The Devil Is Real
But Greater is He in Me (1 John 4:4)
Devil – noun – the personal supreme spirit of evil (Webster’s New Explorer Dictionary and Thesaurus)
“The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!”
Thirty years later, I can still hear Max Von Sydow and Jason Miller’s desperate duet as they flung holy water onto a head-spinning Linda Blair. Though The Exorcist remains the scariest movie I’ve ever seen, I’d always been able to tell myself that it’s just a movie. I mean come on – the Devil? Until God revealed to me, in the only way He knew I would believe it, just how real His nemesis is.
Like most people who drink, I never thought I had a problem. But throughout my career-building twenties, child-rearing thirties, working-mom forties and into my empty-nest fifties, life revolved around cocktail hour. A chilled martini became etched in the back of my mind like an ice sculpture. Above everything, including my daughter’s pleas not to drink, vodka reigned. Until I got a taste of another elixir, one whose sweetness and clarity rivaled Grey Goose’s.
About five years ago, my older brother, Irving, died from esophageal cancer. His untreated mental illness had estranged us on and off for decades. Three days before he was placed on a respirator, the man whose venomous accusations would send me to bed for days, spoke the words I never thought I’d hear - I love you, Gail. I had gotten my brother back. It was something I had always prayed about, even though I never knew who I was praying to. But as the power of Irv’s transformation settled over me, I developed a hunger to find out.
Initially, church felt weird. But week after week, the music, the sermons and the Bible studies began to take root. And when my Pastor preached about how our bodies are temples for the Holy Spirit, I got to thinking: can the Holy Spirit inhabit an 80-proof temple? So I attempted to clean it out.
The first weeks were the hardest. But I was motivated by the Holy Spirit living inside me. Just as I provide a clean, well-lighted place for my house guests, so I wanted my body for God. And after a few months, I felt terrific. I was sleeping better, lost weight and my writing, which I’d been struggling with, began getting published.
Then the thoughts began to slither in. Wine would probably be okay. I mean, compared to an eight ounce martini or two, what’s the big deal? But one glass turned into two, into three quarters of a bottle. And the temple, once again, needed cleaning.
I didn’t drink for the next two months. By that time I had developed a regular, earnest prayer life. I believed that I could really talk to God and that He was really listening. But my husband and I were planning a vacation in the Caribbean, and I knew that was going to be tough. So I prayed about it. I prayed hard, on my knees, every day, from the bottom of my spirit. On some level, I knew this thing had a hold on me, but I needed convincing.
I asked God to show me whether I was one of those people who could occasionally have a drink. What’s so bad about a glass of wine or a beer? Even Jesus drank wine, right? Just because it had gotten a little out of hand, didn’t mean I couldn’t control it. I asked Him to please show me. That I didn’t know how He would do it, as over the years I’d had blackouts, fallen down hills and out of bed and none of that had deterred me. But I kept asking. Please, God. Please. I know that it’s okay for some people. Please show me if it’s okay for me.
One night during our vacation, my husband was sipping his martini at the counter while I was preparing dinner. And a voice disguised as mine said that it would be okay to have a little wine. So while slicing and dicing, I sipped a half glass of Chardonnay.
That night, I dreamed that something very strong and very dark was pressing down on me. I was on my back, the mighty weight straddling my chest, pinning me by the shoulders. I couldn’t breathe, as if I was being suffocated. My mind was crying out for help, but I couldn’t speak. Around me, in the periphery of the darkness was a gauzy light, muffled voices. It felt like I was dying but aware of life going on around me. My mind screamed, Help me! Help me! I kept struggling to rise, but the weight of the darkness was overpowering. Then, simultaneous with the words erupting from my throat, I lurched upward into the black of that Caribbean night, screaming HELP ME! (I didn’t realize until months later that I have never woken up on my back.)
Terrified, I went into the bathroom and flipped on the light. And I heard, with stereophonic clarity, that raspy, demonic voice from The Exorcist. It mocked, “Praise the Lord!”
Instinctively, I ran for my Bible. My heart thumping like a sneaker in a dryer, I fell to my knees and said the first thing that came to mind, The Lord’s Prayer, over and over. Then I remembered, “Greater is He in me than he that’s in the world” (1 John 4:4). And I repeated that over and over. Then, like a storm giving way to a rainbow, fear became wonderment. My heart quieted and with a jaw-dropping awe, I repeated, Thank you, Father, thank you, Father. Because I realized that this had been a direct answer to prayer. That God had shown me in the way only a Father who truly knows what His child needs can. He knew that I needed an Exorcist-level scare. He knew that experiencing the spiritual bondage that had held me down my whole adult life was the only way I would understand that no, it is not okay for me to have that drink.
But God is very economical. He used this revelation not only to free me from the grip of alcohol. He also confirmed His reality and truth by bringing Scripture alive. God proved that He answers heartfelt prayers (Proverbs 15:29). He showed me that our battles are “against the evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world” (Ephesians 6:12). God showed me that the Devil is, indeed, real and that his purpose is to destroy us, but through the person of Jesus Christ, who came to give us life, we can be victorious (John 10:10). Not by our own power or might, but by His Spirit living within us (Zechariah 4:6). It is that Spirit who saved me. And it is that Spirit who will save anyone who, from the depths of their heart, calls on His name (Joel 2:32).
It’s been five years since that night in the Caribbean. I haven’t had a drink since, and I never will again, because when the Son sets us free, we are free indeed (John 8:36).
But Greater is He in Me (1 John 4:4)
Devil – noun – the personal supreme spirit of evil (Webster’s New Explorer Dictionary and Thesaurus)
“The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!”
Thirty years later, I can still hear Max Von Sydow and Jason Miller’s desperate duet as they flung holy water onto a head-spinning Linda Blair. Though The Exorcist remains the scariest movie I’ve ever seen, I’d always been able to tell myself that it’s just a movie. I mean come on – the Devil? Until God revealed to me, in the only way He knew I would believe it, just how real His nemesis is.
Like most people who drink, I never thought I had a problem. But throughout my career-building twenties, child-rearing thirties, working-mom forties and into my empty-nest fifties, life revolved around cocktail hour. A chilled martini became etched in the back of my mind like an ice sculpture. Above everything, including my daughter’s pleas not to drink, vodka reigned. Until I got a taste of another elixir, one whose sweetness and clarity rivaled Grey Goose’s.
About five years ago, my older brother, Irving, died from esophageal cancer. His untreated mental illness had estranged us on and off for decades. Three days before he was placed on a respirator, the man whose venomous accusations would send me to bed for days, spoke the words I never thought I’d hear - I love you, Gail. I had gotten my brother back. It was something I had always prayed about, even though I never knew who I was praying to. But as the power of Irv’s transformation settled over me, I developed a hunger to find out.
Initially, church felt weird. But week after week, the music, the sermons and the Bible studies began to take root. And when my Pastor preached about how our bodies are temples for the Holy Spirit, I got to thinking: can the Holy Spirit inhabit an 80-proof temple? So I attempted to clean it out.
The first weeks were the hardest. But I was motivated by the Holy Spirit living inside me. Just as I provide a clean, well-lighted place for my house guests, so I wanted my body for God. And after a few months, I felt terrific. I was sleeping better, lost weight and my writing, which I’d been struggling with, began getting published.
Then the thoughts began to slither in. Wine would probably be okay. I mean, compared to an eight ounce martini or two, what’s the big deal? But one glass turned into two, into three quarters of a bottle. And the temple, once again, needed cleaning.
I didn’t drink for the next two months. By that time I had developed a regular, earnest prayer life. I believed that I could really talk to God and that He was really listening. But my husband and I were planning a vacation in the Caribbean, and I knew that was going to be tough. So I prayed about it. I prayed hard, on my knees, every day, from the bottom of my spirit. On some level, I knew this thing had a hold on me, but I needed convincing.
I asked God to show me whether I was one of those people who could occasionally have a drink. What’s so bad about a glass of wine or a beer? Even Jesus drank wine, right? Just because it had gotten a little out of hand, didn’t mean I couldn’t control it. I asked Him to please show me. That I didn’t know how He would do it, as over the years I’d had blackouts, fallen down hills and out of bed and none of that had deterred me. But I kept asking. Please, God. Please. I know that it’s okay for some people. Please show me if it’s okay for me.
One night during our vacation, my husband was sipping his martini at the counter while I was preparing dinner. And a voice disguised as mine said that it would be okay to have a little wine. So while slicing and dicing, I sipped a half glass of Chardonnay.
That night, I dreamed that something very strong and very dark was pressing down on me. I was on my back, the mighty weight straddling my chest, pinning me by the shoulders. I couldn’t breathe, as if I was being suffocated. My mind was crying out for help, but I couldn’t speak. Around me, in the periphery of the darkness was a gauzy light, muffled voices. It felt like I was dying but aware of life going on around me. My mind screamed, Help me! Help me! I kept struggling to rise, but the weight of the darkness was overpowering. Then, simultaneous with the words erupting from my throat, I lurched upward into the black of that Caribbean night, screaming HELP ME! (I didn’t realize until months later that I have never woken up on my back.)
Terrified, I went into the bathroom and flipped on the light. And I heard, with stereophonic clarity, that raspy, demonic voice from The Exorcist. It mocked, “Praise the Lord!”
Instinctively, I ran for my Bible. My heart thumping like a sneaker in a dryer, I fell to my knees and said the first thing that came to mind, The Lord’s Prayer, over and over. Then I remembered, “Greater is He in me than he that’s in the world” (1 John 4:4). And I repeated that over and over. Then, like a storm giving way to a rainbow, fear became wonderment. My heart quieted and with a jaw-dropping awe, I repeated, Thank you, Father, thank you, Father. Because I realized that this had been a direct answer to prayer. That God had shown me in the way only a Father who truly knows what His child needs can. He knew that I needed an Exorcist-level scare. He knew that experiencing the spiritual bondage that had held me down my whole adult life was the only way I would understand that no, it is not okay for me to have that drink.
But God is very economical. He used this revelation not only to free me from the grip of alcohol. He also confirmed His reality and truth by bringing Scripture alive. God proved that He answers heartfelt prayers (Proverbs 15:29). He showed me that our battles are “against the evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world” (Ephesians 6:12). God showed me that the Devil is, indeed, real and that his purpose is to destroy us, but through the person of Jesus Christ, who came to give us life, we can be victorious (John 10:10). Not by our own power or might, but by His Spirit living within us (Zechariah 4:6). It is that Spirit who saved me. And it is that Spirit who will save anyone who, from the depths of their heart, calls on His name (Joel 2:32).
It’s been five years since that night in the Caribbean. I haven’t had a drink since, and I never will again, because when the Son sets us free, we are free indeed (John 8:36).