"Blanca."
I open my eyes.
I see the Anointed One,
Standing against a gray backdrop
That accentuates the bleakness in me.
"Hi." My greeting is faint.
"Hello." He smiles.
Waving me over with one hand,
He says, "Walk with Me for a bit."
I nod, sidling up alongside Him.
We walk for several moments in silence.
Finally, I ask,
"Why did You send me to New York?"
"To spend time with Didymus.
To open your eyes to
Spiritual truths at work in your life.
To reinforce the feeling of
My Hand at work in your life.
But Blanca, you know this.
What are you really asking Me?"
"I have felt so messed up inside
Since I came home," I admit.
"My thoughts are racing all over the place.
I can't concentrate properly.
I feel restless and edgy,
Like there's something I'm supposed to be doing,
But I don't know what the something is.
I'm nasty to the people I love
For absolutely no reason or provocation.
I'm easily confused, easily aggravated.
None of this is my usual behavior.
I don't know exactly what's going on."
"Tell me about the night
You were making beet salad."
I don't want to recount that!
"You already know what happened!" I protest.
He nods. "Tell me anyway."
I want so desperately
To get out of this conversation,
But He has asked,
So I stammeringly begin to relate
The moments of terror that gripped me
The night I was making a beet salad
In Didymus' kitchen.
It happened as soon as
Didymus had said she was going to bed.
I was sitting at the kitchen table grating beets
When I was overwhelmed
By a feeling of dread.
My heart started palpitating.
My head felt tingly, pins and needles.
The hackles rose on my flesh.
I wanted to ask Didymus
To stay awake with me,
But I talked myself out of it,
Reasoning that it would be selfish,
She needed sleep,
She was recovering from surgery.
I checked the apartment
Over and over again,
Seeking for something physical
To account for my feelings.
Of course, there was none.
I sat back down,
And continued with my mundane task
While my thoughts suddenly exploded
In a violent kaleidoscope of
Half-seen visions
And half-formed, evil thoughts.
I kept seeing "things"
Out of the corner of my eyes,
Flashes of dark movement.
I imagined the shredded beets in front of me
Were coming alive,
Transforming into red worms.
I heard thoughts in my head,
In my own voice,
That were not of me,
Saying phrases like,
"You think you can go up against me?
You can't make a difference in this world.
That knife you're using to cut that lemon?
You'd be better off using it on your wrists!
Better yet, go put Didymus out of her misery first,
Before you off yourself."
Vile, vile thoughts
Swirling around me,
Swirling through me
As I deliberately, intensely focused
On finishing the beet salad.
I turned on Pandora radio,
And prayed for a song
From the Christian Rock Radio station
To dispel the miasma around me.
When the song choices proved impotent,
I prayed and prayed and kept praying to the Father
For deliverance from this evil assault.
Eventually, the thoughts died down,
And the feeling of attack
Drew to a close.
I Godblogged until my eyes almost closed,
And finally went to bed.
I am sweating by the time
I finish telling Him the story.
He nods. "And you haven't felt okay
Since this happened, have you?"
"No."
"This isn't the first time
Something like this has happened to you,"
He reminds me.
I remember other moments in my life
Where I had experienced a sensation
Of being assaulted by thoughts
Not of my own making,
"Yes," I agree,
Remembering nights spent
Talking myself out of suicide,
"But they had always seemed more subtle.
This was... More forceful. More blatant."
"What do you think happened
In the spiritual realm
As you and Didymus
Upheld each other in love?"
He asks me.
"Do you think the Enemy
Wanted to see that meeting take place?
Do you think that he wants two people
Who he's worked so hard to keep in the dust
To suddenly start straining towards the Light?
No, he wants to keep you both apart,
Apart and downtrodden,
So that you can't illuminate each other
As fellow children and priests
Of the Living God!"
I suddenly notice that the gray backdrop
Against which we have been walking
Has become an eerie, phantasmal black.
"Where are we?" I cry out in alarm.
His gaze pierces me.
"We are in
A metaphor of your mind."
"A what?"
"Blanca,
You have read
More than enough in your lifetime
To know exactly what I mean.
We're in a mindscape,
A visual representation
Of a part of your inner being."
"THIS is in me?"
"Yes."
"Where are You?"
I know immediately
That the Triune God
Does not occupy
This place in my mind.
He waves me forward.
"Come," He says.
Everything in me
Wants to turn and run.
I will my feet
To follow Him.
The ground beneath us
Echoes with an icy hollowness.
The dark is getting darker, deeper.
The air around me feels thick,
Heavy the way I imagine
A shroud or casket would feel.
I am dying, I am dying here -
"This place breeds death,
But you are not dying," He reassures me.
Before us,
A mountain rears its craggy head,
Defiantly beckoning any
To climb its jagged peaks
To breach the wicked-looking fortress
At its summit.
"Who lives there?" I ask,
Pointing at the peak.
"The Enemy," He tells me.
I blink.
"He lives there. Here.
In my mind."
"He does."
Jesus motions toward the fortress.
"That's his stronghold."
At the mention of the word "stronghold,"
I understand what is triggering
This imaginary excursion.
The book Didymus recommended that I read -
Joyce Meyer's The Battlefield of the Mind -
I started devouring it today,
And the opening pages are an exposé
About the types of strongholds
That the Enemy establishes in our minds.
Seeing
How he has set up shop
In my own
Is making me quite ill.
Jesus and I are quiet for a long time
As we assess the situation.
I already know all the years of negative thinking
That have contributed to this monstrosity
Towering miles high in my mental landscape.
Finally, I break the silence with the loaded question,
"Now what?"
"Now, it has to come down."
"I can't tear that down!"
The exclamation escapes my lips
Before I even know what I'm saying.
He grabs me by the shoulders and,
Slightly shaking me,
Turns me toward Him.
"Don't you see?
The Enemy wants you to believe that.
The more you feel like that,
The more We can't get in
To start ripping this place up by its roots.
You cannot defeat the Enemy
Alone and unaided,
But that's how you sound,
Like you're expected to be up on that mountain,
Storming the stronghold
By yourself.
Defeating him doesn't happen like that.
Defeating him happens
With the spiritual and even practical support
That the Triune God exerts in the world at large,
And in your life in particular for you.
We can't get in there to do battle
If you're always focused on
The mistakes of your past,
The apprehensions and doubts about your present,
And your fears for the future.
Those thoughts - those patterns of thinking -
Keep Us hedged off,
Unable to approach
This terrible place.
Those thoughts - those patterns of thinking -
Are also drowning out the messages
You would otherwise hear from Us."
I am trembling.
"This is that whole renewing of the mind business
That Paul mentions in Romans 12:2?"
"Yes."
"And my mind hasn't been renewed yet?..."
"It's a work in process.
It has been for many years.
You've come a far distance,
But there is still a long way to go."
I glance at the stronghold.
"I don't want to do this."
"You must do this.
You have to choose to change your thoughts.
That's why Joyce's book
Resonates so profoundly with you."
"Out of all the competing messages
Warring for dominance in my mind,
How will I know it's You?"
It is my usual, desperately urgent question.
"You will simply know," He assures me.
"The same way you knew you had to go to New York.
The same way you knew you had to move to Arizona.
The same way you knew all the other things
You have known in your life,
All the strange promptings and urgings you have followed,
All the decisions you made on little more than a 'gut feeling.'
"When God came to Elijah,
He was not in the wind,
The earthquake,
Nor the fire.
It was God's still, small voice
That called him to the cave entrance
On Mount Horeb
And told him what to do next." *
I nod,
But I'm not looking forward to this.
"Finish up Joyce's book.
Start paying closer attention to Mine.
There are weapons in the Scriptures,
Spiritual truths that will unlock explosives
To tear that stronghold down.
Pray, and pray, and keep praying.
We're listening, you know."
I nod again. "I know. I mean, I know."
(He understands what I mean.)
"Good." He takes a deliberate step forward.
I look at Him, at the stronghold,
And back at Him again.
"It's your choice," He reminds me.
I keep my eyes
Pinned upon Him
As I take a step forward
Into the colossal unknown...
* I Kings 19
I open my eyes.
I see the Anointed One,
Standing against a gray backdrop
That accentuates the bleakness in me.
"Hi." My greeting is faint.
"Hello." He smiles.
Waving me over with one hand,
He says, "Walk with Me for a bit."
I nod, sidling up alongside Him.
We walk for several moments in silence.
Finally, I ask,
"Why did You send me to New York?"
"To spend time with Didymus.
To open your eyes to
Spiritual truths at work in your life.
To reinforce the feeling of
My Hand at work in your life.
But Blanca, you know this.
What are you really asking Me?"
"I have felt so messed up inside
Since I came home," I admit.
"My thoughts are racing all over the place.
I can't concentrate properly.
I feel restless and edgy,
Like there's something I'm supposed to be doing,
But I don't know what the something is.
I'm nasty to the people I love
For absolutely no reason or provocation.
I'm easily confused, easily aggravated.
None of this is my usual behavior.
I don't know exactly what's going on."
"Tell me about the night
You were making beet salad."
I don't want to recount that!
"You already know what happened!" I protest.
He nods. "Tell me anyway."
I want so desperately
To get out of this conversation,
But He has asked,
So I stammeringly begin to relate
The moments of terror that gripped me
The night I was making a beet salad
In Didymus' kitchen.
It happened as soon as
Didymus had said she was going to bed.
I was sitting at the kitchen table grating beets
When I was overwhelmed
By a feeling of dread.
My heart started palpitating.
My head felt tingly, pins and needles.
The hackles rose on my flesh.
I wanted to ask Didymus
To stay awake with me,
But I talked myself out of it,
Reasoning that it would be selfish,
She needed sleep,
She was recovering from surgery.
I checked the apartment
Over and over again,
Seeking for something physical
To account for my feelings.
Of course, there was none.
I sat back down,
And continued with my mundane task
While my thoughts suddenly exploded
In a violent kaleidoscope of
Half-seen visions
And half-formed, evil thoughts.
I kept seeing "things"
Out of the corner of my eyes,
Flashes of dark movement.
I imagined the shredded beets in front of me
Were coming alive,
Transforming into red worms.
I heard thoughts in my head,
In my own voice,
That were not of me,
Saying phrases like,
"You think you can go up against me?
You can't make a difference in this world.
That knife you're using to cut that lemon?
You'd be better off using it on your wrists!
Better yet, go put Didymus out of her misery first,
Before you off yourself."
Vile, vile thoughts
Swirling around me,
Swirling through me
As I deliberately, intensely focused
On finishing the beet salad.
I turned on Pandora radio,
And prayed for a song
From the Christian Rock Radio station
To dispel the miasma around me.
When the song choices proved impotent,
I prayed and prayed and kept praying to the Father
For deliverance from this evil assault.
Eventually, the thoughts died down,
And the feeling of attack
Drew to a close.
I Godblogged until my eyes almost closed,
And finally went to bed.
I am sweating by the time
I finish telling Him the story.
He nods. "And you haven't felt okay
Since this happened, have you?"
"No."
"This isn't the first time
Something like this has happened to you,"
He reminds me.
I remember other moments in my life
Where I had experienced a sensation
Of being assaulted by thoughts
Not of my own making,
"Yes," I agree,
Remembering nights spent
Talking myself out of suicide,
"But they had always seemed more subtle.
This was... More forceful. More blatant."
"What do you think happened
In the spiritual realm
As you and Didymus
Upheld each other in love?"
He asks me.
"Do you think the Enemy
Wanted to see that meeting take place?
Do you think that he wants two people
Who he's worked so hard to keep in the dust
To suddenly start straining towards the Light?
No, he wants to keep you both apart,
Apart and downtrodden,
So that you can't illuminate each other
As fellow children and priests
Of the Living God!"
I suddenly notice that the gray backdrop
Against which we have been walking
Has become an eerie, phantasmal black.
"Where are we?" I cry out in alarm.
His gaze pierces me.
"We are in
A metaphor of your mind."
"A what?"
"Blanca,
You have read
More than enough in your lifetime
To know exactly what I mean.
We're in a mindscape,
A visual representation
Of a part of your inner being."
"THIS is in me?"
"Yes."
"Where are You?"
I know immediately
That the Triune God
Does not occupy
This place in my mind.
He waves me forward.
"Come," He says.
Everything in me
Wants to turn and run.
I will my feet
To follow Him.
The ground beneath us
Echoes with an icy hollowness.
The dark is getting darker, deeper.
The air around me feels thick,
Heavy the way I imagine
A shroud or casket would feel.
I am dying, I am dying here -
"This place breeds death,
But you are not dying," He reassures me.
Before us,
A mountain rears its craggy head,
Defiantly beckoning any
To climb its jagged peaks
To breach the wicked-looking fortress
At its summit.
"Who lives there?" I ask,
Pointing at the peak.
"The Enemy," He tells me.
I blink.
"He lives there. Here.
In my mind."
"He does."
Jesus motions toward the fortress.
"That's his stronghold."
At the mention of the word "stronghold,"
I understand what is triggering
This imaginary excursion.
The book Didymus recommended that I read -
Joyce Meyer's The Battlefield of the Mind -
I started devouring it today,
And the opening pages are an exposé
About the types of strongholds
That the Enemy establishes in our minds.
Seeing
How he has set up shop
In my own
Is making me quite ill.
Jesus and I are quiet for a long time
As we assess the situation.
I already know all the years of negative thinking
That have contributed to this monstrosity
Towering miles high in my mental landscape.
Finally, I break the silence with the loaded question,
"Now what?"
"Now, it has to come down."
"I can't tear that down!"
The exclamation escapes my lips
Before I even know what I'm saying.
He grabs me by the shoulders and,
Slightly shaking me,
Turns me toward Him.
"Don't you see?
The Enemy wants you to believe that.
The more you feel like that,
The more We can't get in
To start ripping this place up by its roots.
You cannot defeat the Enemy
Alone and unaided,
But that's how you sound,
Like you're expected to be up on that mountain,
Storming the stronghold
By yourself.
Defeating him doesn't happen like that.
Defeating him happens
With the spiritual and even practical support
That the Triune God exerts in the world at large,
And in your life in particular for you.
We can't get in there to do battle
If you're always focused on
The mistakes of your past,
The apprehensions and doubts about your present,
And your fears for the future.
Those thoughts - those patterns of thinking -
Keep Us hedged off,
Unable to approach
This terrible place.
Those thoughts - those patterns of thinking -
Are also drowning out the messages
You would otherwise hear from Us."
I am trembling.
"This is that whole renewing of the mind business
That Paul mentions in Romans 12:2?"
"Yes."
"And my mind hasn't been renewed yet?..."
"It's a work in process.
It has been for many years.
You've come a far distance,
But there is still a long way to go."
I glance at the stronghold.
"I don't want to do this."
"You must do this.
You have to choose to change your thoughts.
That's why Joyce's book
Resonates so profoundly with you."
"Out of all the competing messages
Warring for dominance in my mind,
How will I know it's You?"
It is my usual, desperately urgent question.
"You will simply know," He assures me.
"The same way you knew you had to go to New York.
The same way you knew you had to move to Arizona.
The same way you knew all the other things
You have known in your life,
All the strange promptings and urgings you have followed,
All the decisions you made on little more than a 'gut feeling.'
"When God came to Elijah,
He was not in the wind,
The earthquake,
Nor the fire.
It was God's still, small voice
That called him to the cave entrance
On Mount Horeb
And told him what to do next." *
I nod,
But I'm not looking forward to this.
"Finish up Joyce's book.
Start paying closer attention to Mine.
There are weapons in the Scriptures,
Spiritual truths that will unlock explosives
To tear that stronghold down.
Pray, and pray, and keep praying.
We're listening, you know."
I nod again. "I know. I mean, I know."
(He understands what I mean.)
"Good." He takes a deliberate step forward.
I look at Him, at the stronghold,
And back at Him again.
"It's your choice," He reminds me.
I keep my eyes
Pinned upon Him
As I take a step forward
Into the colossal unknown...
* I Kings 19
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