DEMONS AND ANGELS

Ever been in a room with evil?  Not necessarily incarnate evil or evil that has taken human form, but a spirit of evil that froze your blood and made your skin crawl.  It shows up when you are feeling the most vulnerable, and it leaves you with a terrible feeling of foreboding, and a sense of desperation because there is nothing you can do predict its coming or to keep it at bay.  I had just such an experience night after night for several years during my mid to late teens.

These evil entities would come at night while I was sleeping.  I woke up choking or unable to breath, and I knew I was powerless to stop their torments.  They delighted in terrifying me.  Sometimes I would go for a week without a visit, and I would silently hope it meant they got bored of me.  But these “breaks” never lasted long, and soon they would be at it again.  Because of the sleep I was loosing I began to nap as soon as I got home from school because they never bothered me during the day.  

I never told anyone about these nightly visitations by evil.  How do you talk about such things without people thinking you’re crazy?  My dad knew something was going on with me.  He was the one I woke up at 2 or 3 in the morning.  All I had to say was, “Nightmare.” and he would switch beds with me.  I’d crawl in bed with my mother who never seemed to awaken.  And she never had any questions for me in the morning when she found me there.  So I remained silent about the whole mess.  I was convinced my parents could do absolutely nothing about these night time visitors even if I did find the courage to tell them.  It was my horrifying secret for many years.  God gave me victory over these demons, but first you need some background information.

Since childhood I've always been aware of God’s nearness, and watchful eye over me.  This belief brought me great comfort in my growing up years with a difficult mother.  My first memory, around two years of age, was of mother sitting in a stuffed chair in the living room crying unconsolably.  I wanted to comfort her, but felt helpless to do anything.  I recall being put into a crib to watch and listen to her crying.  Within a few moments I felt a presence comforting me.  That presence, which I would come to know as God, would always be there whenever mother wasn’t available emotionally for me, which was frequently.   

  

But God was always there with me.  What is amazing about this is that my folks never spoke of God when I was young.  My parents did not attend church, or have any religious affiliations at the time.  Yet I knew my Creator not only existed but cared about me.  I knew this from the earliest moments of my life!  I knew God was with me just as I knew the sun came up in the morning.  And what a comfort this was for me!

At nine years of age daddy was transferred to a base in Wichita Falls, Texas.  For the first time, in stead of living on base, our family of five moved into a neighborhood on Huckleberry Lane.  It was a dirt road and gravel road with little houses on either side.  Daddy bought a double lot with a tiny four room house on it, and we lived in a single-wide trailer he moved onto the lot.  Across the street lived a family with a little girl my age.  That first summer she invited me to Vacation Bible School at her church.  I’d never heard of such a thing, nor been inside a church but it sounded like fun.  Mother gave me permission to go with my friend that week.  It changed my life!

I heard about the Bible, and God and His Son, Jesus.  This was no doubt the God who had been my constant companion, and source of comfort up until then!  After a week of VBS I wanted more so I asked mother if I could attend weekly Sunday School classes at this little church.  Mother agreed to take me and my two younger sisters each week to Sunday School, and we stayed for the church service afterwards.  Within a few weeks I knew I wanted to invite Jesus, God’s Son, into my heart.  I went forward during an alter call, and became a follower of Jesus.  Not long after that mother gave her life to Jesus as well, and my sisters followed suit.  Eventually, daddy joined us in attending church when he was home.  

From that point on, whenever we moved we found a church to attend as a family.  In 1963 daddy retired after 20 years in the Air Force.  At the age of 12 our family made one final big move to Portland, Oregon.  We lived in a trailer court for a year before my parents bought their first home in a new suburb of Portland called Gresham.  We found a Baptist church in the neighborhood, and became members right away.

At the age of fourteen I became aware of spiritual beings which were the opposite of God and goodness and love.  These beings came to me at night while I slept.  For the first time in my fourteen years I had a bedroom of my own in this three bedroom ranch-style house.  Over the years my nights grew more and more terrifying.  It began with what seemed to be just nightmares.  On awakening I would slip across the hall to my parent’s bedroom, and stand in the doorway until daddy became aware of me standing there.  Silently we would trade places.  I crawled into bed with mother, and he went across the hallway to sleep in my bed.  Nothing was ever said by my parents about this behavior, even as I got older.  

At sixteen and seventeen this night-time pattern continued, occurring about once every couple of weeks.  What changed was the severity of the night visitations by these evil tormentors.  They began attacking me physically.  I would awaken unable to breath, feeling as if someone was strangling me; literally feeling fingers wrapped around my neck.  Paralyzed, I was unable to fight off the attack.  After a few seconds I would catch my breath, jump off the bed, and run to my parent’s doorway waiting to be noticed.  

I dreaded these nights.  The worst part was being unable to talk about the evil spiritual visitations with anyone.  Who would believe me?  People would say I was crazy.  But just as I knew when I was a child that God was real and loved me, I now also knew these demons were real as well and hated me.  I felt completely defenseless against the random night-time attacks from these tormenting creatures.  

When I entered high school at 14 I began to make poor choices in friends and activities.  By the time I was 16 I didn’t have much of a relationship with the Lord.  School activities included theater club which meant drinking, LSD, and sex.  Although I didn’t directly engage in those activities I did play on the outskirts of it all, and surround myself with those who did.  I got further and further from God.  I seldom read the Bible, and fellowship with other believers wasn’t important anymore.

I began to “play” church on Sundays, but during the week I did exactly what I wanted.  My relationship with God faded.  I gave Him no say in my life.  Decisions were based on my emotional needs and desires, not on what was best for me according to God’s plan.  I was sitting on the fence with God; half on and half off.  This led to doubts about my faith.  For the first time in my life I asked myself, “Did God really exist?”  (It’s interesting the demons stopped visiting me during this time, and I slept in peace.)  

I may have been in peace at night, but I felt completely lost when awake.  Nothing made sense to me.  I didn’t know what I was doing on this planet.  At nineteen years old I fell on my knees by the bed one night and prayed, “God, I don’t know if you are real anymore.  If there is no such thing as God I’m not going to ‘play’ anymore.  So show me if you are real.”  I went to bed that night feeling lost, and sad, and a bit defiant.

At this time I was attending college at Mt. Hood Community in Troutdale, Oregon while living at home.  Each morning I climbed onto a public bus to get to campus.  This morning started out like all the others, but with one big difference.  The passengers in the seats in front, and behind me were talking about Jesus.  I noticed this, but didn’t think much more about it.  In my first class a couple of students seated next to me were discussing Jesus!  In the cafeteria lunch line folks in front of me, and behind me were conversing about Jesus!  The afternoon consisted of more of the same; over-hearing random conversations about Jesus everywhere I went!  It was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to me.  God had my attention.  It was clear God was telling me that not only did He exist, but He heard my prayer, and was answering it in a very obvious way.  God wanted me to know that His Son Jesus was real too, and the only way to relationship with God was through His Son!  The end of that day I fell on my knees again, but this time in absolute belief in God and His Son, Jesus.

God spoke to me, “ Are you going to give your life to me, or are you going to keep going your own way?”  Now I had to make the biggest decision of my life.  

I knew it was time to get off the fence with God.  My Creator cared about me, and knew what was best for me.  John 3:16 was true:  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will have everlasting life.”  I prayed,  “God, I’m yours.  And I believe Jesus is Your Son, and that He took the punishment for all the wrong choices I’ve made.  Take my life.  I want to follow Jesus.”

That’s when God began the work of healing my emotional wounds.  The empty places in my heart, and spirit were filled by God.  His love was palpable.  I was being transformed from the inside out by the Creator of the universe.  The Bible became alive to me again.  I grew into relationship with a loving God through prayer, and Bible study, and Christian fellowship.  I became a different person, a stronger person.  I began treating myself with grace and forgiveness, because that’s how Jesus treated me!  God valued me, and that made me value myself.

But satan wasn’t giving me up without a fight.  One warm spring night as I crawled into bed the temperature in the room instantly dropped to freezing.  A “presence” entered the room; an evil presence.  Overcome with terror I witnessed a palpable darkness fill the already dark room.  This wasn’t a demon; it was satan himself.  He didn’t bother disguising himself as an “angel of light” as he is sometimes referred to in the Bible.  He came wrapped in a darkness fringed with the chill of fear.  I pulled the covers up to my mouth, and froze in panic.  What did he want?  And why didn’t he send his demons this time?  I no sooner asked this question then satan whispered coldly in my ear, “How do you know God is real?”  That’s all he said.  His sole desire was to bring doubt, and insecurity into my new found faith; to come between me and God.  

I was in no hurry to answer.  Too much was at stake in this moment.  Satan was putting my faith to the test.  Slowly, carefully I chose my words, “Satan, I can’t see you, but I can feel...your...presence, and hear...your...voice.  So I know you are real.  In the same way, I can’t see God, but I can feel...His...presence, and hear...His...voice.  So I also know God is real.  If you are this real so is God!  In the name of Jesus, and the blood He shed on the cross, get out of this room!”  The moment I said the name of Jesus the darkness vanished, the cold vanished, and satan vanished .  

I sprang out of bed, switched the light on, and read my Bible for the next hour.  That was the last time satan or any of his demons would directly contact me.  He was defeated because I acknowledged my dependence on Jesus, who conquered satan when he rose from the grave!  With Jesus I can be victorious against anything satan might throw at me.
  

This marked a new stage of spiritual growth in my life; a time of confidence and peace in Christ!  It was early summer, and my church was hosting it’s annual Vacation Bible School for children in the neighborhood.  Vacation Bible School is held for one or two weeks when kids are out of school on summer break.  This particular VBS was each afternoon Monday through Friday.  I volunteered to teach the 5th grade kids.  Since recommitting my life to God I had become a regular volunteer in various church activities.  I was nineteen years old on this day in June.  

My small class room was located in the center of the church building so it had no  windows.  The room was just large enough to hold a small craft cupboard, and a long table which seated ten comfortably.  Hanging on the walls were a blackboard and a large bulletin board which I’d decorated with the theme of the V.B.S.  Fresh flowers were cut, and placed in the center of the table.  I was ready for the kids, with about an hour to go before they arrived so there was time for some conversation with God about the week to come.

I slid down the wall at the end of the room with the door closed, facing the narrow side of the room.  Sitting cross- legged on the carpeted floor, with my back supported by the wall, I began to talk with God about the week ahead.  No fancy memorized prayers, just sharing my hopes and wishes for the group of kids I’d spend the week with here.  I prayed with my eyes open.  

After just a few moments of prayer suddenly the room began to change as a light entered from the upper left corner of the room.  A “light” barely describes what entered from the ceiling, for this was like no light I’ve ever encountered.  It was a vibrant, living, energy that began to fill the small room.  It was hard to believe that as bright as this light was it didn’t burn my eyes, or make me squint as I looked directly into it in disbelief.  I sat as still as I could I could, trying not to move or even blink because I didn’t want to interrupt what was happening.

As this incredible energy filled the room every shadow vanished.  There was no darkness in the room; not under the chairs or table or anywhere.  This light embodied pure love, and peace, and joy.  As I sat there surrounded by this stunning and all encompassing light I was filled with perfect contentment and joy as if I’d entered what had to be the gateway to heaven.  But this light was much more then a place; it was a powerful, living entity.  God was revealing Himself to me.  Only it was just the hem of His garment for I could not have withstood the intensity of the vision of God Himself.

At this moment there was nothing else in the world that mattered.  I floated in the energy of God’s pure love.  Warm and safe in this heavenly glow.  Nothing but praise and hallelujahs on my lips.  Never wanting to leave God’s presence.  In awe of this moment beyond human comprehension or understanding.  

I don’t know how long I sat there in pure bliss in the presence of my Creator, but eventually the magnificent light began to recede back out through the ceiling.  I sat there for a long time after the light left praising God, and thanking Him over and over for allowing me to sit in His presence, even if just for a moment.  

I’ve never forgotten a single detail of this heavenly vision.  And during times of stress or adversity I’ve often thought back upon this experience to reassure myself of God’s eternal and unconditional love.  Since this profound spiritual encounter I’ve never felt alone or abandoned by God.  And satan and his demons have no hold on me.  I have no fear of death because leaving this earth means entering heaven, and the presence of the living God for all eternity!

It is no coincidence that this spiritual encounter occurred as I was preparing to teach Vacation Bible School at my church!  I was formally introduced to God at VBS in Texas, and I had this incredible personal encounter with God at VBS in Oregon!    Shortly after a terrifying “face to face” encounter with satan God did something above and beyond anything I could have ever imagined.  God gave me this vision to counter the experiences satan and his demons had tormented me with since the age of fourteen.

Years later God revealed to me the "door" through which demons were able to enter my childhood home.  My dad had a sexual attraction to children, and I was one of his victims.  He never got help for pedophilia and that was how demons entered our lives.  In later years the Lord healed me emotionally in a mighty way from this deep wound inflicted by my father!

Are you plagued with fear?  Are you hunted by demons and spiritual darkness?  Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly!”  John 10:10 

Jesus also said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.”  John 14:6 

One of my favorite Psalms says, “The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble.  Those who know Your name will trust in you.  For you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.”  Psalm 9:9-10

Mother took this photo of daddy and us girls leaving for church in 1962 in Abilene, Texas.  I am at the far left in this photo.

THE FASCINATING SUBJECT OF NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES

When a person has a near-death experience it changes you.  My near-death experience (NDE) on October 23, 2008 had a powerful impact on me.  One of the really dramatic changes it created in my life was reading habits.  Before my NDE I rarely read books.  In college I read 100 children’s books for a Children’s Lit class, but I don’t count those.  When I did read it would be a Christian biography.  One of the first books I remember reading was The Diary Of Ann Frank.  But reading was not an important part of my life.  All that changed when I was discharged from the hospital October 30, 2008.

I discovered our church had a library and I brought many books home, usually biographies.  I also read the Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye; all twelve books!  Then I found a used book web site, and started buying used books to save money.  My interest focused on near-death experiences of others.  I did not discriminate about who’s NDE’s I read; atheists, new agers, practitioners of mystic religions, etc.  None of this mattered.  I took them all in, and eventually ended up with sixty plus books on this fascinating subject.

One winter day I invited a new friend from church over to my home.  Her name was Nanda, and she grew up in Brazil.  Both of our husbands are geologists so I wanted to find out what we gals had in common.  She brought a lovely Christmas cactus as a gift, and I still have it.  I thought we had a nice visit, but she never came to my home again.  

Two years passed.  In April of 2013 the women of our church put on a Christian retreat at a lovely spot called Hot Lake Springs Resort just minutes from our community.  It was a wonderful Friday and Saturday of fellowship with fellow believers.  I was excited about this retreat because I knew God had a special message for me.  What the message was or who it would come from I had no idea.  Saturday afternoon we were enjoying our last hour on the property when the Lord told me to sit down on a pew in a quiet hallway.  As I sat there God led Nanda my direction, and she immediately sat next to me.

“I have something to tell you.  God finally gave me permission to tell you.” Nanda said.

I sensed the seriousness of what she was about to say, and suddenly realized this was the message from God I was waiting for.  “I’m ready for whatever you have to say.”  I gave her a big smile to help her relax.

Nanda spoke slowly and with intensity as she described the afternoon two years before when she came to my home.  As we sat visiting in my garden room she described a terrible feeling which overcame her.  She felt a terrible darkness enter the room, as if one of her children had died.  It was that awful, and dark, and overpowering.  She did not feel she could tell me this because we barely knew each other.  So Nanda visited a little longer then left as quickly as she politely could.

Back at her home everything was fine.  Her children were fine.  And the really dark feeling was gone.  Nanda sensed there was something in my home which shouldn’t be there, but she did not receive permission from God to talk to me about this until now.

Stunned, I listened carefully to my friend’s version of what I thought had been a pleasant visit that afternoon.  It certainly explained why she never returned.  What was in my home that could make such a dark imprint?  My husband and I don’t drink or do drugs.  We don’t tolerate pornography, or even violent movies.  I follow the Bible mandate to have nothing to do with sorcery, or witchcraft, or the “dark arts”.  

Then I thought about my book collection of Near Death Experiences.  How many of these were books God wouldn’t approve of?  How many were actually books describing counterfeit experiences with eternity that Satan had created to deceive people?  I knew these thoughts were placed there by God.  I spoke my questions out loud to Nanda.  She thoughtfully responded that she didn’t know what was in my house that I needed to get rid of, but that God would reveal it to me.  Then we prayed together.  I thanked her for being honest with me.

I had many excuses for keeping ALL these books, and I started to argue with God about what He was asking me to do.  I’ve spent a lot of time, and effort, and money putting together this incredible collection of over sixty books.  Some of the books I knew God was asking me to destroy were in excellent condition, and signed by the author!  Some of the books were no longer in print, and I spent much time hunting for them.  Some of the books were just plain physically beautiful with lovely dust jackets over hard covers, and the thought of destroying them just went against the grain.

But God reminded me that satan comes as an angel of light, a beautiful creature that attracts our eye.  Doesn’t it make sense that satan’s books would look the same way?  But inside those books are lies and deception which I don’t want to expose myself or anyone else to.  The books God guided me to destroy included near-death-experiences where the person returned convinced that no one need to fear death because everyone goes to heaven.  Anyone who has read the Bible knows this is not true.  Other fallacies are that if each of us just does the best we can, and lives a good life then we’ll go to heaven.  Jesus clearly taught that it is because of His sacrifice on the cross that we can become the children of God, and go to heaven to live with God.  We cannot earn our way to heaven.  Some authors have returned saying there is no God because God is within us, therefor all we have to do to experience “heaven” is to do whatever seems right to us while on earth.  Any one who has really considered the beauty and complexity of a clear night sky knows that only God could have created this vast and amazing universe we live in.  God is our creator and He has provided a way for us to have a relationship with Him; through Jesus Christ His only Son!   

I left the women’s retreat ready to clean house!  I knew without a doubt this was God’s special message for me, and He’d waited two years, and the last hour of retreat to tell me.  God knew I was not ready before now to be obedient to complete this challenging task.  The next seven days was spent going through every book I’d piled onto the dining room table about NDE’s.  There were over sixty books.  I knew within minutes which ones God didn’t want me to keep, but I decided to take notes on the reasons I was either keeping or destroying each book.  By the end of the week I was exhausted.  I’d been in the midst of spiritual warfare, and my energy was zapped.  But I was elated that I’d chosen to be obedient to what God asked me to do.  In total I destroyed thirty books.  And the remaining thirty books in my library are all excellent accounts accurately detailing a Near Death Experience with a Biblical perspective.

Some of you may be curious about the subject of NDE’s, and would like to read more on this subject.  I’m listing a few books here that I highly recommend!

“In Heaven!  Experiencing the Throne of God”  by Dean Braxton

“The Boy Who Came Back From Heaven”  by Kevin & Alex Malarkey

“My Glimpse of Eternity”  by Betty Malz

“To Heaven and Back; a Doctor’s Extraordinary Account”  by Mary C. Neal, M.D.

“90 Minutes In Heaven; a True Story”  by Don Piper

“To Hell and Back”  by Maurice S. Rawlings, M.D.

“Ordered To Return; My Life After Dying”  by George G. Ritchie, M.D.

“My Descent Into Death; a Second Chance at Life”  by Howard Storm

“23 Minutes in Hell”  by Bill Wiese

MOTHER, WHERE ART THOU?

My previous blog (LOVE SHOULDN'T HURT) described the emotionally abuse, and unhealthy relationship I experienced with my first boyfriend in high school.  Some readers are probably asking why I put up with that kind of treatment?  Why didn’t I stand up for myself, and take care of myself?  Good question!  I’ve asked myself the same thing many times as I’ve analyzed that relationship, and the many other dysfunctional relationships I’ve endured throughout my life.

The answer became clear for me as I took a long, honest look into my childhood.  There was one message sent to me over and over by my loving but emotionally damaged parents; you are not worthy or capable.  Those words seem harsh as I write them, but that doesn’t invalidate them.  I’m writing about my relationship with mother first.

I was the first born of three daughters.  Dad was a staff sergeant in the Air Force, and mother a stay-at-home housewife.  In the early years, during the 50’s, we lived on military bases in Colorado, Nevada, Washington and Alaska.    

I remember sitting on the floor in the kitchen playing with a muffin tin and buttons, and feeling lonely.  Mother was always busy; too busy to ever play with me.  What she was doing seemed to be the most important work in the world.  My questions and requests for her attention were not important.  I was not to bother her.

Mother sewed all the “special occasion” clothes my sisters and I wore.  It was my sixth birthday, and mother made a beautiful lacy dress just for the party.  “Could I go next door, and show my friend my new dress?” I asked.  I remember her response clearly, “Yes, but don’t get it dirty.”  I proceeded to run next door, fall, and tear the dress at the knee.  I slowly walked home, dreading my mother’s anger.  She was furious.  She accused me of ruining it on purpose.  She spent her rage in angry words then sent me to my room until the birthday party.  I don’t remember the cake, or the presents, or the friends who came.  I only remember mother’s disappoint with me.

A nightmare woke me up, and I couldn’t be quieted so father put me into bed with mother, and he slept in my bed.  She didn’t wake up completely, so what she did next baffled me.  She sat up, pulled me over her lap, and began to spank me.  She mumbled something about me being disobedient and not listening, but what she said didn’t make a lot sense.  She seemed frustrated and unhappy.  Then she rolled over, and went back to sleep.  I was afraid to fall back to sleep.  It wasn’t safe to sleep with mother.  

At the age of eight in 1960 the family was transferred to Wichita Falls, Texas.  Dad bought a trailer for us to live in because he wanted to provide our family more of a home then the base offered.  He also purchased a tiny four room house with a small lot to put our trailer behind.  Mother started a dress sewing business which she set up in the house.  I remember my sisters and I sitting on the wooden floor at the foot of her sewing table playing with our Barbie dolls.  She was paid $10 per dress by a local store.  Besides dresses mother discovered the joys of competing in county fairs.  She won blue, red and white ribbons for her stuffed toys, place matts, and baby things made from floor sacks.

Mother was creative, energetic, and hard working.  She never sat still.  She fed us, made our clothes, bathed us, and made sure we got to school.  But she did not show physical affection.  She did not comfort or interact with us.  In short, she did not know how to have a relationship with us.  The only time I did not feel lonely was when father was home.  He was all the things mother wasn’t, and I worshiped him!  When daddy was home he listened to my stories, played with me, and made me laugh.  My dad could do no wrong.

The problem came when dad, still in the Air Force, was required to do temporary tours of duty to foreign bases three months at a time.  I dreaded those months of a missing dad.  Life would loose all it’s color when I couldn’t share it with him.  What I didn’t miss when he was away on TDY’s were the terrible fights my parents got into when they were together.  Mother would become jealous of the time and affection her husband showered on us girls.  One evening I went to give my dad the usual goodnight kiss before heading for bed.  Mother interrupted, “That’s enough.  You are too old to be kissing your dad.  Don’t do it again.”  I was ten years old, and couldn’t understand why I couldn’t kiss daddy.  Mother had a way of making me feel dirty, and unworthy.

I was always looking for ways to help mother.  One of her jobs was to iron all dad’s military shirts.  I watched her carefully, and one day while she was gone I decided I would iron my dad’s shirts for her.  When she saw me standing at the ironing board with a shirt she exploded.  “These are my husband’s shirts, and you are not to touch them.  This is my job!  You have no idea how to iron.”  I felt shamed.  I had done something wrong, and I didn’t know what.  I really just wanted to help.  Mother never did teach me how to iron.  

That same scenario would be repeated in the kitchen when I was fourteen.  I wanted to surprise mother, and bake her a cake.  The whole thing backfired when she blew up.  “This is my kitchen.  And look at the mess you made.  Stay out of my kitchen!”  That was the first, and last time I attempted to prepare food in my “mother’s” kitchen.

In 1963, after twenty years in the service, daddy retired.  He felt mother might be happier if she could live close to her only sibling, a sister who lived in Portland, Oregon.  After two years of renting a trailer my folks found a rundown house in a suburb called Gresham, and just a block from her sister.  Maybe mother would finally be happy if we lived in a real house.  

Saturday was cleaning day for everyone.  Mother would assign us three girls jobs which had to be completed to her satisfaction before we could play.  The problem was she was seldom happy with the quality of our work.  I would repeat the chore two or three times before it met with her satisfaction.  The most irritating habit mother had was the way she would go on and on about this being “her house”, and that it was a privilege for us to live there.  And that privilege could be taken away at any time.  Of course I knew daddy wouldn’t let her kick me out, but she could make it very unpleasant for me.

As I headed into my teen years the relationship between mother and I grew increasingly adversarial.  I couldn’t do anything right.  She was always suspicious of my motives.  She especially resented the close relationship I had with father.  Mother mostly yelled and went into verbal tirades with me, but she also began to slap my head after getting me into a corner.  One afternoon after school she became enraged with me about something.  I have no memory of what she was so upset about.  She backed me up against the old upright piano dad bought for me.  I could see her rage building.  When she raised her hand to strike my face I surprised myself when my hand shot up, and I caught her wrist as her open hand flew toward me.  I held her wrist firmly, and shouted, “Don’t you ever hit me again.  Ever!” 

Dad tried to get mother to spend time with us girls doing something fun.  He told mother we were only going to be at home a few more years.  He suggested she take us shopping one Saturday afternoon a month, and maybe out to McDonald’s afterwards.  Mother did this once, but never did it again.  She just wasn’t comfortable around us.  She didn’t know how to talk to us, or even enjoy our company.  

The most puzzling thing mother ever did was when I was in eighth grade.  I was called to the office shortly after the school day started, and mother was waiting in the office.  “I’m taking you home.  Your father was in a car accident this morning, and broke his collar bone.  You need to take care of him.”  I was so confused.  Mother hated the amount of time I spent with dad yet now she wanted me to be his caretaker while he recovered.  My parent’s marriage relationship was difficult, and they were always fighting.  Mother knew dad wouldn’t tolerate being taken care of by her, but he would let his daughter help him.  So what could she do but push me into this role?

Things between mother and I continued to deteriorate.  Eventually I learned the only way to get along was to avoid her completely.  How sad that her only way to show the love she felt for us was to buy us things.  Eventually mother became the manager of one then two stores.  She worked long hours so she could buy furnishings for her home, and clothes for us girls.  But I would have given all that up in a second to have a mother I could have a relationship with.

Mother never stopped seeing me as competition for her husband’s affection.  As a newlywed I’ll never forget the phone conversation when mother accused, “If I get a divorce it will be all your fault!”  Another time mother calmly related to me the first time dad stood over my crib watching me sleep.  She looked at the love in his eyes, and knew in that moment this baby had captured her husband’s heart.  He would never look at her like that again.  “I lost my husband in that moment, and I knew it.”                                  

My parents were both products of the Great Depression, and World War II.  They experienced the kind of poverty we know today usually happens only in third world countries.  One pair of shoes a year maybe, hand-me-down clothes, walking wherever they went, being thankful for one meal a day and really grateful if they got two meals.  At three or four years of age mother and her older sister were placed in an orphanage because their parents had no money to provide even the basics for them.  They often went hungry in the orphanage which was also experiencing severe shortages.  Mother remembers eating the crab apples from a tree within arms reach of a second story window, and becoming very sick.  A year later they were retrieved by their parents.

When mother turned eleven she came home from school one day to find her mother hanging by a rope between the living room and dining room.  Still alive she was taken to the hospital by ambulance.  After this attempted suicide surgery was performed, and advanced cancer discovered.  A doctor had been giving her sugar pills for the severe abdominal pain which he assumed was “in her head”.   A few weeks later the sisters lost their mother to this cancer.  My mother spent more time without maternal guidance then with it.  Their dad did not feel able to raise two daughters so they were sent to live with other relatives.  Eventually they ended up with their paternal grandparents.  But most of the time they took care of themselves.  At seventeen mother moved out, and got a job to support herself.  

Once I understood the physically and emotionally impoverished childhood experienced by my mother it became easier for me to forgive her.  Hurting people hurt others.  It’s that simple.  They don’t know any better.  Mother did the best she knew how.  As I processed these truths, and learned to forgive I was finally able to begin establishing a relationship with mother.  I don’t mean to make this sound easy because it wasn’t.  But with God’s help and forgiveness anything is possible!

                                                           A photograph from childhood in Alaska in 1957.

LOVE SHOULDN'T HURT

Who doesn’t remember their first crush?  Perhaps it was reciprocated, and perhaps it wasn’t, but the feeling of love for that person remained.  It’s a longing that is more powerful then common sense, and is often valued over logic.

I was a sophomore at Centennial High School in Gresham, Oregon when I fell in love for the first time.  The year was 1967; the Vietnam War was in full swing.  The musical “Hair” was playing off Broadway.  The Summer of Love was held in San Francisco.  Scott was a member of the freshman class, but the year’s difference didn’t bother me.  His deep brown eyes, raven black hair, and olive skin attracted me instantly.  I guessed correctly that he was of greek heritage.  Oh, how handsome he was!  

I was stunned the first time he called me at home.  Me!  I thought of myself as plain, shy, and very naive.  As we talked we discovered things in common like an interest in speech team.  In fact, that’s how we first met.  It was at a speech team meeting to prepare for the next competition at a local college campus.  He seemed confident and articulate.  Debate was his favorite speech event, and he excelled at it.  In other words, he was a real “talker”.  He described the girls who were throwing themselves at him, and I had no doubt he spoke the truth.  Being from a conservative home with a grandfather who was a minister he admitted to me his struggles to maintain his moral standards with these kind of temptations.  Their aggressiveness actually turned him off, but of course he would never admit this to his buddies at school.  How flattering that Scott felt he could be so honest with me.    

A few more phone conversations transpired before he invited me to the house he and his brother, Mark, shared.  His living arrangements were unusual.  Scott’s parents purchased a lot in Portland with two homes on it.  His folks and little sister lived in the main house, and he and his brother lived in the small four room house next door!  His parents felt the boys would grow up faster, and learn to be independent sooner if they lived separately.  I came from a home with a father who controlled my every move, and did not encourage any autonomy.  Scott’s living arrangements were as polar opposite from mine as possible.

One drizzly night Scott walked me half way home under his umbrella.  Our homes were about two miles apart.  We stopped on a corner, and he softly kissed me on the lips.  My first kiss!  Under an umbrella!  In the rain!  How romantic!  I fairly skipped the rest of the way home.

Our first speech tournament Scott sat next to me on the bus for the hour ride.  He slid his arm around my shoulder as we talked.  I thought I would melt as he whispered in my ear, and occasionally stole a kiss.  The most handsome guy on our speech team paying attention to little old me never ceased to amaze me.  Scott’s attention built my self image, and made me feel worthy.  But I still had a difficult time believing this was happening to me.

My best friend, Kit, on the other hand was popular with the boys.  She was petite, cute, and always wore the most in-style store-bought clothes.  My mother sewed most of my outfits.  Kit’s mother paid for her hair to be cut and styled at a salon, while my hair was long and straight and kept very basic.  We couldn’t have looked more different.  No wonder she was always the center of attention.   Scott often asked about Kit, and what she was up to.

Scott and I didn’t cross paths in school much because of our being a year apart.  And he never took me on dates as such because he didn’t have a job.  Most of the time he invited me to his bachelor pad where we “made out”.  We talked less and less, and kissed and petted more and more.  I didn’t particularly get anything out of the make-out sessions, but that’s what he wanted to do so I went along.  My feelings of physical and emotional attraction to Scott grew.

At home I listened to the music he liked, read the books he enjoyed, and waited by the phone for his next call.  I was at his beck and call, and would drop everything to go to him when he called.  Our relationship gave my life meaning, and I couldn’t imagine my days without him.  My parents had only a vague awareness of this relationship, and wouldn’t have been happy about it if they knew the details.  For one thing, Scott's parents lived in a higher economic class which made my dad suspicious of them.  Also my parents were in their 40's and Scott's were at least ten years younger, and a lot more "hip".  

My best friend, Kit, and I joined the Drama club our freshman year.  Scott followed suit when he entered Centennial High School as a freshman.  We attended all the theater department parties.  By the end of Scott’s first year of high school those parties turned into such wild gatherings that we were banned from having them at school.  So the parties were taken off campus, and held in students’ homes.  They were completely unsupervised activities.  By “wild” I mean smoking, alcohol and drugs were present.  This was the 60’s, and the rules were challenged by many.  I didn’t drink or do drugs because these substances took away the ability to be in control of your behavior.  Watching friends throw up, or endanger themselves physically, or become suicidal concerned me.  I saw myself as the sober person who could drive drunk people home, or talk kids down from doing something crazy after taking LSD.  I also continued to attend the parties because I wanted to be part of the crowd; one of the group.  And I enjoyed dancing with Scott.  We had Rolling Stones, Beattles, Jimi Hendrix, and the Doors to dance all night to!  

During the second year of going to drama parties together Scott wanted to make-out in front of everyone.  It seemed like he was trying to prove his manhood.  I always felt conflicted about this behavior.  It made me feel dirty, and like an object.  But if that’s what Scott wanted then that is what we did.  I never argued with him, or expressed my vague feelings of being “used”.  My feelings didn't matter.  My job was to serve the man.

As difficult as it is to understand, I trusted Scott.  He loved me.  Even though he never took me out on dates I knew it was because he had no money.  Gifts were rare but on one of my birthday's he gave me the brand new Crosby, Stills and Nash" album!  By now I was walking to his home and back by myself.  I also assumed we were seeing each other exclusively even though Scott was a bit of a flirt.  Our relationship went on like this through my Junior year.  I was grateful for any attention he paid me because I knew many girls who would kill to be in my place.  He took me to my Junior Prom, and it was a heavenly evening!  He borrowed his dad’s Mustang convertible for the event!  What a lucky girl I was. 

My senior year things between Scott and I went pretty much the same; the walks to and from his house, the make-out sessions, the parties.  However I noticed I was being treated differently by classmates.  I sensed people were talking about me behind my back.  My speech teacher even asked me one day what I was doing with Scott.  What was he talking about?  I loved him!   We’d been romantically involved for two years!  Why shouldn’t I be with him?  I was a very confused girl, but I was about to become a drowning girl.

One spring afternoon after school I overheard a girl bragging to her friends about going out with Scott.  She described their date, and him getting to second base.  Somehow I knew it was true.  Although painful, it was not nearly so painful as when I discovered the following week he planned to take my best friend, Kit, to our senior prom.  My emotional pain went to a whole different level when I heard this from a mutual friend.  How could my best friend do this to me?  It was easier to be mad at her then at Scott.  I’ve blocked out how I found out the next piece of information, but it brought me to my knees.  Two years before Scott had developed a crush on my best friend Kit which was not reciprocated.  In order to be closer to her he began a relationship with me.  His plan was to hang out with me until he showed up on Kit’s radar.

I broke into a thousand pieces emotionally.  But I hadn’t heard the worst yet.  The year after I graduated I learned Scott had been telling everyone and anyone who would listen about his made-up sexual exploits with me; taking my virginity, sharing me with a friend, and many other unimaginable things.  People were indeed talking about me behind my back during my senior year.  And now I understood the meaning behind my speech teacher’s question, “Why are you with Scott?”  Scott used me to gain a reputation as being a sexually adventurous guy who had been around the block many times.  He used me to convince his friends he was a stud, and I had unknowingly let him.  With all the making-out we did in public it’s no wonder observers believed we must be doing a lot more in private.  I played along with Scott’s game without realizing it.  He manipulated me, and used my adoration for his benefit.  

I’d been looking to a person to meet my needs, and it proved to be a big mistake.  I compromised my standards, and my self-respect for a counterfeit intimate experience because I was needy.  My parents constantly crossed personal boundaries, and taught me not to respect my boundaries so when a boyfriend used me it seemed normal.  My feet were knocked out from under me, and I found myself on my knees.  Literally.   

During high school I “played” church on Sundays, but during the week I did exactly what I wanted.  I had no real relationship with God, and gave Him no say in my life.  My decisions were based on my emotional needs and desires, not on what was best for me according to God’s plan.  I was sitting on the fence with God; half on and half off.  This led to doubts about my faith.  Did God really exist?  At nineteen years old I fell on my knees by my bed and prayed, “God, I don’t know if you are real anymore.  If there is no such thing as God I’m not going to “play” anymore.  So show me if you are real.”  I went to bed that night feeling lost, and sad, and a bit defiant.

At this time I was attending college at Mt. Hood Community in Troutdale, Oregon while living at home.  Each morning I climbed onto a public bus to get to campus.  This morning started out like all the others, but with one big difference.  The passengers in the seats in front, and behind me were talking about Jesus.  I noticed this, but didn’t think much more about it.  In my first class a couple of students seated next to me were discussing Jesus!  In the cafeteria lunch line folks in front of me, and behind me were conversing about Jesus!  The afternoon consisted of more of the same; over-hearing random conversations about Jesus everywhere I went!  It was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to me.  After a whole week of this  God had my attention.  It was clear God was telling me that not only did He exist, but He heard my prayer, and was answering it in a very obvious way.  God wanted me to know that His Son Jesus was real too, and the only way to relationship with God was through His Son!  The end of that day I fell on my knees again, but this time in absolute belief in God and His Son, Jesus.

God spoke to me, “ Are you going to give your life to me, or are you going to keep going your own way?”  Now I had to make the biggest decision of my life.  

I knew it was time to get off the fence with God.  My Creator cared about me, and knew what was best for me.  John 3:16 was true:  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will have everlasting life.”  I prayed,  “God, I’m yours.  And I believe Jesus is Your Son, and that He took the punishment for all the wrong choices I’ve made.  Take my life.”

That’s when God began the work of healing my emotional wounds.  The empty places in my heart, and spirit were filled by God.  His love was palpable.  I was being transformed from the inside out by the Creator of the universe.  The Bible became alive to me for the first time.  I grew into relationship with a loving God through prayer, and Bible study, and Christian fellowship.  I became a different person, a stronger person.  I began treating myself with grace and forgiveness, because that’s how Jesus treated me!  God valued me, and that made me value myself.

But satan wasn’t giving me up without a fight.  One warm spring night as I crawled into bed the temperature in the room instantly dropped to freezing.  A “presence” entered the room; an evil presence.  Overcome with terror I witnessed a palpable darkness fill the room; it was satan himself.  He didn’t bother disguising himself as an “angel of light” as he is sometimes referred to in the Bible.  He came wrapped in a darkness fringed with the chill of fear.  I pulled the covers up to my mouth, and froze in panic.  What did he want?  I no sooner asked this question then satan whispered coldly in my ear, “How do you know God is real?”  That’s all he said.  His sole desire was to bring doubt, and insecurity into my new found faith; to come between me and God.  

I was in no hurry to answer.  Too much was at stake in this moment.  Satan was putting

my faith to the test.  Slowly, carefully I chose my words, “Satan, I can’t see you but I can feel...your...presence, and hear...your...voice.  So I know you are real.  In the same way, I can’t see God, but I can feel...His...presence, and hear...His...voice.  So I also know God is real.  If you are this real so is God!  In the name of Jesus, and the blood He shed on the cross, get out of this room!”  The moment I said the name of Jesus the darkness disappeared, and the cold vanished.  

I sprang out of bed, switched the light on, and read my Bible for the next hour.  That was the last time satan would directly contact me.  He was defeated because I acknowledged my dependence on Jesus, who defeated satan when he rose from the grave!  Without Jesus I could not have been victorious against satan’s attack.  

This marked a new stage of spiritual growth in my life; a time of confidence and peace in Christ!  A few months later God blessed me with a completely different kind of spiritual experience to counter the one satan gave me.  (Read the rest of the story in my blog entitled "Demons and Angels" in July, '13)              

HAVE YOU EVER FELT USELESS?

My sister, Jeannie Bartel, wrote this recently.  I asked her permission to put it on my blog, and she said yes.  I hope it speaks to you as much as it did to me.  

God taught me an incredible lesson yesterday.  There have been many times in my life when I questioned my value to God.  I questioned whether He would ever be able to use me, because I felt like such a failure and disappointment.  Life had taken such drastic negative turns, and I simply couldn’t imagine that God would use me given my messed up life.

I pick my 92 year old mom up every Sunday for lunch, and yesterday God used her to teach me a valuable lesson.  She told me she had gone to the thrift store, and bought a bunch of stuffed animals.  I must admit, my first thoughts were, “Oh no!  She’s losing it!”  When I questioned her about the purchase, she told me there are a number of employees at the retirement facility where she lives that have young children.  Occasionally they will bring their children in, and she wanted to be prepared to give them a gift.

 She also plays “candy bingo” every week.  My mom is a diabetic, and can’t eat candy so she puts her winnings in a box next to her chair, and whenever one of the employees comes into her apartment to do anything for her, she gives them a candy bar.  Just a little something to show her appreciation. 

Then, there is the lady who moved in a few months ago who doesn’t speak, and has a very difficult time eating.  My mom observed her at lunch one day, and noticed she could hardly get the food in her mouth. She went over to her, sat down, and asked if she could help.  Mother proceeded to feed this lady her lunch.  Since then, whenever she sees her in the lobby or dining room she always goes over, and talks to her.  Even though she can’t respond in any way, my mom just figures she must be lonely, and needs a friend. 

This last week, she was telling a resident about a book she had read that my sister sent her.  It was a book about angels, and how God uses them in our lives.  The lady she was talking to said, “Oh that sounds like a book I would love to read, but my eyes are so bad I can’t read anymore.”  My mom asked her if she would like her to come by every evening after dinner, and read a few chapters from the book.  She accepted the offer with much appreciation! 

I looked at my mom and said, “God has given you such an incredible ministry at Emeritus! You are really touching lives mother!”  She shared with me that when she lost daddy a few years ago, and then hit her 90’s not long after he passed, she just didn’t feel as if she could contribute to society any longer.  She felt useless!  Then God began to open up opportunities to do these things for the residents and employees at Emeritus.  But she never looked at it as a ministry until yesterday!

I went home and thought about my own life and how useless I have felt over the years.  Especially the 4 to 5 years following my divorce.  Even today, I sometimes question if God can use me!  Then I am reminded of Joseph, abused and even sold by his own brothers.  Abraham and Sarah were too old, but together a child was conceived.  Moses ran from Egypt because he had killed a man.  David was a boy who became a king.  He had an affair, lied, killed an innocent man, then had to face his sin.  Jonah ran from God, but could not find a place to hide.  Job went bankrupt and lost everything.  The Samaritan woman was divorced many times.  Peter ,the Rock, denied Jesus three times.  The disciples fell asleep when they were asked to pray.  Zacchaeus was too small and despised as a tax collector.  Martha worried about everything.  Thomas was full of doubt, and Paul persecuted the Christians!  Yet God loved them, healed them, and used them all!

It doesn’t matter who we are, or what we have done in our past.  With Jesus Christ our Savior, the impossible can be done.  It has nothing to do with how good or bad we are, or that our life may be a mess!  It’s the fact that we can be changed by the blood of Jesus Christ. So the next time you (or I) question our usefulness to God, the next time we entertain the thought, “God can’t use me, I’m damaged, I’m not talented, I’m a new Christian and don’t know enough about the Bible, I’m not outgoing, I’m too young or too old, think back on all the people God used in the Bible to touch, heal, love, and share the good news of a loving God!  If He could use a prostitute, a divorcee, a tax collector, and a murderer, He can certainly use you and me!

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do good things He planned for us long ago.”  Ephesians 2:10

Below is a photo of our mother (Neva Krueger), my sister, Jeannie, and I celebrating our mother's birthday in July, 2012.