The aftermath

Do you remember me talking about how I bought a new couch last summer? At first, I was relieved and delighted that my cats did not turn it into a scratching post like they have tended to do in the past. Well, let's just say I've had to learn how to be relieved with and delighted by other things. Here is a photo of the most-attacked part of my couch. The good news is, it's just a couch. After I repair it (with my womanly MacGyver-ness), it won't look as bad, and meanwhile, it's still a couch. Even though it's a bit beaten up, it's still serving its purpose, because I'm currently sitting on it (next to a feline potential perpetrator) while I type this.

"I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd gives His life for the sheep." (John 10:9-11)

"Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you." (James 4:7)

Earlier this year, especially this summer, I endured some ridiculously heinous spiritual warfare. Of course, I didn't write about all of it. Most of the time, I try to share my most intimate struggles, while I'm living through them, with the people who know me the most intimately. Then after I make it through, I like to share with everyone what I learned. There were times this year when I was hit tremendously hard with spiritual warfare that certainly had the potential to send me back to a psychiatric hospital multiple times, if not kill me.

By spiritual warfare, I don't mean, "Aw, shoot, my printer's out of paper, so that means that the devil doesn't want me to finish writing my novel." I mean, "I don't know how to shake these thoughts that keep telling me I'm worthless, unwanted, and pathetic, and they make me want to slice my skin open, and I don't know where these thoughts are coming from, but I don't want them anymore. God, where are You?"

I'm glad He showed me, or I would be a goner for sure. For the sake of comic relief, I'll share with you a conversation that He had with me during one of those times when my brain was boiling with spiritual warfare and I was desperate for Him to speak some hope into my situation. He said, "I'm letting you get a whiff of some pits." Heh, heh, heh. He didn't mean armpits. He meant the "horrible" pits that Psalm 40 talks about. During my brain-boiling spiritual warfare battles earlier this year, God was showing me, "This is what depression smells like (remember that one?), this is what suicide smells like (and remember that one?), this is what a personality disorder smells like, this is what homosexuality smells like, etc." These aren't pits that I fell into and drowned in; these are pits that He let me smell while I stood on the brink of them. I don't exactly know why He did, but I'm glad He did, and I'm especially glad that He didn't allow me to slip into them.

I didn't seek professional help. I wasn't prescribed medication. I didn't stuff anything down inside. I didn't go to the altar at church to ask for prayer every single week. And I DON'T recommend any of this. If you're reading this and you're struggling, please DON'T hesitate to seek help if you need it. (I got professional help, including medication, many years ago, so I understand how necessary it can be. If you need it, please go for it.) This time around, I personally needed to unlace my gloves, brace myself, look the devil in the face, and bare-fistedly punch his lights out myself.

In his attempts to steal me, kill me, and destroy me, an interesting thing happened. He failed. Because Jesus won, and He taught me what me what He learned. Jesus is The Conqueror, so He helps me to be more than a conqueror. He taught me how to resist.

Earlier this year, I noticed that even in the midst of what appears to be hopelessness, life on earth still goes on. I can be assailed with the worst type of stuff you can think of, but as long as there is blood pumping through my veins, air flowing through my lungs, and thoughts waving through my brain, I'm still alive. If I'm attacked with ridiculously heinous thoughts while I'm living my day, but I'm still living my day -- even with mundane things like showering, eating, commuting, attending meetings, doing laundry, feeding the cats, attempting to prevent my couch from getting shredded -- I'm still alive. And I'll still wake up the following morning and live another day, Lord willing. Sure, I probably already knew this to be true, but maybe God, in His mercy, knows that I'm a kinesthetic learner who needed to experience it for herself. All over again.

I think dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times of being attacked have strengthened my spiritual muscles. I don't know if the devil thought of this before he planned all his attacks, but I think his attacks backfired, because God turned them into something good. After months and months of enduring the playground bully, the victim finally learned how to fight back. And the bully can't do anything to stop it. I think I've finally turned into Ralphie from A Christmas Story who lunges at Scut Farkus and beats the crap out him in a passive-aggressive, nosebleeding rage.

I think maybe if I keep banishing evil spirits to hell forever every time I detect them, eventually the devil will stop sending them to me. I'm certainly not saying that I'm immune from spiritual warfare or that it has stopped forever with me. I'm saying that maybe the devil is like, "Aw, bleep. The little psychoblogger finally figured out that Jesus gave her His authority, and she's finally using it against me. I don't have time for this. She isn't worth it, anyway. I'm outta here."

Oh, well. Bye. Less terror, more peaceful quality time for me and my Father.

I think I understand now why the Bible keeps saying to "fear not," "be strong and courageous," and "stand firm." If we resist the enemy, he will flee. We don't have to give in to him. I'm not saying that it's bad to be weak. If you feel weak and you have no idea how to even keep your head up, this is an extremely terrible feeling, but it's going to be OK. Crawl into Jesus' arms, have a good cry, let Him comfort you, and let Him take care of everything, even if it takes months to feel safe again. If you're in the middle of an attack and you don't feel like you can last another day, please hang in there, because you ARE worth it. I certainly don't want to diminish the hell that you're experiencing, and I'm so sorry that you're hurting. I just want to say that there is hope, especially when you can't see, hear, feel, taste, or touch it yet. Please take it from me: It's going to be OK.

And it isn't because of anything I've done. Please pardon my almost-French, but I don't have a chance in hell (literally) of succeeding against the devil without Jesus. If I were to stand up to the devil without Jesus, I would be a goner, no question in my mind. Jesus is my only hope, no doubt in my mind. I belong to the King, period, and He takes care of His own. I'm good to go.

The victory that I enjoy is only because of the victory that Jesus achieved on the cross. He died in my place so that I wouldn't have to inherit the penalty of my own sins. And then He rose from the dead, which means that He conquered death, He conquered sin, He conquered the devil who tried to steal Him, kill Him, and destroy Him. That means Jesus won. That means I more-than won. That means Jesus will teach me how to live the abundant life, because He already lived it perfectly (and He still does). That means the devil lost.

Hang in there. It's going to be OK.

And I'll patch up my couch and enjoy my babies.