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.
#986 (2-24-2013)
