serene face masked my fears while I worked in the church office, visited nursing homes and shut-ins with Gary, and made the usual hospital visits.
I prayed constantly for God to protect our home and then wrote out Ephesians 6:16 and 18 to carry in my pocket and tape to the bathroom mirror.
In addition to all this, take up your shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. . . . And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.
While Gary studied, I called on women and helped plan a Mother’s Day Tea—I created special bulletins and sent letters to church members. I kept busy, busy, busy, doing anything to keep me from thinking about the nighttime ordeals.
Before bed I read my Bible and studied how evil spirits existed in Jesus’ day. I knew they were real in the present world too. But fear kept me from telling Gary. I kept thinking that if I told him about the continual attacks, he’d think I exaggerated the experience.
My bedtime became later and later. Worn out, I’d fall asleep. Somewhere between that exhausted sleep and morning I would awaken in fear, my body trembling and pinned to the bed once more.
One night while sitting in my rocker, I cried out to Jesus. The evil darkness instantly disappeared. Tears of relief blinded my vision for a moment. Then I saw a boy and a girl, maybe eight and ten years old, dressed in the brightest white garments, walking toward me. They didn’t frighten me, they simply appeared, their hands clasped. Before I could say or do anything, they disappeared.
For a few seconds I sat in peace. The children said nothing, but it seemed they encouraged me to tell Gary what happened.
I hurried to the bedroom.
“Hon, help me,” I shook Gary awake. “A demon is attacking me.” Gary didn’t question anything I said. Although I’d lived through weeks of trauma, I detailed the turmoil in a few minutes.
Gary held me. Comforted me. Listened to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked. When I began to cry he said, “Shh, it’s all right now. It’s all right.”
Then he prayed. I don’t remember everything he said, but he finished by saying, “Lord, we come before you in the name of Jesus. Place a shield around my wife. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
I slept in peace and quiet wrapped in Gary’s arms that night and the following nights.
A week later Gary said, “I totally understand your experience. Whatever this is . . . it’s in our bedroom at night. I’ve battled. I’ve called out to you and the dog and neither of you move.”
We held hands and prayed for God’s protection.
A few weeks later we attended our denomination’s annual meeting for the leaders in our part of the country. When it was time for Gary to give his report, he read off the usual statistics, finished with the necessary information for yearly reporting, and then raised his eyes to the hundreds that filled the sanctuary—pastors, their wives, and many laity. He stood silent a few moments, and then turned to address the leaders of our denomination on the platform.
Gary told of my battle with a spirit of darkness. He explained how he’d prayed with me and it left me alone—but then the spirit had attacked him.
“Depression has been dogging my heels for months now. I’m tired of fighting. I wish I had the courage to take my life,” Gary said.
A pregnant silence filled the air when Gary walked down the aisle to sit by me. I grabbed his hand and watched helplessly while tears ran down his cheeks. I could hear many around us weeping—blowing their noses.
The leader called the next pastor to give his report as if Gary had said nothing unusual.
“Didn’t you hear my husband?” I wanted to scream.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone on the far side of the room walk to the platform. He spoke to another leader. When the current reporting pastor left the microphone, the other leader said, “Gary, will you please come to the altar. Men of God, come. Let’s surround this man in prayer.”
After the meeting finished, three pastors approached us.
“Don’t ignore this spiritual warfare. It’s real.” One of them suggested we read books on spiritual warfare written by Neil Anderson. Another said, “As soon as you return home, find the strongest spiritual people of your church. Have them pray and anoint every window and door in your house and your church with oil.”
We were armed with knowledge and covered in prayer, but how could we talk to our congregation about what had happened? Would they believe us?
The day after we arrived home, Gary called several members of our congregation together. He told them about our experiences and asked for their help.
We bathed our house and church in healing oil and prayer. The spirit fled.
Where did the spirit come from and why did we experience such nights of darkness?
Maybe we’ll never know the full story, but soon after the “healing prayer,” we learned that a high school student committed suicide after being involved with a group of teens delving in witchcraft. His mother formed a group of parents to bring light to the community. We knew from experience that what she talked about was real and harmful, and she and the teens needed our prayers. We met with the mother, told her about our experience, and assured her of our prayer support.
Those involved in the prayer over our home and church had their eyes opened in new understanding of the spirit world. The group continued to meet together to pray for our community and the youth involved in the demonic world.
One huge lesson I learned was that being a pastor’s wife with biblical knowledge didn’t keep me from fear of the darkness or embarrassment over talking to my husband about my experiences. I learned how important it is to share every problem—the enemy wanted me to keep my fears a secret.
The experience taught us about the needs of pastors. Gary’s statement, “Depression has been dogging my heels. . . . I wish I had the courage to take my life,” shocked those at the assembly, but many pastors and wives confessed their own weariness and sought help. Pastors wrote to us to thank Gary for his honesty. Other pastors had their eyes opened to the needs of parsonage families near them. Men of God began to meet together and lift each other in prayer.
We don’t choose the journey, but God is always there and often uses the scariest events to touch our lives. In the process, He uses our experiences to reach others.