Turn Away from Sin and Believe in the Gospels

Ash Wednesday in the Year of Our Lord 2006.

What a way to begin Lent! The devil attacked last night. I am grateful. Yes.

This seems odd, most may think. How horrible to be grateful for demonic attacks!

I don't mind this seeming a non sequitor. I've dealt long enough with the tricks of the devil (but never can it be long enough to feel secure, nor should it) to know that the devil hates it when I am grateful.

The reason I am grateful is that when the devil attacks, I am strengthened by God in various ways. He protects me, and I learn more how to defend myself for the Faith, as well. Why does the devil attack? There are several reasons. (But I'll know more after I read a rare book I found at Hyde Bros.: Sheed and Ward's Satan.) So far, I know that the devil attacks when he is angry, frustrated, and feeling extra ornry. He also attacks when something isn't going his way.

It is this motive for attack that helps me know I'm on the right tract in a given situation. If the devil attacks when I have resolved to do something or am on a certain path, it is a kind of affirmation or assurance that the intended action or path is the opposite of what the devil wants. So, although exhausted and "done in" a bit by the attacks, I am strengthened, too.

Why does God allow the devil to attack a soul? I have some ideas and have done some reading on this subject by spiritual masters. The obvious is that God allows evil to beat on the roof of our bodies, minds, hearts, and souls in order to train, teach and strengthen us.

I am ever amazed at how, when seemingly paralyzed to think or act, God inately helps the person (entire being) during the attack. I suppose a prerequisite to this help is that the person desires God's will and loves Him. I'd think a person could be a horrible sinner and turned in on sin and away from the Gospels, but a simple plea for help or slight shift in God's direction would bring Him in a flash of loving protection and assistance. Well, I know this to be true.There are thousands of prodigals out there who have testimonies to share, validating this fact.

So it was last night, once more. I had wondered why the devil had been so restrained with me in a current situation. I found it odd, frankly. But I wasn't complaining to God about it! Last night I spent an hour in the large church next door, praying alone with Jesus, the angels and saints, before Him in His tabernacle. Candle-light flickers from the Sorrowful Mother and Sacred Heart of Jesus shrines stroked and warmed the sandstone walls.

I returned home and retired for the night with my breviary, rosary, and heating pad for neck pain. What a relief to fall asleep after several nights of strained slumber. I was awakened at 3 a.m. to the stench. Ah, this is nothing new, so I re-grasped my rosary from under the pillow and began praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. At some point I went into another slumber of some sort. It wasn't deep or peaceful sleep; it is of a different dimension.

I was taken to a different place--rooms, people, and a specific room containing fleshpots of putrefying pig body sections. The body parts, such as a part of the hip including joint, part of the head--were covered with water and all of a sickening, disgusting nature. The fleshy parts had become edematous, and milky skum floated on the top of the water covering them. Next to the pots was a box. Inside the box were three puppies and a kitten near full-grown.

They appeared to be dead. Dead from having drunk the putred water of the pig fleshpots and themselves covered with water near to the top of the cardboard box--amazing in itself that cardboard could hold that much water. The puppies' and kitten's bodies were curled and sunk to the bottom of the box.

I recognized one of the puppies from my childhood, which intensified the horror of the scene. Oh yes, the devil counted on that slick detail to further shock and sicken.

Rushing from the room, I cried for help. Others about weren't as dismayed but one or two followed me back into the room with the fleshpots and deathbox. The water had receded, and it was suggested to me to check the deathly still animals. Amazingly, two of the puppies and the kitten showed signs of life and soon revived. The one puppy, though, was deader than a doornail. (This is a phrase my dad would typically use, and since the non-reviving puppy was--you guessed it--my beloved dog from childhood, it seems apt to think of my dad's turns of speech.)

I returned to the room with various people, and I began to cry, then to sob, then to gut-wrench-weep so deeply that sounds and tears remained in the far reaches of the interior where there is limitless expanse for eternal emotions. A woman held me close and soothed with strokes and gentle words until I came out of this dimension.

When I was more aware of my surroundings, of my bed on the oriental rug on the wooden floor, pillow under my head and another under my knees, the stench re-welcomed me as did the exhausted ordeal of what I'd just experienced. In a paralyzed condition, unable to move or speak, not yet--not knowing how to move or speak but knowing well that the devil had me in a rebarbative state --the power of the Holy Spirit came forth.

Without knowing how, and not of my doing, the words "Come Holy Spirit" flowed through and from within my spiritual and mortal essence. While "Come Holy Spirit" was spoken, slowly and deeply, the floor boards and my body steadily and strongly vibrated.

Then all would be still. A second time the words "Come Holy Spirit" were from some Source spoken, and with them again the distinctive, simultaneous vibrations. Then stillness. Then a third "Come Holy Spirit," and the vibrations, and a final stillness with peace.

The stench remained, however, and when it was time to think about dressing for the early Mass, I got the dickens out of the house and over to the church, worn out as I was.

After the Ash Wednesday Mass, the priest was available in the confessional. In three hours I was going to have to do something very difficult--perhaps the most heart-breakingly difficult of anything in my life, thus far. I desired a blessing; I needed a blessing from Jesus through this priest. Before the blessing I asked if I could unload the horror of the demonic attack, which I did quite briefly. He commented that the circumstances are understandably "anxious." Yes, yes. But I have had enough experience with the devil that the reality of the attack had more to do with evil than anxiety.

I gave a few more details of the attack, and he comprehended a little more. I explained that I am grateful to the devil, if that is okay, and explained that due to the attack, I knew I was heading in to do the right thing: something the devil does not want because it is going to put the devil out of business at least in one mess. Father then gave me a beautiful blessing and prayed down the power of the Holy Spirit to be in me, with me, and speak through me during the upcoming appointment. He then suggested I repeat the name of the Holy Spirit.

Ah! God is in this and so good, guiding me along if I but pay heed and do His will! I then exclaimed to the priest that it was thrice given me in the attack--through me--the words "Come Holy Spirit." So he immediately said to pray those words.

On my e-mail a short while later, a message came from Brother Francois of Togo, Africa. He reminded me of Ash Wednesday being the entrance to Lent--a time when the Holy Spirit empowers and leads us closer to Christ!

The ordeal to which I was called and needed to handle is over. It went as well as anything that sorrowful and grave could go. The Holy Spirit is loving and helpful and so, so real. It is over now, that part. And I and hopefully many others will set our sights on turning away from sin and believing in the Gospels.

I know who is the little puppy which didn't make it in this circumstance but will live, all the same, when the tainted putrid water is out of his system and he isn't drowned by it. May fresh baptismal waters fill and cleanse body, mind, heart and soul!