Trial by Fire
Shortly after I came to faith in Christ, all hell broke loose.
My husband, Gary, and I dismissed the first noises and bangs. Perhaps our neighbors were fighting again. They did that often enough and we could hear it through our shared wall. Or maybe the cats knocked something over while they were playing. Surely logic could explain things falling and breaking.
I hoped it could. Though I rejoiced in my new relationship with Jesus, I could not explain the feeling of darkness that pressed in on me.
Then one night, Gary and I were in our room praying, both cats nestled at the foot of the bed, when we heard a loud crash.
We headed downstairs and saw a framed picture on the floor in the center of the living room. No way—no natural way—existed for it to have made it to that position.
I began to shake and sob. “Let me go! Let me go!”
Gary wrapped his arms around me. I was so terrified I could barely feel his embrace. The darkness seemed to be everywhere and the night more intense. After he went to bed, I grabbed my Bible like a lifeline and read until morning. In the light, I finally fell asleep.
When I went to work the next evening, I told my boss—who had witnessed to me and prayed for me since I had begun working with him—what had been happening.
“Sounds like spiritual warfare,” John said.
“But why now? Why me?”
“From what I’ve read, things like ghosts and poltergeists are probably demons. Have you had involvement with them in the past?”
“Probably,” I admitted. “But that was years ago. I gave it all up after I got scared at a cult meeting when I was sixteen.”
“Gave all what up?” he persisted as we set the tables for that night’s banquet.
I wiped the next table as I thought of a way to answer him. The past wasn’t simple.
“I was really into astrology for a few years. I used to chart the signs and aspects for people I wanted to be my friends. It helped me get noticed and feel powerful. So I looked further into the occult, read palms and such.”
John must have heard the unfinished sound at the end of my sentence. “And . . . ?”
“And I had a spirit guide that showed me futures.”
The former bike-gang member turned chef nodded knowingly. “That would do it.”
“But I stopped communicating with it when I gave up the occult!”
“Maybe. But without God to fill you, I bet it hung around.” Then he lowered his voice. “Or worse, came back with others like in Luke 11:26.”
That made me curious to see what the Bible said on the matter but also hesitant to read it and find out why I had the chills. Then he cleared his throat and I looked up. The coordinators for the night’s activities had arrived. “You go start the coffee. We’ll talk later. And pray.”
The night, as most times when the club hosted a banquet, passed in a blur of faces and activity. The last of the guests left shortly after 1:00 a.m., and the clock by the front offices chimed 2:00 before we finished cleaning up.
As he did whenever we worked into the wee hours, John pulled the staff over to the table near the coffee machine to pray for our safe journey home. “Lord, watch over these dear ladies as they return to their husbands tonight. May they drive safely and stay alert. We praise you again for Susan’s new faith. And, Jesus, we ask you for wisdom for her and Gary on how to overcome the attacks she is experiencing.”
He went on to pray for the other waitress about some of her personal needs, and for the busboy, who worried about his next science exam. Then he squeezed our hands farewell and escorted us out to our cars.
Snow had dusted the vehicles while we worked, but the roads were dry. I got in the car and turned the engine on, hoping my Renault would warm up faster than usual. Cranking the tunes up to keep me awake, I headed south on Highway 23, back to the base housing and my sleeping husband.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully. My former guide appeared to be sleeping. But the following day came early, since I had to be in class at 9:00. Only copious amounts of coffee and diet cola kept me awake and alert through the seven hours of lectures. Around 4:00 p.m., I returned home in time to take a short nap before heading back to the country club. Gary hadn’t yet returned from golfing with his friend Karl.
I curled up on the couch with our cat Chat-Chat. As I started to nod off, I heard noises from the extra room upstairs—the one whose door was always shut and where we kept the weight set. My heart began to race, and fear threatened to overwhelm me. Carrying the cat so I wouldn’t be alone, I raced upstairs, grabbed my work uniform out of the bedroom, then deposited the cat back downstairs by a fresh bowl of kibble and headed to the car.
When I arrived at work, John was at the back door carrying in the food for that night’s dinner. Surprised to see me an hour early, he guessed what was wrong.
“You can’t continue like this, Susan.”
“I know,” I moaned.
I helped him carry in a couple of boxes before he spoke again. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told Don about what’s been happening with you.”
I shook my head. I didn’t mind. Gary and I had attended Don’s house church a couple of times and liked the matter-of-fact way he approached faith. If I had been thinking logically, I would have asked for his opinion.
“He said you probably have possessions associated with your old days. Things you haven’t purged yet that your unwanted visitor feels tied to.”
“Okay. How do I know what those things are?”
“Think about it. Pray about it. Ask God to show you what reminds you most of your time with the occult.”
Fortunately for me, the country club had only its regular member dinner that night, and I was home by ten. I found Gary and told him what John had said.
“I’d guess your heavy metal and druggie albums might remind you of those days. You don’t listen to most of them anymore. I don’t even know why you have them.”
He had a good point.
“Let’s get them out of the house then!” I said.
We found one of our old moving boxes and loaded my old records into it. Then we set it on the porch and locked the door.
I slept well that night.
The next day was Sunday. We planned to go to Don’s house church that afternoon for worship. We got there a bit early to talk. He asked me question after question about my early teen years and what I did.
“I think Gary was right, that you need to get rid of a lot of your old music. Music has powerful effects on the soul. But you wrote and kept a journal. You said the guide told you to write down certain messages. I think we should go through that.”
I hadn’t unpacked most of my journals and stories since Gary and I had married. When Don arranged for Gary and me, and John and his wife, Laura, to come to his house the following Sunday for lunch and a memory purge, I wasn’t sure what to expect. However, I did agree to bring the boxes.
The six of us enjoyed an excellent lunch. Then we started going through my journals. We hadn’t read much before John opened a page, obviously in my handwriting. It described me walking across a narrow bridge, with demons clawing at my feet and legs. I was trying to get to the beautiful angel with the evil eyes on the other side, but an invisible someone kept pushing me back.
“I don’t remember writing that,” I told them. “How spooky.”
“Definitely,” agreed John. “But also encouraging.”
“How?”
“Who do you think kept you from getting across that bridge? I’d wager God had His hand on you even then. Who do you think helped you see beyond Satan’s beauty to the evil in his eyes?”
With everyone’s help, in less than an hour we had a huge pile of paper—journal pages to burn.
“This should keep us warm for a while.”
Don led us to his large backyard that faced the woods. He dumped the papers into his burn barrel. He handed me a pack of matches.
“Susan, will you do the honors?”
I thought I would feel sad seeing so many years of writing and so much effort go up in smoke, but instead relief filled me. I laughed for the first time since Jesus had called me His own.
I was free.