Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Battle during the Night (The Invisible Forces)
At this time I was awakened from my light sleep, it must have been 3:
00 a.m., on or thereabouts.
My mother and I lived on the third floor, in a two bedroom apartment, our bedrooms across from one another. She was sound asleep. A battle was being fought in the apartment, outside my bedroom, by invisible forces, you could hear it, spread out throughout the apartment, by my door, in the living room, by my mother’s bedroom door, she always left the door ajar. I could almost smell it, taste it, like dust—and the noise of it, it was one long slithering sheet of wind, rising and dropping, like a vortex, a little tornado, as if it came through the walls, the keyhole and cracks of the apartment, rumbling, a thud, their bursts rolling. I was just too intense to open that door, I lay in bed, slowly starting to sit up, to listen closer; it was as if I was being told not to get involved. I felt I had to be awfully careful.
The night before I had been sitting on the edge of my bed, and beside me the bed suddenly sank, as if a heavy body had sat down beside me, was sitting beside me. I tried to keep my head firm and my shoulders from moving, my elbows on my knees, and forearm my hands into a prayer shape, or steeple shape. By the look of the indentation on the bed, the being was huge and quite heavy; God knows why he was therefore, and who he was. Then all of a sudden he was gone—whiz, just like that.
That night some one touched my toe, “Do not fear,” the soft voice said.
It made me think of the eight-hundred pound being that made my bed sink, near to its knees; he was like a piece of shrapnel still embedded in my brain.
“Come on,” I told myself, “go out and see what’s going on in the apartment.”
As I started to move the covers off me, I thought: ‘Well’ and then it came to mind the Holy Spirit, as an afterthought, He was battling the eight-hundred pound demon (or demons—the imps)—who’s to say?—Perhaps the apartment was being swept clean of these impeding beings, I mean it sounded like it. I kind of had known it all night—that this was probably the scenario or near to it, but I knew at times one is deceived by hope and optimism. But looking back, now looking back, remembering how it looked, now without a doubt I know this was a battle forced by the unfamiliar spirits, for my mother, whom at sixty-five-years old –now a year later—had become a Christian, this actually was not her first encounter, which she didn’t really encounter, I did: and would have to explain to her sometime in the later hours of the morning what fully took place.
I felt plenty bad they were trying to antagonize her, and a guardian, what is know as a ‘Power,’ an angelic warrior, was protecting her with this offensive; this attack—in which his intentions could only mean one thing: destroy her new found faith, and the Power was not going to allow this. I had also learned, things happen in a different way, than I had imagined: from the Father, to the Son, by way of the Holy Spirit, and then to the Warrior’s assignment, something like that.