While I was on the plane traveling home from Pakistan, I asked God to bring to mind what he would like me to testify about concerning what I had witnessed in Pakistan. Before I prayed, when I considered all that I had seen and experienced, I felt like I was looking back over a sea of puzzle pieces, baffled as to how they fit together and unsure even of what the final picture was supposed to look like. But after I prayed, as I sat on the plane, three clear messages came into focus. I would like to share with you these three thoughts.
First came to mind the many relationships that I had developed with various families in Pakistan. I thought of the women who mothered me, men who had protected me as their own daughter, children who overcame every language and culture barrier to make me comfortable, and dear girls who had become my close friends. I realized that Pakistani Christians are more than just exceptionally friendly and hospitable, they honor and accept the stranger in their midst as family. When I asked a group of Christian Pakistanis what message they would have me send to the Christians in the West, they did not tell me to ask the west for monetary or physical gifts; they told me to send their love, to assure us of their prayers, and to ask us to remember them in our prayers.
The truth is that the Christians around the world are members of our family in the body of Christ; we owe them the same kind of love that we so intuitively give to our natural families. Not only is it right, in Christ, to develop loving relationships with Christians around the world, but we have much to learn from them. If we fail to follow Christ’s command to extend honor to the foreigners among us, an honor that they show us when we visit them, we will be the ones to lose out on how we could benefit from being in relationship with each other.
The second thing that came to mind in the plane was a barrage of memories of all the various ministries I had witnessed in action. There is much more ministry going on in the rural areas of the Middle East, like Pakistan, than I previously imagined. The Hindu people who live in the region where I stayed are very open to learning about the Christian God. When I asked one woman why she converted she said, “Because I wanted to know a living God who is good. We are afraid of our gods but this God sets us free from fear.” The harvest is vast, but there are far more workers already in the fields than I guessed. The husband of the missionary family I stayed with personally disciples evangelists who teach Bible, adult literacy, and health awareness in 90 villages weekly. This ministry is just one of many that I saw at work around me.
Though much work is being done, those who are trying to minister are not able to work at their full capacity because of lack of monetary support. One priest I met has planned seminars to keep the building under his charge busy for a year, but he is not able to proceed because he lacks funding. The fact that ministers are in the field, devoting their lives, but are held back by lack of investment, brings to mind the phrase, “A worker is worth his wages.”
The last thought that came to mind while I sat on the plane flying away from the dust and heat, was that God has a great love for Pakistan. Consistently throughout the Bible God demonstrates love for the lowly, the poor, the ill, and the rejected of the world. The Western world regards Pakistan with inhibition, fearing terrorists and accidents; we are deterred from visiting by heat and dirt, discouraged from investment by poverty and disease. Even Pakistanis express frustration with Pakistan! But God cares about this place and these people. Additionally, God is moving in Pakistan. I heard many stories of miracles while I was living there and I witnessed the dramatic gains made by even inexperienced evangelists and teachers. To be involved in the ministry going on in Pakistan right now is to be on the frontlines of what God is doing today.
After living on the mission field in Pakistan for two months, learning about the reality of the people and conditions, I encourage you to develop relationships with Christians around the world, especially with the poor living in less than popular places. They are our brothers and sisters and we need them as much as they need us. We fortunate ones in the West have a crucial roll to play in supporting the ministry being done in the less affluent countries. If we can build relationships based on mutual respect, investing in each other’s ministries, we will be acting according to the heart of God.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Going Home 2: the beginning
Before I even made it to the x-ray security machines ten feet past the door, I was stopped by a guard. Who was I, they wanted to know. If I was a visitor, why was I in Pakistani clothes? Who was I trying to fool? I was directed to a side room for a pat-down while other guards dumped out my suitcase. Eventually they were satisfied that I wasn’t smuggling anything dangerous or valuable in my bags but they were not able to successfully repack my luggage and thus, when the guard tried to force the zipper, my suitcase ripped. Dismayed and concerned about the time, I was directed to take the suit case to a nearby stand to be wrapped in plastic.
Three security check points latter, I finally arrived to my gate. I was in time. I sat down numbly next to three well dressed, middle aged women. After only a few minutes they addressed me in polished English, “Excuse me, but who are you? And why are you wearing Pakistani clothes?” I explained my reason for being in Pakistan and we were soon chatting comfortably. Eventually they got up and started to walk away. When I asked them where they were going, they said that our flight had been announced over the speaker in Urdu. I had sat down at the wrong gate and would have missed the flight if I hadn’t been chatting with these women, and I wouldn’t have been talking with them if they hadn’t asked about my clothes.
After making it safely out of Pakistan, my flights went relatively smoothly. Everywhere I went, people asked about my dress and I proudly told them the story of how I served the rural people in Pakistan alongside a missionary family, of how I believed God loved Pakistan, of how God had taken care of me. I was full of joy and excitement throughout the series of flights. I did not watch any movies during the over night flight (on the way there I had watched three!) Instead I prayed that God would clarify to me what message he would like me to bring back to share with those who had supported me. As I reflected over the trip, various elements of my experience seemed highlighted to my attention. These I wrote down and later included in my presentations. I still feel these points were brought to mind by the Holy Spirit. You can read them in a later blog.
My plane landed in New York City after an overnight trip at 9:00am. Despite wrinkled shalwar-camise and the lack of a shower, I felt well rested and peaceful. I enjoyed a cup of coffee and a sandwich from a café as I waited for my flight to Boston where I would catch a connection to Richmond. My flight to Boston, however, was delayed again and again; eventually it became clear that I would not arrive in Boston in time to catch the connection to Richmond. While on my flight to Pakistan I had dreaded the possibility of being in this situation. I had even arranged my flight schedule specifically to avoid a complicated switch of airports in NYC by taxi for fear of some mistake. After my adventures abroad, however, I found myself excited, curios how God would work out the problem.
I told the woman behind the desk of the situation and she said I had two options. I could go to Boston and take the next flight leaving in the evening instead of the early afternoon flight I was supposed to catch. Or I could take a flight straight to Richmond… leaving from the other airport in NYC. I told her I would take a taxi to the other airport. Inside I was laughing. The taxi driver ended up being Pakistani! I sat in the front and we had a lovely chat as we drove across the city. As he dropped me off he invited me to visit his village any time. I responded, only if he sent my father 10 water-buffalos!
There were no more delightful complications to my return. I arrived safely at the Richmond airport and was greeted by my mother, sister, brothers, and several friends. It was a joyous reunion, a beautiful conclusion to an amazing adventure. I can’t wait to follow God wherever he leads me next! As you probably know, every ending is actually a beginning. The end of my time in Pakistan was the beginning of the second “mission” element of my trip. But you can read about that another time.
Three security check points latter, I finally arrived to my gate. I was in time. I sat down numbly next to three well dressed, middle aged women. After only a few minutes they addressed me in polished English, “Excuse me, but who are you? And why are you wearing Pakistani clothes?” I explained my reason for being in Pakistan and we were soon chatting comfortably. Eventually they got up and started to walk away. When I asked them where they were going, they said that our flight had been announced over the speaker in Urdu. I had sat down at the wrong gate and would have missed the flight if I hadn’t been chatting with these women, and I wouldn’t have been talking with them if they hadn’t asked about my clothes.
After making it safely out of Pakistan, my flights went relatively smoothly. Everywhere I went, people asked about my dress and I proudly told them the story of how I served the rural people in Pakistan alongside a missionary family, of how I believed God loved Pakistan, of how God had taken care of me. I was full of joy and excitement throughout the series of flights. I did not watch any movies during the over night flight (on the way there I had watched three!) Instead I prayed that God would clarify to me what message he would like me to bring back to share with those who had supported me. As I reflected over the trip, various elements of my experience seemed highlighted to my attention. These I wrote down and later included in my presentations. I still feel these points were brought to mind by the Holy Spirit. You can read them in a later blog.
My plane landed in New York City after an overnight trip at 9:00am. Despite wrinkled shalwar-camise and the lack of a shower, I felt well rested and peaceful. I enjoyed a cup of coffee and a sandwich from a café as I waited for my flight to Boston where I would catch a connection to Richmond. My flight to Boston, however, was delayed again and again; eventually it became clear that I would not arrive in Boston in time to catch the connection to Richmond. While on my flight to Pakistan I had dreaded the possibility of being in this situation. I had even arranged my flight schedule specifically to avoid a complicated switch of airports in NYC by taxi for fear of some mistake. After my adventures abroad, however, I found myself excited, curios how God would work out the problem.
I told the woman behind the desk of the situation and she said I had two options. I could go to Boston and take the next flight leaving in the evening instead of the early afternoon flight I was supposed to catch. Or I could take a flight straight to Richmond… leaving from the other airport in NYC. I told her I would take a taxi to the other airport. Inside I was laughing. The taxi driver ended up being Pakistani! I sat in the front and we had a lovely chat as we drove across the city. As he dropped me off he invited me to visit his village any time. I responded, only if he sent my father 10 water-buffalos!
There were no more delightful complications to my return. I arrived safely at the Richmond airport and was greeted by my mother, sister, brothers, and several friends. It was a joyous reunion, a beautiful conclusion to an amazing adventure. I can’t wait to follow God wherever he leads me next! As you probably know, every ending is actually a beginning. The end of my time in Pakistan was the beginning of the second “mission” element of my trip. But you can read about that another time.
Going home 1: the ending
In the course of preparing to leave Pakistan, I realized just how acclimated I had become. I spent the better part of one day writing 15 personal notes to those who had become significant to me; the house keeper, the local children, friends in other cities, families who had welcomed me into their homes. I found that I was not uncomfortable walking around the neighborhood, peeking into courtyards, delivering notes, greeting friends in passing.
The day before the trip to Karachi to catch my plane, I went to the bazaar with my friends Razia and Sunila to buy gifts for friends and family in the States. It was the first and only time I went to a bazaar without one of the Stocks to guide me and haggle for me. Razia, Sunila and I caught a ride down town on a Rickshaw cart and walked around the bazaar looking for the items on my list. It was exhilarating fun. The highlight was when, faced with an outrageously over priced tea cup, I started haggling for myself. There was no way anyone would pay 600 Rupees for a tea cup no matter how fine the china, I said. The highest I would go was 400. After starting to leave twice, I agreed to purchase the cup for 450. Then I watched, to my surprise, as the shop-keep wrapped up not only the tea cup in question but a set of six with matching saucers!
Bright and early at 10:00 the next morning, I bid a tearful goodbye to my friends. Razia held tight to my hand until the car actually started pulling away. “My heart is very crying for you.” She confided earnestly. I knew what she meant.
The drive to Karachi passed like a good dream. The whole Stock family drove with me, merrily singing and chattering and reading the Hobbit aloud. I savored every moment, drinking up the sight of the passing country side like a last meal. It wasn’t that the passing desert was particularly beautiful or that I would miss the illness and isolation that had been so significant during the trip. But I had truly come to love the people, places and experiences which were so common place in Mirpurkhas: the colorful cotton clothes that had been made just for me, evening visits to Razia’s family, the few words of Urdu and Kujradthi I had worked so hard to learn, and most of all, the loving, care-free lifestyle of the Stock family. So I stretched every hour to the max.
On the way to Karachi, we stopped in Hyderabad to visit Lilly’s family one last time. I was glad for the reunion because I would be able to give Lilly a gift and deliver the note I had written to her family. After another warm farewell, we were back on the road. The next stop was at a hospital in Hyderabad. A young boy that I had often seen around at the Audio Visual Center was in the hospital recovering from the removal of a kidney stone the size of a marble! We sat with him and his family for an hour, then bid them goodbye and headed on to Karachi.
On the way, the Stocks asked me repeatedly what I would enjoy doing in Karachi before catching my plane that night at 10:00. After hemming and hawing and scratching my head through my head scarf, I admitted that I would love to ride a camel and to see the Indian Ocean. Paul enthusiastically added that I must taste an honest to goodness chicken Tikha. Little did I know, I would almost miss my plane for the sake of these experiences.
We arrived in Karachi while it was still light, apparently with plenty of time to spare. I don’t remember exactly how the time flew by so quickly. I bought a battery for my watch. We stopped to buy a particular kind of sweet that I wanted to try (it looks like a funnel cake only it is made of oil, sugar, and honey.) It turned out that the beach was further away than expected and the sun was already setting when we arrived. It was worth the drive! Receding waves of the Indian Ocean left half a mile of damp gray sand extending out in front of me, full of shells and burrowing crabs. But more exhilarating still, gaily adorned horses and regal camels promenaded up and down the beach at the side of gypsy-like men who beckoned people to clime on for a ride. Of course, we were happy to oblige the owner of a camel festooned with colorful pompoms. I sat behind Jodie and Joel as the patient creature bore the three of us down the beach. Then, for a special treat, the man leading the camel coaxed it into a surprisingly graceful canter.
After dismounting, Paul, Joel and I rolled up our pants and went wading in the gentle waves while Pat and Jodie antagonized crabs and clams. As we walked back up the dark beach to our car, we stopped and bought roasted corn on the cob and other snack from beach vendors. We believed ourselves to be in good time as we piled back into the car and went in search of a road-side café to order chicken tikha (Barbie Q). The only time I had actually lost my composure over Pakistani food was when I first tried an exceptionally hot chicken tikha and then tried to cool my mouth with soda, which only further inflamed my problem to the point of tears. I hadn’t again ventured to taste tikha, something that the Stocks consider central to Pakistani culture. The tikha that I tried my last day wasn’t half bad and the Stocks were pleased.
It was then that we realized it was after 8:00 and we were at least an hour from the airport; remember, my international flight left at 10:00. We also then realized that we didn’t actually know how to get to the airport. Finally, we found ourselves stuck in a bumper to bumper, stop and go, honking mess of a traffic jam. So we started to pray. After stopping for directions twice, we made it to the airport at 9:30. After hasty goodbyes and quick hugs, I readjusted my head scarf, hoisted carefully packed but bulging bags and walked confidently past the guard at the airport entrance. That was when the real trouble started.
The day before the trip to Karachi to catch my plane, I went to the bazaar with my friends Razia and Sunila to buy gifts for friends and family in the States. It was the first and only time I went to a bazaar without one of the Stocks to guide me and haggle for me. Razia, Sunila and I caught a ride down town on a Rickshaw cart and walked around the bazaar looking for the items on my list. It was exhilarating fun. The highlight was when, faced with an outrageously over priced tea cup, I started haggling for myself. There was no way anyone would pay 600 Rupees for a tea cup no matter how fine the china, I said. The highest I would go was 400. After starting to leave twice, I agreed to purchase the cup for 450. Then I watched, to my surprise, as the shop-keep wrapped up not only the tea cup in question but a set of six with matching saucers!
Bright and early at 10:00 the next morning, I bid a tearful goodbye to my friends. Razia held tight to my hand until the car actually started pulling away. “My heart is very crying for you.” She confided earnestly. I knew what she meant.
The drive to Karachi passed like a good dream. The whole Stock family drove with me, merrily singing and chattering and reading the Hobbit aloud. I savored every moment, drinking up the sight of the passing country side like a last meal. It wasn’t that the passing desert was particularly beautiful or that I would miss the illness and isolation that had been so significant during the trip. But I had truly come to love the people, places and experiences which were so common place in Mirpurkhas: the colorful cotton clothes that had been made just for me, evening visits to Razia’s family, the few words of Urdu and Kujradthi I had worked so hard to learn, and most of all, the loving, care-free lifestyle of the Stock family. So I stretched every hour to the max.
On the way to Karachi, we stopped in Hyderabad to visit Lilly’s family one last time. I was glad for the reunion because I would be able to give Lilly a gift and deliver the note I had written to her family. After another warm farewell, we were back on the road. The next stop was at a hospital in Hyderabad. A young boy that I had often seen around at the Audio Visual Center was in the hospital recovering from the removal of a kidney stone the size of a marble! We sat with him and his family for an hour, then bid them goodbye and headed on to Karachi.
On the way, the Stocks asked me repeatedly what I would enjoy doing in Karachi before catching my plane that night at 10:00. After hemming and hawing and scratching my head through my head scarf, I admitted that I would love to ride a camel and to see the Indian Ocean. Paul enthusiastically added that I must taste an honest to goodness chicken Tikha. Little did I know, I would almost miss my plane for the sake of these experiences.
We arrived in Karachi while it was still light, apparently with plenty of time to spare. I don’t remember exactly how the time flew by so quickly. I bought a battery for my watch. We stopped to buy a particular kind of sweet that I wanted to try (it looks like a funnel cake only it is made of oil, sugar, and honey.) It turned out that the beach was further away than expected and the sun was already setting when we arrived. It was worth the drive! Receding waves of the Indian Ocean left half a mile of damp gray sand extending out in front of me, full of shells and burrowing crabs. But more exhilarating still, gaily adorned horses and regal camels promenaded up and down the beach at the side of gypsy-like men who beckoned people to clime on for a ride. Of course, we were happy to oblige the owner of a camel festooned with colorful pompoms. I sat behind Jodie and Joel as the patient creature bore the three of us down the beach. Then, for a special treat, the man leading the camel coaxed it into a surprisingly graceful canter.
After dismounting, Paul, Joel and I rolled up our pants and went wading in the gentle waves while Pat and Jodie antagonized crabs and clams. As we walked back up the dark beach to our car, we stopped and bought roasted corn on the cob and other snack from beach vendors. We believed ourselves to be in good time as we piled back into the car and went in search of a road-side café to order chicken tikha (Barbie Q). The only time I had actually lost my composure over Pakistani food was when I first tried an exceptionally hot chicken tikha and then tried to cool my mouth with soda, which only further inflamed my problem to the point of tears. I hadn’t again ventured to taste tikha, something that the Stocks consider central to Pakistani culture. The tikha that I tried my last day wasn’t half bad and the Stocks were pleased.
It was then that we realized it was after 8:00 and we were at least an hour from the airport; remember, my international flight left at 10:00. We also then realized that we didn’t actually know how to get to the airport. Finally, we found ourselves stuck in a bumper to bumper, stop and go, honking mess of a traffic jam. So we started to pray. After stopping for directions twice, we made it to the airport at 9:30. After hasty goodbyes and quick hugs, I readjusted my head scarf, hoisted carefully packed but bulging bags and walked confidently past the guard at the airport entrance. That was when the real trouble started.
The Grand Finale 5: Finishing up and Moving on
After lunch, Jane and I tackled one more kind of issue, something she called “soul ties”. Several people in my life were hubs of emotional energy and agitation, distracting me from Christ, sucking up my attention, and disturbing my peace. The first step in restoring the situations was to forgive any harm they had caused me or grudges I held against them. That was easier said than done. After trying to let go and forgive, Jane asked me to think about the person again and see if I felt differently. After truly forgiving, I found that when I thought of the person I no longer felt distress, but peace and empathetic compassion. At that point, I could ask God’s forgiveness for my part in forming the dysfunctional connection. After receiving God’s forgiveness, I could declare the connection broken. Finally, Jane told me to listen to the Holy Spirit for instructions as to how to relate to the people in the future.
Exhausted but satisfied, Jane and I sat back in our chairs. It was time for me to catch the afternoon bus. It had been a very full 30 hours. I felt like a live wire, full of excitement at the new world Jane had shown me. My head was reeling at the experiences and implications for the future. Jane gave me last minute reading suggestions and encouragements as she walked me to the bus stop.
“You have made great progress but you have to walk it out. There is nothing neutral; don’t give your enemies an excuse to come back into your life.”
I was in a daze. “But how do I do that?”
“Keep the company of the Holy Spirit; anything in your life which doesn’t jive with the Holy Spirit, get it out of your life. You have authority; use it! Read the Bible every day. Remember to keep developing into a new creation by the renewing of you mind.”
I nodded.
“Send me an email every now and again.” She added warmly. That broke the spell. With hurried thanks, I was hustled on the bus, squeezed between the open window and a tribal woman holding a baby. As the miles rumbled by, I knew that I had entered a new world. A world where evil was active but also where God was personal and powerful, a world where there was no limit to the possibilities for partnering with God in ministry and individual transformation. As Mirpurkhas slowly came back into view, I knew that I was now responsible for my new knowledge; there was no going back.
Exhausted but satisfied, Jane and I sat back in our chairs. It was time for me to catch the afternoon bus. It had been a very full 30 hours. I felt like a live wire, full of excitement at the new world Jane had shown me. My head was reeling at the experiences and implications for the future. Jane gave me last minute reading suggestions and encouragements as she walked me to the bus stop.
“You have made great progress but you have to walk it out. There is nothing neutral; don’t give your enemies an excuse to come back into your life.”
I was in a daze. “But how do I do that?”
“Keep the company of the Holy Spirit; anything in your life which doesn’t jive with the Holy Spirit, get it out of your life. You have authority; use it! Read the Bible every day. Remember to keep developing into a new creation by the renewing of you mind.”
I nodded.
“Send me an email every now and again.” She added warmly. That broke the spell. With hurried thanks, I was hustled on the bus, squeezed between the open window and a tribal woman holding a baby. As the miles rumbled by, I knew that I had entered a new world. A world where evil was active but also where God was personal and powerful, a world where there was no limit to the possibilities for partnering with God in ministry and individual transformation. As Mirpurkhas slowly came back into view, I knew that I was now responsible for my new knowledge; there was no going back.
The Grand Finale 4: Personal Demons
I was uneasy about relaxing my vigilance over my mind enough to sleep. I felt very vulnerable, as though I had just undergone surgery to remove infection and now had an open wound. Nervously, I called a friend in the states to ask for prayer coverage that night. She didn’t answer; I left a message.
I slept very poorly. My tossing and turning was disturbed by prickly itching sensations and abdominal pains. These physical symptoms were not unusual but this time I was hyper aware of any sensation or sound that might be caused by a disgruntled spirit. I drifted in and out of consciousness with dreams flitting in front of my eyes than fading into the dark room when I jerked back awake. At 4:30am my friend called me back. It was a relief to hear her voice, so normal and reassuring. I told her about my strange experiences of the past day and about all my fears of that night. She told me how her family had been praying for me and encouraged me to be brave. We talked for two hours, until the sun came up over Pakistan; then I bid her goodnight and got up to start the day.
Soon Jane was up too, getting ready to go back to the centre to start the first morning prayer shift with chai for all who were still there. At least this was our intention; when we arrived, picking our way over sleeping children to get to the kitchen, we found another woman already there preparing the chai. Because of this woman’s help, Jane and I were able to go back to Jane’s house to keep addressing my spiritual concerns before I had to catch a bus back to Mirpurkhas. I ended up missing the early bus and instead staying with Jane until 4:00pm to receive even more of her spiritual direction.
We spent the morning arduously identifying more anti-God strongholds, confessing, renouncing, and reclaiming the areas for God. The part of the process that was most challenging and frightening was when I had to “send away” the spirits in question. I had always imagined that dark spirits would be so antithesis to the Holy Spirit that they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to me. In fact, I was comfortable with the idea of stating the words “go in the name of Christ”, but it never occurred to me that an active Chr’stian like me could ever have a “demon problem”.
“But almost every one does,” Jane informed me, “Demons are out to get every body. It’s just that Chr’stians have a fighting chance. There is nothing neutral, you know. The devil is out there to steal, kill, and destroy anything that isn’t claimed for the glory of God. It is hard to imagine how people can even function, outside of Christ!”
This seemed to make sense, but it didn’t reduce my horror that, whenever Jane talked about sending demons back to the lake of fire, my eyes twitched and I had an uncharacteristic feeling of irritation toward her. I felt the unpleasant inclination to curl my lip into a snarl and refuse to cooperate with the nonsense of confronting any demons. Throughout the process I several times experienced symptoms such as twitches, aggression, and the inability to think clearly which seemed terrifyingly demonic.
From psychology classes, I knew the power of suggestion. I knew it to be very possible that these symptoms could have been inspired by my own imagination. The real question was, is it possible that Jane’s claim was right; was it possible that my experiences were caused by actual spirits influencing my body, feelings, and thoughts. As a Chr’stian, I supposedly acknowledged the existence of active evil spirits, and yet I was very reluctant to accept the terrifying possibility that I might be encountering them.
“To believe that these impulses are coming from outside you would open the door to insanity!” The voice inside my head pleaded.
“And yet,” I thought to myself, “I brought these spiritual concerns to Jane because they were already bothering me; no psychologist has ever been helpful in resolving these concerns. Besides, if I ‘cast out’ a demon and believe that it is gone, then my imagination should be on my side.”
At one point of great inner struggle, Jane prayed that I would see the spirit for what it was, that it would stop being able to deceive my thoughts. For a split second, I saw in my imagination an ugly gray figure huddled against a wall in my mind, trying to hide. “Grab him and throw him out!” Jane commanded. With a gulp of trepidation, I imagined a crane bodily removing the figure while commanding with as much strength as I could muster, “I belong to J’sus Christ. You have no place in my life and I renounce all connection with you. Leave my mind forever.”
“Good,” said Jane calmly. “Now just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Ask the Holy Spirit to come and fill in the space left by the other spirit.” After a moment she added, “Listen to the Holy Spirit. Is he telling you anything?”
“He is reminding me of all of the intimate times we have spent together. He is saying that I don’t have to doubt.”
“Good.”
I slept very poorly. My tossing and turning was disturbed by prickly itching sensations and abdominal pains. These physical symptoms were not unusual but this time I was hyper aware of any sensation or sound that might be caused by a disgruntled spirit. I drifted in and out of consciousness with dreams flitting in front of my eyes than fading into the dark room when I jerked back awake. At 4:30am my friend called me back. It was a relief to hear her voice, so normal and reassuring. I told her about my strange experiences of the past day and about all my fears of that night. She told me how her family had been praying for me and encouraged me to be brave. We talked for two hours, until the sun came up over Pakistan; then I bid her goodnight and got up to start the day.
Soon Jane was up too, getting ready to go back to the centre to start the first morning prayer shift with chai for all who were still there. At least this was our intention; when we arrived, picking our way over sleeping children to get to the kitchen, we found another woman already there preparing the chai. Because of this woman’s help, Jane and I were able to go back to Jane’s house to keep addressing my spiritual concerns before I had to catch a bus back to Mirpurkhas. I ended up missing the early bus and instead staying with Jane until 4:00pm to receive even more of her spiritual direction.
We spent the morning arduously identifying more anti-God strongholds, confessing, renouncing, and reclaiming the areas for God. The part of the process that was most challenging and frightening was when I had to “send away” the spirits in question. I had always imagined that dark spirits would be so antithesis to the Holy Spirit that they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to me. In fact, I was comfortable with the idea of stating the words “go in the name of Christ”, but it never occurred to me that an active Chr’stian like me could ever have a “demon problem”.
“But almost every one does,” Jane informed me, “Demons are out to get every body. It’s just that Chr’stians have a fighting chance. There is nothing neutral, you know. The devil is out there to steal, kill, and destroy anything that isn’t claimed for the glory of God. It is hard to imagine how people can even function, outside of Christ!”
This seemed to make sense, but it didn’t reduce my horror that, whenever Jane talked about sending demons back to the lake of fire, my eyes twitched and I had an uncharacteristic feeling of irritation toward her. I felt the unpleasant inclination to curl my lip into a snarl and refuse to cooperate with the nonsense of confronting any demons. Throughout the process I several times experienced symptoms such as twitches, aggression, and the inability to think clearly which seemed terrifyingly demonic.
From psychology classes, I knew the power of suggestion. I knew it to be very possible that these symptoms could have been inspired by my own imagination. The real question was, is it possible that Jane’s claim was right; was it possible that my experiences were caused by actual spirits influencing my body, feelings, and thoughts. As a Chr’stian, I supposedly acknowledged the existence of active evil spirits, and yet I was very reluctant to accept the terrifying possibility that I might be encountering them.
“To believe that these impulses are coming from outside you would open the door to insanity!” The voice inside my head pleaded.
“And yet,” I thought to myself, “I brought these spiritual concerns to Jane because they were already bothering me; no psychologist has ever been helpful in resolving these concerns. Besides, if I ‘cast out’ a demon and believe that it is gone, then my imagination should be on my side.”
At one point of great inner struggle, Jane prayed that I would see the spirit for what it was, that it would stop being able to deceive my thoughts. For a split second, I saw in my imagination an ugly gray figure huddled against a wall in my mind, trying to hide. “Grab him and throw him out!” Jane commanded. With a gulp of trepidation, I imagined a crane bodily removing the figure while commanding with as much strength as I could muster, “I belong to J’sus Christ. You have no place in my life and I renounce all connection with you. Leave my mind forever.”
“Good,” said Jane calmly. “Now just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Ask the Holy Spirit to come and fill in the space left by the other spirit.” After a moment she added, “Listen to the Holy Spirit. Is he telling you anything?”
“He is reminding me of all of the intimate times we have spent together. He is saying that I don’t have to doubt.”
“Good.”
The Grand Finale 3: Generational Curses and Dangerous Hobbies
For the next several exhausting hours we poured over what I knew of the sin patterns and recurrent problems represented in my extended family. Jane taught me how to confess the reality of the problem, state my desire to have nothing to do with the behavior or experience, ask forgiveness through the blood of Christ, and then, in power, declare my freedom from the pattern. The psychologist in me critically questioned the usefulness of identifying myself with other people’s problems. I reasoned with myself, though, that the real purpose of this process was to break any connections that might actually be there. Besides, the result of the process was to feel empowered to walk in victory over besetting problems to which I had previously felt very vulnerable. I found myself wanting to share this process with my family members but fearing that they would discredit it as a bunch of baloney. “Don’t worry.” Jane assured me. “Wait for God’s timing. When they are ready, they will probably come to you.”
The next step was to identify the areas of my personal life which didn’t glorify God, gave a foothold to darkness in my life, and interfered with my keeping company with the Holy Spirit. I found that many of the worrying instincts and interests which I had identified in myself were fed by the kind of media I was drawn to. Reluctantly I admitted to Jane that, before getting busy with school, I had spent a significant amount of time pouring over, meditating on, and reproducing fantasy art full of dark content. As I thought about it, much of the poetry I wrote, and music and movies I enjoyed related to similar dark themes.
“Bingo” said Jane grimly. “Are you prepared to give up this area of your life? Right now it is an idol in your life and is giving a foothold to the spirits which are associated with the themes in the media.”
I made a face. “Those sketches and poetry represent the only time I’ve ever felt like an artist.”
“We encounter the spiritual world though our imagination and the spiritual world inspires us through our creativity. If you stop glorifying darkness with your creativity, you will be able to start creatively partnering with the Holy Spirit. There really is no comparison between what you give up and what you get in return.”
“Ok, let’s go for it.” I said firmly. The process was similar to that of breaking the generational curses. It involved identifying the themes which didn’t glorify God and which bothered my conscience present in the art, repenting, asking forgiveness, and then, with authority, renouncing any place those pursuits have had in my life. I found that it was a relief to name the dark themes in the art for what they are instead of trying to justify and protect my right to enjoy them. I hadn’t been spending time on my fantasy hobby for almost two years so it was not too difficult to promise to get rid of my sketches and renounce my association with the bestial sensuality and other themes that featured so prominently in the art. Though I found that I could wholeheartedly ask God’s forgiveness for making an idol out of such dark beauty, the thought that actual demons might be involved was very unsettling. By the time we finished, it was well after midnight and both Jane and I were exhausted. We decided to put take a break until the next morning.
The next step was to identify the areas of my personal life which didn’t glorify God, gave a foothold to darkness in my life, and interfered with my keeping company with the Holy Spirit. I found that many of the worrying instincts and interests which I had identified in myself were fed by the kind of media I was drawn to. Reluctantly I admitted to Jane that, before getting busy with school, I had spent a significant amount of time pouring over, meditating on, and reproducing fantasy art full of dark content. As I thought about it, much of the poetry I wrote, and music and movies I enjoyed related to similar dark themes.
“Bingo” said Jane grimly. “Are you prepared to give up this area of your life? Right now it is an idol in your life and is giving a foothold to the spirits which are associated with the themes in the media.”
I made a face. “Those sketches and poetry represent the only time I’ve ever felt like an artist.”
“We encounter the spiritual world though our imagination and the spiritual world inspires us through our creativity. If you stop glorifying darkness with your creativity, you will be able to start creatively partnering with the Holy Spirit. There really is no comparison between what you give up and what you get in return.”
“Ok, let’s go for it.” I said firmly. The process was similar to that of breaking the generational curses. It involved identifying the themes which didn’t glorify God and which bothered my conscience present in the art, repenting, asking forgiveness, and then, with authority, renouncing any place those pursuits have had in my life. I found that it was a relief to name the dark themes in the art for what they are instead of trying to justify and protect my right to enjoy them. I hadn’t been spending time on my fantasy hobby for almost two years so it was not too difficult to promise to get rid of my sketches and renounce my association with the bestial sensuality and other themes that featured so prominently in the art. Though I found that I could wholeheartedly ask God’s forgiveness for making an idol out of such dark beauty, the thought that actual demons might be involved was very unsettling. By the time we finished, it was well after midnight and both Jane and I were exhausted. We decided to put take a break until the next morning.
The Grand Finale 2: the Centre
When we arrived at Jane’s home, we parked in front of her brick house, which was mostly hidden by rambling bushes covered in pink and yellow flowers. I carried my overnight bag past two large hutches full of colorful parakeets and into the house which was full of a cozy clutter of carved trinkets, framed embroidery, and piles of books. A calico cat met me at the door but soon lost interest in me and followed my hostess into the kitchen.
Jane allowed me to soak up as much of her ministry as I could take in. I was welcomed to not only observe but participate in her team’s activities of that weekend. We arrived on Friday, several hours into the weekly observance of 24 hours of worship, soaking prayer, intercession, and “practicing” hearing God’s voice. Jane and I walked from her house to the teaching centre next door from which issued the sound of drums and singing. Jane plopped down behind a harmonium and joined in the music-making while I slipped into the circle between two dark women dressed in tribal clothes. Over the next few hours I joined the group in dancing, singing, listening to (and questioning) teaching, chatting over chai, and praying over various members of the group.
At one point during the afternoon, a mother brought a young boy for prayer. The centre is open all day Thursday to provide intercession, but people are able to come on other days as well if they need to. She took me and one of her prayer partners to the back of the building and we prayed for the boy. In this way I was able to observe first hand the method through which Jane prays for healing, breaks curses, and leads people to experience the presence of J’sus. The boy had come with complaints of nightmares, minor physical symptoms, and prolonged refusal to attend a new school. I observed that his eyes were exceptionally twitchy, flitting back and forth and blinking constantly. The missionary prayed with him and invited J’sus to speak to the boy directly. After a moment of closed-eyed prayer, the boy opened his eyes and pronounced calmly that J’sus had told him to return to school. His eyes were completely calm and clear.
Over a break for food, Jane took me back to her house. She was supposed to be preparing for her two hour session (the 24 hours of worship were broken into sessions lead by different people,) but she spent the whole break talking with me about my own experience of the supernatural. I found myself sharing with her dreams, fantasies, and inclinations which had puzzled me in the past. It was a relief to find that she didn’t dismiss them but instead gave advice which made sense with my intuition and fit with what I knew of the spirit world. When the time for her session came, instead of winging a sermon, she let me use the time to ask questions to her team members and the local community who were participating in the prayer day.
Late that evening I plied Jane with questions about how to walk in the power and presence of the Holy Spirit the way she and these simple villagers did. I also wanted to know how she kept herself safe from the rebound resistance of the spirits that she encountered in her deliverance ministry. Carefully and methodically she explained to me basic principles of the spiritual world which seemed to be similar to the “laws” of physics.
“The first thing is to combat the spirits which might have found a right to be in your own life, preventing you from walking in the full reality of your position as a co-heir with Christ. Do you want to tackle some of your issues?” She asked, looking me straight in the eye. I returned the gaze imploringly. She sighed and retorted with characteristic faux-gruffness, “You see, this is why I never get any vacation time! I always meet people like you who need my help. Ok, let’s start by clearing the decks of any possible generational curses.”
Jane allowed me to soak up as much of her ministry as I could take in. I was welcomed to not only observe but participate in her team’s activities of that weekend. We arrived on Friday, several hours into the weekly observance of 24 hours of worship, soaking prayer, intercession, and “practicing” hearing God’s voice. Jane and I walked from her house to the teaching centre next door from which issued the sound of drums and singing. Jane plopped down behind a harmonium and joined in the music-making while I slipped into the circle between two dark women dressed in tribal clothes. Over the next few hours I joined the group in dancing, singing, listening to (and questioning) teaching, chatting over chai, and praying over various members of the group.
At one point during the afternoon, a mother brought a young boy for prayer. The centre is open all day Thursday to provide intercession, but people are able to come on other days as well if they need to. She took me and one of her prayer partners to the back of the building and we prayed for the boy. In this way I was able to observe first hand the method through which Jane prays for healing, breaks curses, and leads people to experience the presence of J’sus. The boy had come with complaints of nightmares, minor physical symptoms, and prolonged refusal to attend a new school. I observed that his eyes were exceptionally twitchy, flitting back and forth and blinking constantly. The missionary prayed with him and invited J’sus to speak to the boy directly. After a moment of closed-eyed prayer, the boy opened his eyes and pronounced calmly that J’sus had told him to return to school. His eyes were completely calm and clear.
Over a break for food, Jane took me back to her house. She was supposed to be preparing for her two hour session (the 24 hours of worship were broken into sessions lead by different people,) but she spent the whole break talking with me about my own experience of the supernatural. I found myself sharing with her dreams, fantasies, and inclinations which had puzzled me in the past. It was a relief to find that she didn’t dismiss them but instead gave advice which made sense with my intuition and fit with what I knew of the spirit world. When the time for her session came, instead of winging a sermon, she let me use the time to ask questions to her team members and the local community who were participating in the prayer day.
Late that evening I plied Jane with questions about how to walk in the power and presence of the Holy Spirit the way she and these simple villagers did. I also wanted to know how she kept herself safe from the rebound resistance of the spirits that she encountered in her deliverance ministry. Carefully and methodically she explained to me basic principles of the spiritual world which seemed to be similar to the “laws” of physics.
“The first thing is to combat the spirits which might have found a right to be in your own life, preventing you from walking in the full reality of your position as a co-heir with Christ. Do you want to tackle some of your issues?” She asked, looking me straight in the eye. I returned the gaze imploringly. She sighed and retorted with characteristic faux-gruffness, “You see, this is why I never get any vacation time! I always meet people like you who need my help. Ok, let’s start by clearing the decks of any possible generational curses.”
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