it was 5 am saturday morning. she was wide awake. sleeping in wasn’t happening today. another roller coaster week in her never a dull moment life was over. it was time to rest and reflect, laugh again.
it was a melting pot of warfare, sleepless nights, tears, passionate conversations with bad endings. demons swearing at her. nice. what was that about being blessed when you’re persecuted and people talk ugly to you? she shook her head and laughed. the devil only has a hissy fit when you’re doing something right. well then.
trust the process
“trust the process,” her friend told her. when she heard it, she knew it came right from papa god’s heart. trust the process. indeed. she’d asked papa for his best for her.
she’d seen him through his papa’s eyes for some time now. she saw him in truth, in perfection, as a beloved son even when he wasn’t fully awake to this reality.
he’d had brilliant prophetic words spoken over him, words of promise, hope and a future. he saw vignettes of unlimited possibilities and potential, the ways papa god wanted to bless him as his son. he saw how his gifts and talents could be brought to life.
most importantly, he was presented with the beautiful gift of a wife, a full partner he could walk with in this life. would he step into his destiny? would he come back for her?
this was a major life decision. in returning to her, he’d be turning his face fully back to papa god. it meant walking arm in arm with him in unity. it meant stepping into sonship.
it meant radical change in direction, a homecoming worth celebrating loudly. the cloud of witnesses perched on the edge of their seats wondering how this would play out. would he choose well? would he be bold and courageous? yes, the stakes were high but the reward was great.
she’d prayed intently over him and his family for cleansing and restoration in their blood lines. for all the enemy stole to be returned to them 7-fold.
weeks turned to months, months grew to years. she wept over him, took communion over him, visioning life with him. she determined to cooperate fully with papa god, willing him to have every opportunity to make the best choice for his future and future generations.
she prayed for wisdom and revelation that the eyes of his understanding would be open. she prayed for his heart to be one with father god’s heart again. she called to his spirit to rise up and lead his soul, declaring his spirit would only be led by holy spirit.
faithful friends stood with her and prayed. in all of it she kept telling papa god she wanted his best.
she gave him wide margins to work things out on his own. she spoke when holy spirit prompted her – and sometimes when silence was the better option. grace covered her.
unconditional love often gets an unexpected response
wisdom dictated several things she would not compromise. those things had earned her unfriending, blocking and ‘goodbye.’ unconditional love often gets an unexpected response.
jesus chimed in on her thoughts, showing her some of his daily experience. he’s telling us, “i love you, i’m here for you, not leaving you. ever.” his compassion rises, watching us trying to stitch up our gaping wounds. we lay there bleeding, still holding up the hand, saying, “i’m good here. get the hell away from me.”
see how we are
see how we are. still, he doesn’t leave. he waits until we give in, showing him our wounds, allowing him to love and heal us. she remembered her conversation with jesus, drowning in her own lake of mess. “i am so freaking broken. what do you want with me??”
she could see it wasn’t him rejecting her. it was a combination of pain, fear and angst speaking, a realization that the old ways of dodging brokenness weren’t working.
she didn’t leave, either. she loved him hard, praying for him when she would have rather kicked his backside. love never fails, never gives up. it gets up in the morning to love another day, to love the hell away.
now, she waited, trusting the process, waiting on the promise.
sometimes it helped her to write about things. sometimes it did not. she still wasn’t sure where this would land on the processing meter. the rock band ‘til tuesday‘ played on her itunes. those old familiar songs coaxed her angry seventeen year-old girl back out of hiding to confront this goliath. she was still angry, and she came out swinging. it was safe to be angry now, safe to confront the injustices, the lies and the shame.
she was quite cognizant of the fact that justice would not come from him. it would only come from papa god, the only one who could fix the wrongs, make them right, restore what had been stolen. innocence. purity. trust.
it was all true. he made bad choices in abusing his position of authority. he did bad things to her. he broke her heart, stole her self-worth. it was also truth his actions did not define him anymore than they defined her – that was harder to reconcile. it was ugly all around. the movie reel of those years was painful to watch as it played through her head, even after so much time.
she had no desire to out him, no desire to destroy his life or family. if it came out, it would be because he himself told the story. it would not be her doing. she found a recent photo of him on the internet. he was all gray now. so would she be if it weren’t for hair color.
back in the day, no one said anything when they saw it happening. and it happened a lot. thousands upon thousands of young girls at high schools around the country were manipulated, seduced and sexually assaulted by male teachers. the ones there to protect became the predators. it happened to the boys, too. and it still does.
was it easier to overlook adult indiscretions than protect a child? apparently so. it was easier than confrontation resulting in a lost reputation or a statutory rape charge.
no one knew much about soul ties or soul wounds in those days. no one knew what would utterly break the fragile heart of a seventeen year-old girl. maybe he didn’t know, either. maybe he would have made a different choice. maybe not. she hadn’t been the only one.
his history wasn’t any nicer than hers, she recalled. an abusive father. beatings. similar story, different town. too many similar stories, not enough love, not enough goodness. not enough honor. no healthy boundaries. no respect for women. and no jesus.
the summer of heartbreak
it was not the summer of love. it was the summer of heartbreak and more loss, the quick, necessary construction of more protective walls. when he took her up north for a weekend, it was to tell her he was breaking up with her. he was going to go live his dream, moving far enough away to put several states and ocean water between them.
even now, she couldn’t remember when she began to cry or how she stopped. the song ‘voices carry’ played, cautioning her to keep her voice down, “hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry, hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry..”
the motorcycle ride home from that weekend was several hours long. a motorhome crossing the center line on a curve nearly took them out. the weather was a mix of sunshine, rain and hail. she had blisters on her face for weeks after.
the questions still came to her. school administrators, why didn’t you protect us? you saw it – you saw it all. the other teachers saw it all, too. teenagers are no less vulnerable than small children – the vulnerability just looks different.
dad, mom, where were you? she knew where they were. miserable in their own mess. did anyone see her? did anyone love her? was she just invisible? helloooo? was anyone there?
sigh. yes, her parents did the best they could do with what they had at the time. no use crying over what was anymore. well, no. not exactly. to forgive without fully feeling anger or grief leaves a wound that weeps silently for years. righteous anger demands expression as much as it demands justice.
she loved her parents, honored them as a choice of her will. it was the right thing to do. in the big picture, it mattered quite a lot, even though there were days she wanted to be jenny from the movie, ‘forrest gump’ and throw rocks at the house she grew up in. throwing rocks only caused more brokenness. it wasn’t a solution.
throwing rocks wouldn’t take back the hand of the parent that slapped her, upsetting her so much she hyperventilated, her left lung collapsing. she called him to take her to the hospital. there was no one else she could call. he was bothered, annoyed even. he was getting ready to leave on vacation and there she was all emotional and unable to breathe. he took her to the emergency room in his pickup, went home, and headed west on his motorcycle.
she told the doctor what happened at home. he blew it off, didn’t report it. when her mom came to visit her in hospital, she spoke firmly to her. “tell that ********* if he ever hits me again, he’s going to jail.”
all the #metoo stuff triggered memories and opened old wounds. she could see his face, even recall the last time he showed up at her house at 2 am, throwing little pebbles at her bedroom window to wake her up. her father came downstairs to wake her, announcing, ‘that guy is outside waiting for you,’ as she wondered what he wanted.
perhaps he had guilt.
she’d heard he slept with another high school girl. more insult heaped upon injury. and now he was here, quite drunk. she was seventeen. he was twenty-four. the numbers said what they said. he should have known better in a few things.
they walked off the farm yard out to the creek. he was playing, acting strangely, teasing her. she was not amused. they walked back to the farm. she begged him not to get back on his motorcycle. he was too drunk to drive. he left anyway. that was the last time she saw him.
she wondered if he’d given up the scientology cult, if he’d recognized jesus coming after him hard yet, she hoped so. now, she prayed for it.
her emotions still registered anger. but it was good anger. it was okay. be angry, sin not. she looked him in the eyes in the spirit. he could barely look back at her hazel eyes on fire.
“let me be clear. you had no right to take what was not yours. but i forgive you.” with a choice of her will, she forgave him. she’d asked jesus to take it all. maybe throwing a bucket of rocks one by one into the river would help process any remaining feelings of anger.
there was more. hidden freemasonry curses on her life demanded things of her she never knew, never agreed to. the unknown agreement her grandfather made with the occult set her on paths of death and destruction. grandpa didn’t know what he signed up for, and when he realized it, he couldn’t get out. momma’s life was cursed, as was her dad’s, their life together. curses of all manner came on her, beginning in the womb, bringing devastation on every level.
she realized she had rejected her own beauty because it was always used to destroy her. now, she could embrace that same beauty with no more fear of exploitation, manipulation or abuse of authority.
she was papa’s girl before anything else these days. she had overcome the past. she wasn’t defined by the things that were done to her or said about her. she wasn’t the whore the clique girls at school said she was. she wasn’t the broken, unloved seventeen year-old anymore, either.
absolute truth tells her a different story about who she is, about who the people who hurt her really are. absolute truth declares all humanity is made in the image and likeness of papa god.
humans are good, the very crown of creation. even in the darkest moments, true glory dwells within the man or woman doing the bad things. humans already in the light of papa god must seek it and see it in those still sleeping, to awaken them, to call them into sonship with papa god.
she did a once-over of her life now. she was rich. rich in peace. rich in friendships. rich in love, compassion and forgiveness. rich in laughter, rich in joy.
the visual came a moment later.
smiling now, she sat right down in the weeds and waited for the poppies to grow up around her. for years, they’d been watered with her tears, sorrow, forgiveness, laughter & hope. they grew strong, tall and brilliant, drowning out the dullness of the weeds.
jesus took her through her healing when it was safe.
he made her new.
she was a graceful, glorious one. and always had been.
after the gathering, things opened up and began to accelerate. the help and revelation she’d asked father for were present and available. it was time to clear out the mess, to get some things scrubbed clean.
as she considered what was before her, she knew she needed wisdom and equipping. “teach me, lord. i have to be equipped.” he answered her quickly. “i’ve made you to be a warrior, a strong one. do not be afraid to learn the things i am going to teach you to overcome the enemy where you live.” she answered him simply. “okay.”
he went on to give her a visual to help her walk it out. she saw a woman in a torn, dirty t-shirt and jeans on her knees in the dirt. she was washing clothes the old fashioned way with a washboard and a tub of water. each piece of clothing had years of wrong alignments, curses, stains and grime that had become part of the fabric. her long hair partially obscured her view as she rubbed each piece of clothing across the washboard until it looked like new.
her nails were broken, her arms and shoulders ached. she was tired, yes, but it didn’t matter. enough was enough. she was going to recover all her family had suffered. the days of demons controlling her, her family and her city were coming to an end.
broken to whole
this new book was packed with revelation. both women bought the book at the roughly the same time. her friend began with the final chapter. that signaled significance, so she began there, too. what she read set her over on tilt. it was true, then. those gut feelings didn’t lie.
she dialed her momma’s cell phone. it was late there. she might be sleeping. the telephone rang several times. to her surprise, momma answered the phone.
“mom. you’re still up?”
“yes, i’m just watching television.”
“i wasn’t sure you’d be awake. i know it’s late there. listen, i’ve been looking into some things and i have some questions. do you know if anyone on your side of the family or dad’s was ever involved in freemasonry?”
momma jumped right in. “your dad would never get involved with anything like that, no. but grandpa was in it. he joined through the pipe fitter’s union or something. they promised him a lot of money when he retired.”
she held her breath for a moment. momma continued. “you know, they don’t believe in god, don’t you?”
“yes, mom. i know. it’s evil. and it explains why grandpa was so tormented when he died.” momma’s next words caught her off guard. “i know. that’s why i left the room.” she recalled the sounds of the sick, elderly man screaming in his hospital bed. both women were silent as their personal movie reels played in their minds simultaneously. the unredeemed parts of his soul were about to go through cleansing fire. it must have been terrifying for him.
this was a new topic of conversation for them. the younger woman had a myriad of questions answered in a few short sentences, while the older one wasn’t sure where it was going. she continued on interviewing her momma. “what about grandma’s side? were any of them involved in this stuff?”
“i don’t know. i was just an infant when grandpa took me away.” “i thought you told me you were three years old when he took you?”
“no, i was a baby. they settled it in divorce court. grandpa was 7 or 8 years older than my mother. her mother thought she was too young to be married and have a child.” well, then. clearly some soul fractures occurred in those events. and they continued.
this would have been enough trauma, but now it was apparent that freemasonry oaths and curses were in play, too. when grandpa died, they took full effect on her momma. as the oldest child in the next generation, they impacted her as well as her own son.
they talked a few minutes longer, reviewing names and rank in her grandmother’s family again. ethelynn (grandma) was the oldest, then tommy. she remembered he was in the air force years. he used to send gifts from japan. one christmas, she received a beautiful jewelry box as the rest of the family unwrapped their own gifts. she still had the japanese doll he had given her momma.
she knew uncle dwight. she’d met him and aunt joan when they came for graduation. he’d served in the navy. momma spoke up. “there was another brother, too.”
“yes. there was another brother after tommy. all i know about him is that he was a drunk. and dwight was the youngest.”
more rabbit trails to follow. something with london persisted. others were seeing it, too. something about going back to her roots. in the meantime, it was time to get clean of the freemasonry mess.
she went into the heavenly court of accusation to deal with the matter, acknowledging and agreeing with the accuser that, yes, her grandfather had participated in this evil. she forgave him and pled the blood of jesus as her righteousness. the power of the curses began to weaken instantly. there was more work to do but it was a good beginning. there would be more interviews with momma.
additional research identified the local lodges and other fraternal organizations near the place she grew up. on the surface, they appeared harmless enough. but they were not.
when allegiance is given to anything but father god, there is idolatry. and there are issues.
it was saturday morning, the first day of the long holiday weekend. waking an hour later than normal, she went downstairs to make coffee and breakfast. a few minutes later, she was back at her desk to eat in her room with a view. it was a feast: coffee with bacon, eggs and a lemon ginger scone from her friend’s bake shop on etsy.
the deer were grazing in the backyard, a multitude of birds singing over them. yellow finches flitted from tree to tree as a crow teetered on the very top branch of a cedar tree. it reminded her of an angel that was perhaps a tad too heavy for the top of the christmas tree. what a good, good day. creation was awake.
“holy spirit, you order my day. i give it to you.” she scrolled through her facebook feed as she ate, responding to messages and posting the words holy spirit gave to her to encourage others. at times, she wondered if it was good use of her time. little did she know.
during the past week, she’d observed an increase in communication with a friend who lived on the opposite coast. they posted comments back and forth. she kept reading, typing. breakfast was excellent, her plate empty. had bacon ever tasted as good as it did today? maybe not.
the little nudge came, the knowing, barely perceptible, but it was there. “call her.” she rose to get her phone from the nightstand and returned to the desk. scrolling through the contacts, she found that she still had her friend’s name and number. the scent of lavender essential oil wafted through the air. it was soothing and grounding as she called the number.
her friend didn’t answer the call. instead, voicemail answered with no identification as to whom the number belonged. hoping for the best, she left a message, explaining that she was prompted to call her friend, but apologizing and blessing if the number now belonged to someone else. she ended the call.
going back to facebook, she messaged her friend, telling her she just tried to call, but not sure she had the right number. then she saw the ‘why’ in her call. the messages confirmed the purpose.
friend: “was in gas station most likely the time u called was struggling not to buy cigs. then god. jesus whispered ‘i will, i am helping you. i will help you. you don’t need a crutch. you are healed. took me by surprise how fast the want left when i took his hand. thank you for reaching out to me.”
jane doe:”wow!!!!!!! that was the why!!!!
i’m an ex-smoker, love.”
friend: “oh wow wow double wow!!! that’s papa!!!
not smoking is like learning a new language
the urge was intense
his whisper, ‘i will help you.’ over taken in jesus love here. thank you ****** for calling.
i just heard it. and the time is the same time i was standing at the counter
jane doe: “you will not be enslaved again in a yoke of bondage.
this would make a great jane doe story. i can write it just from what happened today.
you are not identified and he is glorified.
send me the time of the call.”
she had walked this path to freedom with jesus. she knew. she came alongside her friend with strength to push back that yoke of bondage.
friend: “what a good dad. as he said i will help you. that’s when u called.
i am free this started few weeks ago progressively. I was listening to the birds, water sounds of papa’s creation.
not identified and he is glorified.
i’m so thankful you called. he was working this encounter from the start today lolol.
“jane doe: “yes. i was in tears and prayer almost from the time i woke up. and he drew us together more closely this week so we would be in tune with each other. i saw that before today. please put any other details you want to share in here, and i will craft them into the story.”
friend: “Need a min. lol
I seem to talk better than writing here.”
New number so you have it *** *** ****. he is glorified. crying in his love.
jane doe: “got it!
i love what he did between us today!”
friend: “i was just going to tell you that. i love what he has done between us today. powerful love. and we didn’t even know at the time. i’m blown away by the way. in awe of grace. you really called at 9:09.”
can’t wait to read he is glorified. i’ll write later a little more of what was happening.
the timing is father all the way. i told him, i think i think better smoking father my brain doesn’t seem to work as well. words coming out when i hadn’t processed, thinking before i spoke all week. lol wow wow wow. how did this come together today? i’m crying hope you get to see wonder woman today.”
Papa had swooped into time to rescue his girl through another daughter. on one coast, it was 12:09 pm, and on the other it 9:09 am.
it was relatively the same conversation on a different day, this time via telephone.
he was complaining about the demons in the apartment. it was the same lot that lived there before her arrival and after she’d left. the older residents had likely invited a few new ones by now.
the latest round of harassment and victimization included an apple thrown across the kitchen, cupboard doors opening and slamming shut with a new stunt thrown into the mix. one of them had taken his laptop and chucked it on the floor when he wasn’t home. this act of destruction required a trip to the big box electronics store for repairs.
she shook her head, listening in frustration. the demons had never messed with her. when she was around they’d fled to dark corners and closets.
he went on, wallowing in self-pity about the bad things they were doing to him. it was a ploy for sympathy. of course it was. she bought it for a minute and began praying for him.
he listened as she began, “father, i’m seriously tired of listening to all the crap the enemy is doing to _______. she began to take authority over the enemy but something wasn’t right. she stopped.
she turned her attention back to him. “you know, we’ve had this conversation multiple times. you were made for so much more. you were not made to live at this level in this misery. if you would fully come into your identity in jesus, you wouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”
he said nothing in response to the truth he was hearing. he never did, never engaged in this part of his salvation. self-pity had a louder voice again this go ’round.
they finished their conversation and she went on with her day. same old story. she shook her head. it was another reminder of why they weren’t together anymore. choices and free will. sigh.
two days later, she saw a post by graham cooke on facebook. her eyes grew wide as saucers when she read it. not only did the light bulb go on, it blew up.
papa graham offered this wisdom: “process is where we discover god at work in our lives. it is where we submit to the work of his hands. process is everything. there is no growth or maturity without it.
if we do not submit to the process, the enemy will not submit to us. the process is the foundation for our obedience, which results in our authority. there is no authority outside of our submission.” (from qualities of a spiritual warrior by graham cooke)
there it was. she knew this was spot on. there is no authority outside of our submission. she’d been through process learning obedience. she had been granted authority and father god continued to increase it. it was the reason stuff moved when she was around.
merriam-webster defines authority as 1. power to influence or command thought, opinion, or behavior, and 2. freedom granted by one in authority.
submission is defined as 1. the condition of being submissive, humble, or compliant, and 2. an act of submitting to the authority or control of another.
as she mulled over graham’s words, holy spirit added to it. “submission is also a choice to trust, to receive love, to have full on relationship with papa, jesus and me. it’s believing we have your best interests in mind always. it’s believing we are always good.
it’s submitting to being and living as the new creation that you already are. to remain locked into your former identity as a dead man only produces more death.
sure, papa’s children will go to heaven, but they will not experience the righteousness, peace and joy of our kingdom here without submission, without the process or the journey.
becoming a manifested son or daughter is a choice. you cannot rule and reign with jesus outside of embracing your son ship.”
not long after they met, she began to see layers wrapped around him and weights upon his shoulders and back. the layers were like bandages wrapped tightly around a mummy while the weights were heavy, unbearable yokes.
the heaviness weighed him down and the layers restricted his movement and freedom, robbing him of the joy he had been gifted with in his mother’s womb.
she first experienced his joy at the airport as they waited in a long line. he was humming a happy little tune. she closed her eyes and listened when he first began. she felt herself becoming lighter. her cares were leaving. his joy was spilling over to her.
delighted, she turned to her left to look at him. “what is that?” she asked. he grinned and stopped humming to answer.
“it’s sesame street. the mahna mahna song.” she squealed in laughter. “what? really?? i love it!!” his humming had changed the atmosphere around them. it made her laugh and that shifted it even more.
during shared adventures, holy spirit told her about him. she shared with him what she could. she told him about his joy, about the power it wielded against the enemy, how it would carry him through storms.
it was infectious with others, too. it broke oppression, pulling them out of their own pit so they could see, so they could breathe again.
she gave him oil to help him sustain his power. it was even called ‘joy.’ she wore it every day to maintain her own joy. everywhere she went, people asked what she had on. it lifted them. they wanted what she had, too.
the enemy knew the power of his joy. he came to steal it, to oppress it, to squelch it. and when the attacks came, he did not have the strength to put it on. his mind was attacked, his sleep was attacked. and it snowballed.
one afternoon, they went on a road trip. she could tell when he picked her up that something was wrong. she prayed in her thoughts. “holy spirit, what should I do?” he answered her quickly. “pray in tongues and touch him as often as you can.” this became her protocol whenever they were driving together.
christmas came. they went away for a few days. the enemy was not pleased he was with her light for an extended period of time. the battle intensified quickly.
she looped the same worship song in the car for three hours as they drove. “nothing is wasted,” by elevation worship. he drove, she worshipped, sometimes weeping. he was being unwrapped from bondage.
they went out for dinner christmas eve. she’d made reservations at one of their favorite restaurants. it had a view. their server seated them at the same table they always sat at. they smiled at each other knowingly. it was ‘their’ place. dinner was lovely.
they ate in silence, listening intently to the family behind them with the very bright little girl and her very british grandfather. memories were made at both tables that night.
later on, they settled in to watch a christmas carol. holy spirit showed her the weights on him again. she placed her right hand on his back in various places, and holy spirit gently removed several of them.
the intercession began soon after. she put on her ear buds and worship music. she took hold of his right hand with her left hand and held it tight as holy spirit moved.
her body shook and she wept silently as healing took place deep in his soul. he thought it was about her, and she let him think so. it was better that way.
the unwrapping continued. soon, he would be completely free.
free to see, free to hear, free to feel, free to live and free to love.
she was out with her family riding bicycles. they were traveling a path representing rich history, riding from boston to lexington as paul revere had so famously done.
this day would also be marked in heaven.
as she rode, she released declarations of freedom and resurrection life to the people and to creation. she released ‘angels of original american intent’ to move, to act on the words she was speaking.
her words were powerful, full of love, purpose, restoration. and they did not go unchallenged.
the enemy sent troops to disrupt the work. it happened quickly. her best efforts to avoid the crash weren’t enough.
she had the wisdom and presence of mind to quickly reach out for prayer from friends. those prayers pushed back the demons’ intent to take her body and pieces of her soul captive.
one friend got on the phone with her and began to pray in tongues. she saw infirmity and trauma trying to enter through her knee. she commanded all trauma to be loosed from her friend’s physical cells. she commanded the ligaments, tendons and muscles to go back into place.
the assignment was cancelled, access denied. indeed, there was movement in the knee immediately. healing was occurring.
as they talked, holy spirit showed them how the plan and attack happened in the spirit. pride stood firmly in the man who wouldn’t give way on the path. his unwillingness to yield gave place to leviathan to twist her body and knee in ways they were never designed to move as she crashed to the ground.
holy spirit brought more revelation: it’s at the point of attack when trauma or injury occur that all demonic spirits attempt to come and attach themselves.
it’s also the place where we submit (accept or yield to a superior force or to the authority or will of another person) ourselves to god, resist the enemy, and he flees. it’s written and it is what it is. the power and protection available to us in coming under god’s authority is unparalleled.
this authority protects, heals and delivers all of god’s children, redeemed and unredeemed alike, to show them they are loved and cared for without limit.
and the same resurrection power that raised jesus from the dead exists in every redeemed child of god.
our bodies cry out for healing. they’re relieved when they’re blessed and prayed for because they desire to live, move, work and play the way father designed them to function.
there is no force than can stand against authority flowing from love and intimacy with father god.
time is not a factor in this process. god is not in time. jesus moved in and out of it.
he told us to be as he was in this world. this means we can go back to the time of the attack, be positioned at the point of entry and cancel that event. healing and deliverance occur.
when oppression is lifted and the blinders are removed, people see god clearly.