It’s funny how God always moves when you least expect it– at least, that’s how He works with me. Take the last two weeks for example. I was bombarded on social media of my classmates that I graduated with, almost a year ago now, out doing wonderful things for the Kingdom. They had gone to do what we got our degrees for: Youth Pastor. And what am I doing? Being a concierge at a high rise condo in Downtown Dallas. (In short, rolling in the deep of monies by simply answering phone calls and making rich people happy.)
Two weeks ago, I sat at my kitchen counter, tears falling on hot cheeks, telling my husband I fear I made the wrong choice somewhere. I felt bad for not preaching every week to a group of teenagers and young adults. But I didn’t fit in with that crowd. The thought of preaching a new sermon every week, typically with an iPad in one hand, a latte in the other, rolled jeans and TOMS and backwards hats and curled hair and checkered shirts doesn’t sound appealing at all. (Even though I own an iPad, married a barista and wear the exact outfit I just described….) Still, it’s not me. I mean it is, but I’m a different kind of whatever it is I just described.
Like I said, two weeks ago, I was crying thinking I was being a horrible Christian. I wasn’t doing anything I was supposed to, not the “Christian” things I grew up thinking you were supposed to do. And after having all that instilled within my very DNA after going to private Christian schools for 10 years, being in Church all the time (unless we were on vacation), and being in YWAM for 2 years and graduating from a seminary after three years, I thought I knew it all.
A daily checklist would (“should”) include:
I hadn’t really done the full checklist, or most of it, in a while. It’s not that I didn’t want to do those things, it’s just… I got caught up. I am recently married and suddenly I put myself under a lot of pressure to be the “good wife.” You know, the kind who cooks her husband good, homemade food, does the dishes, cleans the house, does the laundry, runs the errands, grabs groceries, makes her husband happy, and have a full time job that consists of working 3-11 five days a week. Needless to say, being the kind of “wife” I had in mind came with a lot of pressure.
Recently though, I got hit with the realization: What I think a “good wife” is supposed to do, doesn’t mean that’s something I have to do it all by myself.
So I started having Rhys (my husband) help out with some stuff. Turns out the very thing I hated doing the most, he enjoys and loves to do: Laundry. (Thank. God.) While this sudden realization that my husband is the greatest God-send on Earth simply for the fact that he doesn’t mind taking care of my dirty laundry (in more ways than one), we were happily surprised with a text message from my Mom in which she asked if we could help a friend of a friend who had recently moved from Vegas to our area.
Ironically, Rhys and I had promised one another that we would not do ministry for the first year of our marriage. It hasn’t even been three months and we have done more in three days than we have in our first three months of being married. But we were secretly, subconsciously missing it terribly (at least I was), so we agreed.
What started out as a simple get-together lunch discussing spiritual warfare and strongholds and spiritual shenanigans, would turn out into an all out war I did not see coming, nor felt strong enough to face. I was always under the impression, simply out of my own thoughts and conclusions from past “notions” you need to be at a certain level to handle certain things. Like to pray for healing: how sick the person and their being healed is directly proportionate to the amount of faith you have for them to be healed. If they need to be healed from the flu then that’s easy faith. If you ask me to pray for cancer to be depleted, I need to fast and pray for at least a week, and then hope I built a skyscraper of faith.
Several hours after meeting with a Mother and her daughter, I received a call from the daughter who voice was stricken with anxiety as she told me her little brother was wrestling their Mom to the ground, throwing her against the wall and screaming, “Why won’t you kill me now? I deserve to die!”
I just wanted to boil my potatos and bake my chicken as we had a friend over who was dying Rhys’ hair. And of course, he had all the demon deliverance experience, I had none. Well, never any in leading against that kind of stuff. But Rhys was unavailable, the daughter was desperate, and the screaming from the other side kept getting louder and louder. Pardon my language, but in being honest, the first thought that came to my head was, “Oh s**t, oh s**t, what do I do!? I can’t do this! I don’t have time for this! I just started boiling the potatos!!”
But I didn’t have a choice. Sure, you could argue that I could have simply said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have enough training in this area.” Or, “Jesus said this kind has to come out after praying and fasting, I have not really done either today so I cannot help you. Good day!” Or even, “Well, you’re a Christian, you do something!”
And just like that, with no Scriptures coming to my mind, and no idea how to even start, I asked her to put me on speaker so I could talk to her Mom and try to get a better feel for what I was dealing with. I knew it was a spirit of suicide, what else would make an 11 year old scream “I deserve to die, kill me now”? (The Mom told me he has been suicidal since he was 6.)
After praying in the Spirit for a few minutes (which was the only thing I was really taught, after 5 years being in Pentecostal Evangelical environments, that’s what you should do at some point when demons show up), I started praying for peace and for Jesus to give us direction and clarity. (Mainly because I had no idea what I was doing.)
I won’t go into detail, because it’s not necessary for you to know what happened or how it happened. It was a hard, difficult, strenuous 30 minutes of me trying to pray, not knowing what to say, trying to block out the terrifying screams of a little boy in pain, and just praying and hoping with everything inside of me that His Word would not return void in saying that if we resist temptation, if we stand firm against the Enemy, he must flee. I had to believe that God was bigger than the demons, no matter how big or small my faith felt in that moment, I had to hold onto the Truth.
Needless to say, after a lot of warfare and screaming and rebuking and freaking, the demon finally relinquished its stronghold and let the child be. We said a few more prayers, I briefly spoke with the Mom about what happened, and then we hung up. I stood outside of my apartment by the stairs that lead to our floors, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The first and only words I could say were, “Thank you, Jesus.” And then thanked Him that nobody came outside to hear some random blonde chick rebuking demons over a phone.
I was shaken up for the rest of the night, so much so I set my smoke alarm off trying to cook the chicken in a skillet as it didn’t bake–thankfully my potatos boiled quite nicely. I briefly explained to Rhys what happened, which we had to explain to our friend who dyed his hair as she did not have any knowledge what so ever when it comes to spiritual warfare, but she believes in God, Satan, and some supernatural things. I stayed really quiet the rest of the night, wrestling with mixed emotions of fear, peace, shock, and awe. In fact, I would continue to wrestle with those emotions for another 48 hours.
It wasn’t until I was driving on my way to work yesterday that I came to the realization that what I did is what I am supposed to do. And I don’t need any special training or preparation, I just need to be willing and open. I don’t need a lot of faith, I just need a small mustard seed. (Imagine that, it’s true, again!)
I may not be with my peers in front of crowds, standing by pulpits, preaching a powerful message about the love of God, but at least I am living it out. I may be working in an environment that seems to be closer to evil than good, but at least I can shine what little light I have. I’m still preaching in a different form. Like I said at the start, I fit in perfectly with the crowd, but I stand out.
I’ve never done a deliverance before in my life, and it is a true miracle (and a hilarious one at that). The fact that God even made it happen over the phone makes me laugh harder, and drop my mouth in awe even more. Not because I am any sort of holy hot shot, not by the least bit. I hadn’t fasted in months. I wasn’t daily reading my Bible. I hadn’t prayed for anyone to get healed in a long, long time. I wasn’t doing what I thought you were supposed to in order to do what it was that I would have guessed was necessary to get done what I did. (Sorry, I’m writing this late at night…)
What I’m trying to say is there are no formulas with faith. Either you are willing to let God use you regardless of your training or background, or you fall into the trap that you can do the miracles based on what you’ve done to accomplish the level of faith you think you have.
On my own, within my strength, I was not prepared to handle a situation like that, especially not over the phone. Sure it was possible for other people to do it, but they had to be spiritual giants like some of my teachers from YWAM and CFNI (the seminary I went to). Not me. Maybe me in a few years when I was immersed in ministry, and at the top of my game, but not while I’m having a friend over to dye Rhys’ hair blue and I’m just trying to boil my potatos so I can pour the creamy garlic Campbell sauce on them with the green beans and chicken (which I burnt after setting off the smoke alarm). (I swear I really can cook, my brain was just in other places.) I was being normal, and normal people don’t change the world.
I think we, as Christians, get our heads so full of premonitions and thoughts and lies that we convince ourselves we have to be at a certain level to achieve certain tasks, and be used by God. We think, we tell ourselves, we cannot do that because that’s not for normal people. That’s for the great saints like James, Peter, Paul, John, and Pastor (So and So).
Who taught us we had to be of a particular caliber to do what Jesus said we would do? And more! He wasn’t talking to the greatest saints of all time, he was talking to the normal people. The disciples went back to what they knew before they met Christ after He died, which means, for me, they were normal people. They were fishermen. Tax collectors. Doctors. HUMANS. They didn’t become “Saints” until after they died and we proclaimed them as such, sometimes in an idolizing way, even though Jesus said anyone who is in the Light as He is in the Light is a child of God–which by default makes us “Saints”. We just don’t recognize ourselves as such because we think a “Saint” is someone who is super holy, and didn’t mess up, and performed a million miracles.
That’s why I like my tagline and decided to call this blog “A (Sin City) Saint”. I’m from Las Vegas, NV, born and raised and though I traveled and moved a lot for several years, I kept coming home–until I got engaged to my best friend and decided to stay in Texas a year ago. Some people back home would say I have done some really awesome things for Jesus. And I agree, I have. But none of those things could save a young boy from a suicidal demon. My background, my “training”, my history of places I went to for missions trips, or teaching youth groups how to evangelize, or going through intense training and studying how to be a youth pastor and getting a degree, none of that matters. I can have all the experience and training in the world, but in the end that will not save a life. Being terrified to do something completely out of your comfort zone, taking a risk, trusting Jesus with the tiniest, mustard seed faith, being willing will save a life. You don’t have to be Super Saint to do that. You just need to be open, put everything aside, and just listen to what the Spirit of the Lord is saying. In the end, He knows what the outcome will be, and He knows what’s best for everyone.
….even if that means sacrificing the chicken and potatos to deliver a family from a living nightmare they’ve undergone for several years. You may feel embarrassed in the short run, but in the long one, it’s well beyond worth it. (Though Rhys still says it was really good. He’s a keeper.)
Two weeks ago, I sat at my kitchen counter, tears falling on hot cheeks, telling my husband I fear I made the wrong choice somewhere. I felt bad for not preaching every week to a group of teenagers and young adults. But I didn’t fit in with that crowd. The thought of preaching a new sermon every week, typically with an iPad in one hand, a latte in the other, rolled jeans and TOMS and backwards hats and curled hair and checkered shirts doesn’t sound appealing at all. (Even though I own an iPad, married a barista and wear the exact outfit I just described….) Still, it’s not me. I mean it is, but I’m a different kind of whatever it is I just described.
I’ve always been different, even when I look or act the same. I stand out of crowds even though I seem to fit in perfectly. It’s a strange dynamic.
Like I said, two weeks ago, I was crying thinking I was being a horrible Christian. I wasn’t doing anything I was supposed to, not the “Christian” things I grew up thinking you were supposed to do. And after having all that instilled within my very DNA after going to private Christian schools for 10 years, being in Church all the time (unless we were on vacation), and being in YWAM for 2 years and graduating from a seminary after three years, I thought I knew it all.
A daily checklist would (“should”) include:
- Pray and read your Bible everyday.
- Have quiet time, usually in the morning to set your day up right.
- Spend time in worship. (Can be during your quiet time.)
- Heal the sick. Raise the dead. Witness to the multitudes. Love your enemies. Memorize Scripture.
- And my personal, least favorite: cast out demons.
Recently though, I got hit with the realization: What I think a “good wife” is supposed to do, doesn’t mean that’s something I have to do it all by myself.
So I started having Rhys (my husband) help out with some stuff. Turns out the very thing I hated doing the most, he enjoys and loves to do: Laundry. (Thank. God.) While this sudden realization that my husband is the greatest God-send on Earth simply for the fact that he doesn’t mind taking care of my dirty laundry (in more ways than one), we were happily surprised with a text message from my Mom in which she asked if we could help a friend of a friend who had recently moved from Vegas to our area.
Ironically, Rhys and I had promised one another that we would not do ministry for the first year of our marriage. It hasn’t even been three months and we have done more in three days than we have in our first three months of being married. But we were secretly, subconsciously missing it terribly (at least I was), so we agreed.
What started out as a simple get-together lunch discussing spiritual warfare and strongholds and spiritual shenanigans, would turn out into an all out war I did not see coming, nor felt strong enough to face. I was always under the impression, simply out of my own thoughts and conclusions from past “notions” you need to be at a certain level to handle certain things. Like to pray for healing: how sick the person and their being healed is directly proportionate to the amount of faith you have for them to be healed. If they need to be healed from the flu then that’s easy faith. If you ask me to pray for cancer to be depleted, I need to fast and pray for at least a week, and then hope I built a skyscraper of faith.
Sadly, I had no time to prepare for the challenge presented at hand, and my faith has never felt weaker.
I just wanted to boil my potatos and bake my chicken as we had a friend over who was dying Rhys’ hair. And of course, he had all the demon deliverance experience, I had none. Well, never any in leading against that kind of stuff. But Rhys was unavailable, the daughter was desperate, and the screaming from the other side kept getting louder and louder. Pardon my language, but in being honest, the first thought that came to my head was, “Oh s**t, oh s**t, what do I do!? I can’t do this! I don’t have time for this! I just started boiling the potatos!!”
But I didn’t have a choice. Sure, you could argue that I could have simply said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have enough training in this area.” Or, “Jesus said this kind has to come out after praying and fasting, I have not really done either today so I cannot help you. Good day!” Or even, “Well, you’re a Christian, you do something!”
But something inside simply whispered, “Yes, you can. I am with you.”
And just like that, with no Scriptures coming to my mind, and no idea how to even start, I asked her to put me on speaker so I could talk to her Mom and try to get a better feel for what I was dealing with. I knew it was a spirit of suicide, what else would make an 11 year old scream “I deserve to die, kill me now”? (The Mom told me he has been suicidal since he was 6.)
After praying in the Spirit for a few minutes (which was the only thing I was really taught, after 5 years being in Pentecostal Evangelical environments, that’s what you should do at some point when demons show up), I started praying for peace and for Jesus to give us direction and clarity. (Mainly because I had no idea what I was doing.)
I won’t go into detail, because it’s not necessary for you to know what happened or how it happened. It was a hard, difficult, strenuous 30 minutes of me trying to pray, not knowing what to say, trying to block out the terrifying screams of a little boy in pain, and just praying and hoping with everything inside of me that His Word would not return void in saying that if we resist temptation, if we stand firm against the Enemy, he must flee. I had to believe that God was bigger than the demons, no matter how big or small my faith felt in that moment, I had to hold onto the Truth.
State Farm is a good neighbor, my God is a good Father. He showed up exactly when we needed Him most.
Needless to say, after a lot of warfare and screaming and rebuking and freaking, the demon finally relinquished its stronghold and let the child be. We said a few more prayers, I briefly spoke with the Mom about what happened, and then we hung up. I stood outside of my apartment by the stairs that lead to our floors, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The first and only words I could say were, “Thank you, Jesus.” And then thanked Him that nobody came outside to hear some random blonde chick rebuking demons over a phone.
I was shaken up for the rest of the night, so much so I set my smoke alarm off trying to cook the chicken in a skillet as it didn’t bake–thankfully my potatos boiled quite nicely. I briefly explained to Rhys what happened, which we had to explain to our friend who dyed his hair as she did not have any knowledge what so ever when it comes to spiritual warfare, but she believes in God, Satan, and some supernatural things. I stayed really quiet the rest of the night, wrestling with mixed emotions of fear, peace, shock, and awe. In fact, I would continue to wrestle with those emotions for another 48 hours.
It wasn’t until I was driving on my way to work yesterday that I came to the realization that what I did is what I am supposed to do. And I don’t need any special training or preparation, I just need to be willing and open. I don’t need a lot of faith, I just need a small mustard seed. (Imagine that, it’s true, again!)
I may not be with my peers in front of crowds, standing by pulpits, preaching a powerful message about the love of God, but at least I am living it out. I may be working in an environment that seems to be closer to evil than good, but at least I can shine what little light I have. I’m still preaching in a different form. Like I said at the start, I fit in perfectly with the crowd, but I stand out.
I’ve never done a deliverance before in my life, and it is a true miracle (and a hilarious one at that). The fact that God even made it happen over the phone makes me laugh harder, and drop my mouth in awe even more. Not because I am any sort of holy hot shot, not by the least bit. I hadn’t fasted in months. I wasn’t daily reading my Bible. I hadn’t prayed for anyone to get healed in a long, long time. I wasn’t doing what I thought you were supposed to in order to do what it was that I would have guessed was necessary to get done what I did. (Sorry, I’m writing this late at night…)
What I’m trying to say is there are no formulas with faith. Either you are willing to let God use you regardless of your training or background, or you fall into the trap that you can do the miracles based on what you’ve done to accomplish the level of faith you think you have.
I realized on Monday it really, truly has nothing to do with us. It has everything to do with God.
On my own, within my strength, I was not prepared to handle a situation like that, especially not over the phone. Sure it was possible for other people to do it, but they had to be spiritual giants like some of my teachers from YWAM and CFNI (the seminary I went to). Not me. Maybe me in a few years when I was immersed in ministry, and at the top of my game, but not while I’m having a friend over to dye Rhys’ hair blue and I’m just trying to boil my potatos so I can pour the creamy garlic Campbell sauce on them with the green beans and chicken (which I burnt after setting off the smoke alarm). (I swear I really can cook, my brain was just in other places.) I was being normal, and normal people don’t change the world.
But a normal person can influence another normal person which can lead to changing their world.
I think we, as Christians, get our heads so full of premonitions and thoughts and lies that we convince ourselves we have to be at a certain level to achieve certain tasks, and be used by God. We think, we tell ourselves, we cannot do that because that’s not for normal people. That’s for the great saints like James, Peter, Paul, John, and Pastor (So and So).
Who taught us we had to be of a particular caliber to do what Jesus said we would do? And more! He wasn’t talking to the greatest saints of all time, he was talking to the normal people. The disciples went back to what they knew before they met Christ after He died, which means, for me, they were normal people. They were fishermen. Tax collectors. Doctors. HUMANS. They didn’t become “Saints” until after they died and we proclaimed them as such, sometimes in an idolizing way, even though Jesus said anyone who is in the Light as He is in the Light is a child of God–which by default makes us “Saints”. We just don’t recognize ourselves as such because we think a “Saint” is someone who is super holy, and didn’t mess up, and performed a million miracles.
A true “Saint” is simply a human being willing to be used by God at any time in any way.
That’s why I like my tagline and decided to call this blog “A (Sin City) Saint”. I’m from Las Vegas, NV, born and raised and though I traveled and moved a lot for several years, I kept coming home–until I got engaged to my best friend and decided to stay in Texas a year ago. Some people back home would say I have done some really awesome things for Jesus. And I agree, I have. But none of those things could save a young boy from a suicidal demon. My background, my “training”, my history of places I went to for missions trips, or teaching youth groups how to evangelize, or going through intense training and studying how to be a youth pastor and getting a degree, none of that matters. I can have all the experience and training in the world, but in the end that will not save a life. Being terrified to do something completely out of your comfort zone, taking a risk, trusting Jesus with the tiniest, mustard seed faith, being willing will save a life. You don’t have to be Super Saint to do that. You just need to be open, put everything aside, and just listen to what the Spirit of the Lord is saying. In the end, He knows what the outcome will be, and He knows what’s best for everyone.
….even if that means sacrificing the chicken and potatos to deliver a family from a living nightmare they’ve undergone for several years. You may feel embarrassed in the short run, but in the long one, it’s well beyond worth it. (Though Rhys still says it was really good. He’s a keeper.)
To God be the Glory and Praise forever and ever,
Amen.
-(Sin City) Saint
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