The Other Side of Darkness (31 page)

“Here, kitty, kitty,” I call out in my sweetest voice. And to my
surprise the foolish cat comes right to me. I carefully pick it up, knowing full well that this will require another cleansing shower on my part, but perhaps it will be worth it. Perhaps this is the source of many of our spiritual problems, this continual infection of demonic powers into our home via a feline carrier. I take my purse and the cat and proceed directly to the car. I wish I’d thought to put the beast in a cardboard box, but I feel a sense of urgency. There doesn’t seem to be a moment to waste. Consequently, the cat is free to roam around the interior of my new car, defiling, I’m sure, every surface. But I can deal with that later.

“It’s not really your fault,” I tell the cat in what I hope is a soothing tone. Then I start driving toward town, not really sure of where I’m going or what I’m going to do. I consider the Humane Society but then realize they would be closed on a holiday. So I continue through town and out toward the country. Finally I park near a bridge where there is a fast-moving river below. I coax Spooky into my lap and then remove her collar.

“You’re simply the victim in the devil’s vile game. But I can’t have you constantly contaminating my house and my family.” I get out of the car with the cat still in my arms and walk over to where I can see the river from the road. But it appears to be a rugged hike to get down there. And with visions of both the cat and me landing in the river, I decide this is not the best way. But now I am getting extremely nervous and scared.

With shaking knees and a pounding heart, I walk out on the pedestrian path that runs alongside the two-lane bridge. This will be for the best. A fall like this will end this deed more quickly and be less painful to the cat. But once I’m in position, midway on the bridge, the kitten purrs against my sweatshirt where I have it clutched
to my chest, and I know I can’t do this thing.
Lord, help me. I just cannot do it!

Feeling weak and defeated, I get back into the car and set the kitten on the passenger seat beside me. And knowing that I’m a failure, I continue driving deeper into the countryside. If this is the best I can do, if this is my way of purging the demons from my life, well, then I suppose I deserve to be tormented by Satan for the rest of my life. I am hopeless, useless, a pathetic excuse for a spiritual warrior. Perhaps someone should throw
me
into the river.

Finally I see a small farm off the side of the road. A little white house with a barn not far behind it. A perfect home for a cat. “You’ll be happier here,” I calmly tell the cat as I turn down the long graveled driveway. I drive a bit until I come to a spot that’s just wide enough to turn around in, and desperately hoping that no one is watching, I turn my car around so it now faces the road. I don’t see any other cars around, and there don’t seem to be lights on in the house.

“You can catch mice in the barn.” I put my car into Park and then pick up the kitten again. “You’ll have lots of room to run and play.” I step outside and walk about twenty feet from the car. “Have fun.” I put her down onto the damp ground. She just stands there with her back slightly arched as if she too senses danger. Then I turn and hurry to my car, and without looking back, I step on the gas, spewing gravel as I quickly drive away.

I’m surprised to find that I have hot tears running down my face as I head back down the paved road toward town. “I did that for you, Lord. I know the cat was evil and defiled. I confess that I knew it all along. O Lord, please forgive me for allowing her to stay in our home so long. Forgive me for allowing my family to be exposed to Satan’s
influence. But it was only because of Rick and the girls; they thought she was just a normal kitten. I am sorry, Lord. So sorry. Please make our family clean now. Protect us from Satan. Please, please, please …”

It’s getting dark out, but I’m afraid to go home now. Afraid that I will have to face Rick and the girls. Afraid that I will have to explain about the missing cat. I drive past the Pratt home again, and it seems that some of the cars have left, including Cynthia’s little white Subaru, which gives me an idea. I hurry over to her house and am relieved to see that she’s home now. So I park and walk toward the house. Suppressing feelings of intruding, I knock on her door.

“Oh, I have been praying for you, Ruth,” she says as she opens the door wide. “Come in, sister. I have had such a burden for you today.”

I’m surprised at how comforting her sparse little house feels to me right now. I remember how I once thought it cold and unfriendly, but suddenly it seems like a warm, safe haven, an escape from the raging storm. We both sit on her couch, and I immediately tell her about my botched-up Thanksgiving. Although I don’t mention the cat. I am too humiliated to share those details just yet. I still don’t know why it took me so long to figure out that Satan can use something as seemingly harmless as a cat to get the upper hand in our lives. I should’ve been smarter. But I do tell Cynthia about my family and about the ugly confrontation in my sister’s kitchen.

She presses her lips together, then sadly shakes her head. “That’s what comes from mixing darkness and light.”

“I know. Even before I went to my sister’s house, I knew it was wrong. I should’ve boycotted the whole affair. But I didn’t. I just don’t know why I keep making these mistakes.”

She pats me on the back. “Oh, we all make mistakes, Ruth. But the Lord can use the pain to teach us, to reprimand us, and
sometimes even to punish us. Like the child who puts her hand in the fire and gets burned, you surely won’t want to do that again, will you?”

“No, of course not.”

“You see.”

“But it’s frustrating, Cynthia. Sometimes it seems I make the same mistakes again and again. Like no matter how hard I try, I’m stuck in a vicious circle.”

“Yes, I know. And there’s a reason for that.”

“I still need more deliverance prayer?”

She nods. “Yes. Sister Bronte and I were just talking about that today. And you’re not alone, Ruth. Many in the congregation are being plagued with demonic intrusions. Many are in need of more deliverance. We feel that we’ve only scratched the surface. Our work has barely begun.”

“Really?”

“Most definitely. And, as a result, we will be having special deliverance prayers throughout every service. We will do warfare until the Enemy has been thoroughly defeated and evicted from among our own. Only then can we expect to have a real impact on the outside world. Does that make sense?”

“Of course.” And while this is encouraging, I still feel lost and confused, as if it will not be enough. Will it ever be enough?

“But I can tell that you’re in need of deliverance right now.” She looks into my eyes. “You are under attack even as we’re talking. Am I right?”

I sigh and look down at the floor. “Yes.”

“I should call for reinforcements,” she says with authority. “This may be more than a one-woman battle. I happen to know that Bronte
is meeting with some women right now. There are others who have been under siege today.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, the holidays are one of Satan’s favorite times to wage all-out attacks.”

So I wait in her living room as she makes the phone call. And it’s not long before Bronte and several other women from the church are gathered around me and praying. Fervently praying. To my relief it doesn’t take quite as long to carry out the deliverance this time. Thankfully, there is no vomiting, although I do actually lose consciousness at one point. But Bronte reassures me that this is perfectly normal. “It’s just another one of Satan’s tactics,” she tells me. “He thinks if he can knock you out, we won’t be able to knock the demons out of you.” She chuckles. “But we don’t give up, do we, girls?” They laugh and agree with her.

“That’s right,” says Edna. “You should’ve seen one night when Sister Bronte prayed for Shauna. Shauna went to the rest room and never came back. Turned out she had passed out in there, and we didn’t even know it.”

“That’s why we insist on accompanying people to the rest room now,” says Bronte, “during an exorcism, that is. Just to ensure they are okay.”

“Satan is crafty,” adds Cynthia. “It’s not easy to keep up with his clever tricks.”

It seems we are done praying now, and I am uncomfortably aware of the time and that my family must be wondering where I have disappeared to. I’m just about to excuse myself and call it a night, but Bronte suddenly changes direction.

“Before we break it off, I must say something,” Sister Bronte proclaims. “The Lord has just shown me that Melinda is also in need of deliverance tonight. Do I have confirmation with anyone else?”

“Yes,” says Cynthia eagerly, “I feel it in my spirit too.”

I barely know this young woman and was surprised when she showed up here tonight. I heard Bronte met her at a 7-Eleven store where Melinda works as a cashier. I’ve only talked to Melinda once, and that was during a church service a couple of weeks ago, but I sensed she was extremely insecure. However, I figured this might simply be due to a very bad case of acne, plus the fact that she’s rather obese. It only makes sense that she might suffer from a bad self-image.

“Do you want us to pray for you?” Sister Bronte asks Melinda.

Melinda looks a little frightened, but she silently nods her consent. Then we all place our hands on her, and Sister Bronte begins to speak. “Melinda, is it true that you were sexually abused as a child?” Melinda looks surprised, but once again she nods, then looks down uncomfortably at her lap. I try not to remember my own experience now or how shocked I was when Bronte told me those horrible things—things I believe happened, despite what my mother and sister said. Instead, I try to focus on Melinda. At least this doesn’t seem to be a shock to her.

“Yes,” continues Bronte, “I can see that you had more than one molester in your life. Is that correct?”

Again the nod.

“But that was a long time ago, and then you became a teenager and a young woman. And now you are using what happened to you as a child as an excuse to practice promiscuity as an adult.”

Melinda’s head jerks up, and she looks at Bronte with confused and fear-filled eyes.

“Isn’t that true, Melinda? You are having affairs with numerous men, and you are using your childhood as an—”

“No!” Melinda says suddenly. “That’s not true.”

But it’s obvious that Sister Bronte doesn’t believe Melinda. And she continues to speak, describing specific instances where Melinda has been involved in sexual relationships with all sorts of men, even some who are married and some who are part of our church. It’s really quite shocking! And yet Melinda continues to deny this.

“Sister Melinda!” Cynthia sternly admonishes the girl. “You
must
be honest with us, and you must be honest before the Lord, or else you will never be free.”

“But it’s
not
true,” she tells us, her face wet with tears. “I never did those things. I really never did—” She crumples forward, sobbing and gasping loudly. Everyone continues to pray for her, including me.

I’m feeling somewhat relieved to have this attention focused on poor Melinda just now. So many times I feel that I’m the one who’s constantly messing up, the one in need of deliverance prayers. I might have things under control after all. So I continue to fervently pray and agree with the prayers being prayed, and like the others, I loudly command the demons plaguing Melinda to depart from her. We go on like this for what must be close to an hour, but it feels like we’ve hit a brick wall, and I can tell we are not making progress with this stubborn young woman. Melinda refuses to cooperate. Despite Sister Bronte’s detailed descriptions and the spiritual confirmations being given by the rest of the group, Melinda is in complete denial.

“It’s no use,” Sister Bronte finally says. “If you won’t acknowledge the truth, Melinda, you will never be free from the hold that Satan has placed on you.”

“But I-I …” Melinda helplessly holds up her hands. Her nose is running, and her red blotchy face is soaked with tears. I don’t understand why she is holding back. Doesn’t she want to be clean?

“Maybe she’s repressed the memory,” I suddenly suggest to Bronte.
“You know, the way I had done that time when you told me about what had happened to me as a child. I had absolutely no memory of it at all. Isn’t it possible that Melinda has forgotten things too?”

“I don’t see how,” Cynthia says as she hands her a tissue. “Melinda is an adult. You were a very young child, Ruth. It’s different.”

“But what about when Shauna passed out? And then I fainted too. Maybe Satan did something like that to Melinda. Maybe he caused her to black out so he could take advantage of her.”

Bronte seems to be considering my words. “Perhaps …”

“Maybe Satan has her so confused,” I continue as if I’m on a roll now, “that she can’t see what’s happening when it’s happening. Maybe he’s blinded her and she’s doing these things without even knowing it.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” says Sister Bronte. “I have heard some very strange stories about satanic influence.” She turns back to Melinda with a compassionate expression and a softer tone of voice. “But unless you are willing to admit to some kind of involvement, to confess to some kind of sin, we cannot help you. Do you understand? You must be willing, or it won’t work.”

“Okay,” says Melinda slowly. “I’m thinking maybe Ruth is right. Maybe Satan really does have such a hold on me. I mean, because of what happened to me as a kid, that things are happening, things I’m not even aware of …”

“That’s right,” urges Cynthia. “Open your spirit and your mind. Be willing to admit that Satan is at work in you and that demonic power is keeping you in bondage.”

“Do you have anything to confess?” Bronte asks her once again.

Melinda looks down at her hands in her lap again. “I do confess that I’ve had impure thoughts.” She takes a deep breath. “And I’ve had sexual fantasies.”

“Aha!” says Bronte. “See, this might be a key. Do you know that what you are calling a fantasy might actually be a reality?”

“Yes!” I say in enthusiastic agreement. “I know what you mean, Sister Bronte. Listen to me, Melinda. There have been times in my own life when I was unable to discern what was real and what was not.” I consider the way I was bluffed into allowing the cat to remain in our house all this time, telling myself she was simply an innocent kitten. “Don’t you see?” I say to Melinda. “We can all be deceived. Like Cynthia said, Satan is very, very clever.”