My squadmate Marisa Banas
wrote two amazing posts on her blog about “Seeing Hell” and then “Seeing Heaven.” I’ve included them here below, and/or you can
click on the titles above to go to her site.
(It’s long, and the may font randomly change sizes – I can’t get it to format correctly – but I have bolded the good parts, and it is well worth the read!)
Click here to read blog
posts from any of the October 2008 World Race squad.
Click here to read blog
posts from my Team Banah.
Click here to read blog
posts from any World Racer.
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* *
Every word of this story is
true and I worked hard to not exaggerate any detail. I enlisted the help
of my teammates to give you an accurate picture of what we experienced last
Sunday. Here we go…
We attended our first church
service at the Assembly of God church where we are serving this month.
Liz and I were given the opportunity to teach the Bible study portion, and
after we were finished we made our way to the back of the church where the rest
of our teammates were sitting. Janina
turned towards me with watery eyes and a terrifying disturbed look, and she
said. “Marisa, do you hear that wailing?” I wasn’t
sure what she was talking about until a few moments later when I heard the
distant shrieks of someone in serious
torment.
Janina was about to be called up to lead worship, and I
knew that she wouldn’t be able to do so unless someone did something about this
woman. To put her at rest, I volunteered myself and Liz. Walking
out of the church we looked at each other with an expression of what the heck
did we just get ourselves into? We were on the hunt for a wailing woman
who sounded like her baby just died or as if someone were violating her in
excruciating ways. The scream was faint which meant that we had a little
walking to do, but in which direction we were not sure.
We circled around the community until we felt like we
found the home. Amongst the terrifying lashes we heard singing – in fact
it was more than singing…it was a Christian African worship song. We
confirmed with people gathered outside of the compound that were asking
themselves the same questions that were running through our minds.
“Who was tormenting this girl?” After we confirmed that the
house was actually a house-church, a
“gravitational pull” mixed with an unknown “courage” took
us right up the steps into a small room where 25 or so believers were
worshiping.
Not knowing our place, we started shaking hands with
the parishioners and slowly found ourselves at the front of the
“church” where one woman was
laying on the floor and the other was flailing about as if someone were kicking
her belly. She was a 13 or 14 year old girl, and her Sunday-best
outfit was getting torn and dirty on the church floor as she wailed.
The parishioners
and pastor were doing their best to lead the girl to deliverance, but not much
progress had been made since the girl had now been wailing for about 30
minutes. My curiosity got the best of me and I found myself inching
closer and closer to the victim. Eventually, I was kneeling next to her,
and here’s what I saw….
This precious girl’s eyes were not that of a
child. Glazed over and red, her
eyes pointed straight up as if they were not allowed to look anywhere
else. Between the screams she would growl and between the growls and screams, she horrifyingly spat out shrieks
drenched in fear. When I asked my teammates for help in describing
her shrieks, the most common answer was like that of a woman being raped.
I don’t know that any of us have actually heard a woman in this condition but
the sound was as if her core were being violated and violently ripped from her
being.
Pointing his
finger in her face the Pastor shouted, “In the Name of Jesus come
OUT!” The demon didn’t listen. He did this several times and
then he made eye contact with me that said, “Your turn.”
I didn’t know what to
do. What can you do? But something in me was ready. I was
made for this. To give Jesus to people in torment! Looking at her I
wondered what her name was. Asking the Pastor he informed me that it was
Beatrice. With that I tried to see her how Jesus saw her. What did
he think of her and if He were here, what would he say? I didn’t used
demonology terminology because I don’t know how to. Looking her in the eyes I said, “You
are Beatrice. You are a child of God. He calls you beautiful.”
Jerking from side to side she lashed back at me in a freaky low grunt, “I
am not Beatrice. Beatrice doesn’t want to be delivered.”
That was enough to jumpstart
my faith. A demon was trying to talk to me like I was going to listen to
it… Yeah right. Continuing to watch her, God dropped something in
my Spirit. Ask her to go back to the time before she was
abused. To the time when she was pure and untouched. I
grabbed her little face and softly spoke what I was told to speak in her ear,
and as I did so the congregation continued to worship in song.
Immediately…Instantly…Abruptly…. as
soon as the last word was spoken her entire body appeared to fall asleep.
We all kind of looked around
at each other, none of us knowing what to do next. Was it over? The
Pastor decided to answer our curiosity by opening her eyes for her. As he
did so her eyes moved side to side and alas…a little girl woke up. Her name was Beatrice and she was
as gentle as a lamb. I helped sit her up and we walked her through a
prayer, her voice so soft and sweet. She had absolutely no idea that a
few minutes prior she had growled at me.
Driving home after a full day of ministry I was
thinking on these things. I have never heard or seen terror like I did in
this girl. I literally witnessed her being kicked around the floor as if
the foot of satan were being lodged into her belly. A revelation
came: If this little girl here on
earth can experience a torment like this, what is HELL really like?
Many people do not believe in God altogether, but I can
guarantee you that they have never witnessed anything as real as this. There are many mysteries of God that I will
never understand. Why do bad things happen? Predestination.
Mosquitoes. But this I am sure,
the spiritual world is alive and real, and the God of heaven to whom I pray carries
a strong, tangible power. I cannot
imagine living for all of eternity in this small state of torment. God, help me to find more people and tell them how
much you love them.
* *
* * *
The
miracles of the other day are still rich in my mind, and compiled with the
visible slice of heaven that I witnessed today, I am totally floored.
My teammate Ian and I decided to meet with the Pastor
of the house-church again today to see if he could be our translator for the
day. He gladly accepted the invitation, and there we were, the Three Musketeers
on a dusty African road. Our
destination: Asha’s shop, to tell her that we are going to reconstruct
the dilapidated structure that she uses to sell vegetables.
I met Asha during a door-to-door outreach, and although
she was Muslim, she invited me in by giving me a toothless smile and commanding
her slightly deformed grandson to get me a bench. I was given the
opportunity to tell her about the King
who became a slave and consequently saved us all. We prayed with her and made another
appointment to come back to find out what her decision was going to be.
The
next day we sat together and she said that she needed more information.
In between customers that came every few minutes, I labored all the while thinking, “God if you just heal that boil on
her son she would believe.” After giving her the info I squeaked
“You think about that decision and I am going to pray for your
boy.” I prayed and checked the boil…still there…. Prayed
again… Checked. Still no change…Bummer. I thought, “Hey, it’s
only my responsibility to pray. It’s God’s to heal” and we
eventually left.
I toiled a bit in prayer that night. “God, when
will you fully release your Spirit in me? That woman actually said to me,
“Marisa, I am an old woman, Muslim all my life. What have you come
here to tell me?” I was stuck. I wanted to tell her about my powerful God, the love that he has and
how he is rich in mercy. But I just didn’t want to tell her; I wanted to show her. This isn’t another
religion, this is the TRUTH and there is power in the Truth. Isn’t that
what Christ did?
That brings us to today. She had no idea that we
had decided to fix her shop, which was now starting to buckle under the
pressure of the wind. Pastor Gasper, conveyed our message to Ashato, and she
was delighted. Right before we were about to leave I saw her son with a
boil popping right out of his cheek. “Wait” I exclaimed,
“We have to pray for him.” And here is where the story gets
good.
Very gently, the
Pastor lays his hand on the boy’s forehead and says, “In the Name of Jesus
evil Spirit come out.” Shocked by his terminology, I watch as the
boy’s eyes gently close and as his miniature body falls backwards into Ian’s unsuspecting
arms. The pastor prays a couple more things and the boy now appears
to be asleep on the ground right next to where Asha was sitting on a bucket,
her mouth wide open in amazement (and I am sure concern).
I
look at her and stupidly give her a thumbs up and over expressed smile in
attempts to put her at ease. Like he did with Beatrice, he speeds up the
process and opens the boy’s eyes as he prays for God to wake him. The boy
appears to be in a drunken stupor. We help to sit him up, as all of us,
including Asha, try to hold back our laughter. This boy was totally out
of it! Just as soon as we sat him up he slumps back down and his head
tucks into his chest in slow motion. A few moments later he slowly looks up, tears dripping down both
cheeks. His mouth slowly breaks from a closed position into a
breathtaking expression of awe.
Pastor, who was now late for a meeting, had to hurry us
on. I struggled with our departure as a million or so questions flooded
my mind. I wanted to know what the boy saw. Did he see Jesus? I was
so jealous.
Asha and this
little boy both saw the power of the One whom I believe in. She
saw the mighty hand of the One YOU call Father. Heaven and hell became more
than vocabulary words and God, yet again proved his realness through those who
are daring enough to believe. Funny how that works, huh?!
