So why did I include a post on spiritual warfare? What does that have to do with my story?
Spiritual Warfare IS my story.
Many Christians today ignore the topic of spiritual warfare. But spiritual warfare is our story! Have you, as a Christian, or have you heard a Christian ever say, “Why is it that the people who are not Christians seem to have life so easy?” The answer is simple. Satan does not attack those that he is not threatened by. So if you are a Christian and it seems like your unsaved friends seem to have an easier life then you… they probably do. They are not under constant spiritual attack, you are.
I think many of us ignore how we are spiritually attacked. Especially those attacks that do not ever surface into life controlling problems.
I wish that I could say that I have never struggled with the curses of my family, but I have. In fact, I have been attacked with almost every curse that has been placed in my generational line. I have not succumbed to all of them, but I have been attacked with all of them.
Attack One: The Mind
Once I accepted Christ, the battle was on. The first way Satan attacked me was in my mind. He had been working on this for years of course. And with everything that had happened to me I had little defense against his attacks. I felt sad, rejected, scared & alone. And I was constantly reminded of my past. I was constantly told that I was unlovable; that I could amount to nothing and that my life was not worth living. And these thoughts played in my head day after day.
When I was 12 I got my first boyfriend. I was crazy about him. He was funny, weird, interesting, cute and trouble. We dated for almost two years. However, the relationship was off and on. He often broke up with me and dated other girls. Which intensified my sense of rejection. Satan was using a person to confirm the thoughts that I had in my head. That I was unlovable and not good enough, and not just to my family but to others as well. I continually took my boyfriend back and tried to be what he liked. And he continually dumped me and was verbally abusive to me. He spread rumors about me and often brought his other girlfriends around me. When we broke up I would cry for hours, day and night. I would become suicidal and sometimes would self injure to ease the pain.
The negative thoughts that raced in my head became so frequent that I often thought of death. I could not seem to control what was happening, and the pain was so intense that I did not feel that I could live through it. I also felt hopeless. I felt the pain was never going to end and I could see no logical way that I could spend the rest of my life in this state. I often pleaded to God to take me. I would cry for hours telling God that I did not want to be on this earth, that I could not handle life, and when I awoke for another day I resented God that He would leave me in a place like this. I felt He was cruel and I did not understand why He would let me live like this.
Satan had my mind right where he wanted it.
Attack Two: Drugs
I had my first experience with drugs in junior high. Some of my friends smoked pot and of course I wanted to try it and see what it was all about. However, I have always been a fairly active person and doing something that made me lazy and hungry just did not appeal to me. So I only tried it a few times and my first two years of high school I remained drug free. However, in my junior year of high school something happened that sent me into a tail spin of emotions that I was not properly equipped to deal with. I had three family members die in a matter of about four months.
My mom showed up on my dad’s porch one day and told me that her dad had died… and that my grandma had cancer. My mom and I attended her father’s funeral. I did not know him well. I only knew how everyone talked about him- which was bad. So I didn’t expect to hear much at the funeral. But oddly, his funeral was one of the weirdest things ever. I expected that not many would talk, considering he was such a bad man and no one likes to say bad things at someone’s funeral. But instead, the funeral was flooded with stories of his good works. He and his wife were in ministry and every person there had a good story to say about him. His wife also had two sons who, to my surprise, loved him and were very grateful to have him as their father figure. I was completely confused. Who was this man? Why did my family hate him? Why did I hardly ever get to see him or get to know him? To me he seemed to be the only dang normal person on my mom’s side and for some reason they had kept him from me! It was very frustrating and it would be years before I would learn any more about him.
My grandmother, on my mother’s side, who had basically raised me died within two months of her cancer diagnosis. The night before she died my mom, again, showed up my doorstep and said that we needed to go see my grandma and that she needed me to drive and she had taken some sleeping pills and was too drowsy to drive. I remember all of the family being there. Some were inside, some were outside… they all talked and cried- though to me the sounds of them were mumbled. Everything seemed to dim and blur around me. I couldn’t focus on what they were doing or saying- I could only focus on the thought that my grandma was going to die- and she was going to spend her last moments with these people. You see, my grandma had moved away from our hometown a few years before with her husband. I guess they both got sick of having to take care of all six of my aunts and uncles while they repeatedly ruined their lives… I would have too. Her husband adored her and when he found out she was sick he took it very hard. The kids talked him into letting them bring my grandmother back to her hometown where they could care for her so her husband would not have to. I think he let her go because he could not bear to watch her die in front of him. He told me years later that every once in a while, when her meds faded away and she was coherent, she would call him and say how much she missed him and that she hated being away. It broke my heart to hear that because I knew, as I sat there that night, watching her body give out, that the last place she probably wanted to be when she died was where she was. I sat next to her and held her hand while her body twitched and seized. She was in so much pain and I just wanted it to be over. I honestly prayed that she would die while I sat there with her. I did not want her to die surrounded with the rest of them. They all made me sick and I wished that I could just take her away, to die in a place surrounded with love and peace and joy and happiness. As time went on and she did not pass, my mom said we needed to go home. I reluctantly said goodbye to my grandma and got in the car. Hours after we left she passed away. I still don’t understand why God did not take her while I was there- I wish he had. Maybe she was holding on as I held her hand and would not let go. Maybe me leaving made her give up the fight. Maybe God didn’t want me to see her die in front of me. I don’t know the reason, but it still sickens me today to think that the last face that she saw was one of theirs. And that probably sounds awful to say- but that is how I feel.
After being up all night with my grandma I returned home to my dads. He told me that he and his wife had prayed all night that my grandma would not die in front of me, which pissed me off considering what I said above. He told me I could stay home from school- but I went anyway. That week was a blur. I did not know how to emotionally digest what had just happened.
And next…
A few months after my grandma died one of my uncles died via heroin overdose. From what I understand he hadn’t used in quite some time. He was alone and stuck a large dose into his vein, let it go and died. I was not close to him (as I didn’t really care for any of them) so that was not the aspect of his death that affected me. The part that affected me was that I knew he did it on purpose. And being suicidal my self for years at this point, I thought of how he must have felt to take his own life. I thought of how much pain he must have been in and how hopeless he must have felt. I thought of how much courage he had to do the thing that I had so many times contemplated in my own head. I also thought of how that heroin must have felt entering his body… how it would have numbed his emotions and taken the pain away and provided peace before the lethal dose spread through his body, eventually taking his life. I did not care that I would never see him again- but I did envy him that he did not have to ever wake up and feel the pain that I felt every day. He got to escape it… and I had to stay and suffer.
Needless to say, I was at a really weak point in my life. And the devil knew just the way to attack me while I was weak. Shortly after the death of my three family members, I was presented with the opportunity to try some cocaine at a friend’s house of mine. I had never done drugs, but that did not mean that I did not know about them. With my dad being in recovery I heard many stories of the effects of certain drugs and had a good knowledge of each type. So when offered cocaine all I could think was “Numb” – and that’s exactly what I wanted at that point in my life, was to be numb. Without hesitation I grabbed a rolled dollar, tilted it slightly to the side and in one effortless sniff, inhaled the line laid out for me. Someone there said, “man, you’re a pro!” The drug almost instantly numbed me. And I do not mean my body was numb… my mind was. My body was actually quite awake, which I liked considering the emotional pain I was in was considerably draining to my body. My mind was quieted and my body was rejuvenated! Amazing!
And right then, the devil had his hold on me. One that would take me years to remove...
