The Other Side of Darkness (32 page)

She firmly nods her head, looking at me as if she actually trusts me, and this fills me with a fresh feeling of power and hope.

“Why don’t
you
pray for her deliverance?” Bronte looks directly at me. “You seem to have some connection with her spirit.”

And so I pray for Melinda. I cast out the evil spirits of deception and sexual lust and finally the demons of fornication that have taken control of her life without her even knowing it. I pray with power and might, and when I’m done, everyone loudly says, “Amen,” and it seems we have finally accomplished something here.

“Thank you, Ruth,” Melinda tells me afterward. “The Spirit is really in you. It was your prayers that delivered me, and I’m really, really thankful.”

“I’m happy to be used by the Lord. And I know how it feels to be in need of deliverance.”

“We all do,” says Cynthia.

Melinda turns to me just as we’re starting to leave. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can I count on you to keep praying for me about this?”

“Of course.”

“Because I know these things can take time. Sister Bronte explained how it’s a complicated process, with lots of steps and everything.”

“Yes,” I tell her, “that’s been the case with me. Getting Satan out of our lives seems to be an ongoing process.”

“So, I can call you, then? If I need help again?”

Now the truth is, I find this prospect a little frightening. I mean, I can barely keep my own life on track these days. How can I possibly manage to help someone else? But the others are watching me now, listening for my response. How can I possibly tell Melinda no? What kind of Christian would deny help to someone like her?

So with some reluctance I agree. “Please feel free to call me whenever you’re in need of help.” But I’m barely to my car when I fear I’ve made a big mistake in agreeing to this. And yet, what choice did I have? Perhaps it’s only my flesh that assumes this is a mistake. After all, isn’t it the Lord’s will that we lay down our lives for our friends?

Surely the Lord will help me do this. And as I drive toward home, I am assuring myself that certainly this is just what I need right now. Helping poor Melinda will become my opportunity to focus on someone else’s problems for a change. Now, really, what is wrong with that? What is wrong with that?

I
t’s after eight o’clock by the time I pull up to our house. And Rick’s pickup is not in the driveway. I push the remote to open the garage door, only to see that it too is empty. So I pull inside and think that perhaps I have once again dodged a bullet. Not that my husband is going to shoot me, at least I don’t think so. But just the same, I am relieved to have made it home ahead of them. And yet I feel strangely uneasy. It’s nearly bedtime. Are they still at Lynette and Jeff’s? And if so, why are they staying so long? The idea of Rick and the girls spending so much time in that den of iniquity is very unsettling, and as I close the garage door and go into the house, I am tempted to call Lynette to find out what’s going on.

Still, as I turn on some lights, I tell myself the damage is probably already done. I’m sure that by now Rick and the girls have been exposed to the worst my family has to offer. How can a few extra hours make much difference? And yet I feel the need to do some serious spiritual warfare for their sakes. And for Matthew’s sake as well. I carry a great burden for my only son; I’ve been grieving for him these past few weeks—almost as if he has physically died. It’s hard to understand, and I haven’t attempted to explain these feelings to anyone, but it feels as if Matthew has been removed from my life in an almost permanent way—plucked out of my heart by the very hand of Satan, I’m afraid. But perhaps it’s not too late, I tell myself as I hit my knees. Maybe the
Lord will use my prayers to deliver him. If only I can press in with the spiritual intensity that it takes to conquer such demonic foes.

The sound of the phone ringing jars me from my fervent petition. As usual, I don’t answer it. But I do pause as the answering machine begins to loudly play out the monotonous monologue that Rick recorded years ago.

“Ruth?”
It’s Rick’s voice calling out through the machine. He sounds urgent.
“Ruth, are you there?
We’re at Saint John’s Hospital. If you’re there, will you please pick up? I’ve left lots of messages, and I’m starting to get worried about—”

“I’m here,” I say breathlessly into the phone. “What’s going on? Is it one of the girls? What happened?” My heart is pounding in my ears, and I feel certain that my girls have been hurt in a car wreck and are perhaps unconscious or even dead. And it will be my fault. My fault for abandoning them with my family. Oh, why am I so stupid?

“It’s your mother.”

“Oh …” I try not to sound too relieved. “What’s wrong?”

“She started having chest pains around five. But she thought it was indigestion, and she didn’t tell anyone about it. She just said she was tired and was going to put her feet up and have a little rest.”

“And now she thinks she’s having a heart attack?” I say in what I’m sure sounds like a cold and cynical tone. My mother is such an attention getter. She always has been.

“According to the doctors, she
did
have a heart attack. Actually, they called it a myocardial infarction, but I think it’s the same thing.”

“Oh.” I must admit this does sound serious. “How is she now?”

“She’s still in the ER, but she’s been stabilized and is supposed to be moved upstairs pretty soon. Of course, they’ll have to keep monitoring her, and the doctor says they’ll keep her a couple of days
for observation and run some tests on her to pinpoint the exact problem.”

“So why are you still there?”

“What?”

“Why are you and the girls staying so long, Rick? If Mom’s stabilized and everything’s okay, it’s not as if there’s anything you can do for her, is there? I don’t understand why you’re still there.”

“We’re
all
still here.” He sounds irritated now. “Even Matthew’s here. In fact, we’ve all been wondering
why you
aren’t here.”

I don’t respond to this accusation. Because that’s what it is, an accusation.

“Look, Ruth, I don’t know what went on with you and your mom and sister in the kitchen today, but I can guess. It was obvious that you said something terribly upsetting to both of them, and I actually overheard Lynette telling Jonathan that you might’ve been the reason your mom had a heart attack.”

“Lynette is blaming me for Mom having a heart attack?”

“Not blaming … but whatever you said must’ve really upset your mother.”

“What about me? What if they said things to upset me?”

“Everything upsets you,” he says in a stiff voice.

I’m tempted to hang up. Instead I pray in the Spirit.
Get thee behind me, Satan!

“So are you saying that you don’t want to come over and see your mother?”

“Not particularly.”

“Fine.” But I can tell by his voice this is not fine. He is angry. Really angry.

“Look,” I try to reason with him. “If it’s true that I upset her
earlier today, what good would it possibly do for me to come now? She might end up having another heart attack and die. Then everyone could accuse me of murdering her.”

“And you don’t want to be here with your family, Ruth? To show some support?”

I am thinking that it’s those who take up their crosses and follow Jesus who are my family. But I know it would only make Rick furious if I dared to say something like this.

“The girls should be at home by now,” I tell him.

“It’s not a school night.”

“Well, it’s late. And it’s past their bedtime.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“So you’re not coming home, then?” I feel weak now, as if I’m losing control. Rick is usually so busy that he’s not that involved. But now it seems he’s taking over. I don’t like it.

“Not yet.”

There’s a long pause. This seems a stalemate of sorts. And I’m tempted to just hang up. What’s the point?

“Look, Ruth. Even though it’s not easy being here under these circumstances, it’s still been good having the family together like this. Lynette and Jeff have really appreciated our being here with them, and it’s nice getting to know Jonathan better. But the best part has been having Matthew with us. That kid is really starting to grow up. He’s said some pretty mature things. And the girls have been drawing some pictures to decorate your mom’s room with and—”

“Well, that’s all very nice. It sounds like you have everything under control, Rick. Tell my mother I’ll be praying for her.” Then I do hang up. But I’m barely off the phone when I realize what is happening
over at Saint John’s right now. As soon as Rick rejoins the family, they will all be asking questions and talking about me. They will tell each other that something is wrong with me, that I’m acting crazy again, and that I’ve always been the odd one—the outsider, the misfit, the black sheep. But that’s how it was with Jesus too. People didn’t understand him either. And eventually they killed him.

As I return to my knees, I feel no comfort in knowing these things. Being left out of things again hurts just as much now as it did when I was a child. Oh sure, Rick would say that this was my choice—that I’m the one who abandoned the Thanksgiving dinner and then refused to join them at the hospital tonight. But how can I do anything else? How can I compromise myself by being with people who are so totally corrupt and sinful? It particularly pains me to think of my Sarah and Mary there now, exposed to such blatant examples of immorality. Besides my divorced New Age “Christian” sister and her second husband, there’s Matthew, who has turned from the Lord as he indulges an appetite for alcohol, rock music, and deviant books. Even their own father is a poor example of godliness. How can I allow my innocent girls to be exposed to such wickedness? And what about the demons?

I become so enraged by all this that I am finally unable to pray. I know what I must do. I must rescue my two daughters from this corrupt influence. Before it’s too late. I drive faster than I should on my way to the hospital, and I even park in the emergency zone. But this is an emergency. I hurry to the ER waiting area, hoping they are still down here.

“Mommy!” Sarah says happily when she spies me hurrying down the hall toward them.

“You came,” Rick says with what looks like relief.

“They’re just moving Mom upstairs,” says Jeff. “Lynette went on ahead to put some personal things in her room.”

“I just came to get the girls,” I say quickly, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “It’s getting pretty late.”

The girls protest, and Rick, to my chagrin, backs them. But I insist that it’s time to go home, and to my surprise my brother agrees. “It is late,” he tells everyone. “And I, for one, have had a very long day.”

Without further ado, I grab Sarah’s hand and use my firmest mother’s voice to tell Mary it’s time to leave. I’m very relieved that the girls don’t argue. We call out good-byes as I escort them down the corridor to the exit and outside to my car, which, thankfully, has not been towed away.

“Is Grandma going to be okay?” Sarah asks as I drive away from the hospital.

“I think so. But we should keep praying for her.”

“That’s what I told everyone,” Sarah says. “I told them that we should be praying for Grandma. But they all wanted to pray without words.” She sighs loudly. “How does the Lord hear us when we pray without words?”

Mary laughs. “He reads our minds, stupid.”

“Don’t call your sister ‘stupid,’ ” I shoot back at her. But at the same time I am wondering,
Does he really read our minds?
And what does he think when he reads my mind? Oh, I know that I am evil. Corrupt and evil. How will I ever escape?

A
week has passed since Thanksgiving, and the girls have finally accepted that Spooky ran away from home. They put up Lost Cat posters, but no one has called. And finally, with the promise that we might get another kitty but not until after the holidays, they allowed me to put away the cat things.

My mother was released from the hospital on Tuesday, but everyone in my family is still mad at me. They think I am a horrible person because I refused to visit her. And I refused to take the girls to see her. And now I refuse to answer the phone when any of them call. But I know I’ve made the right decision. More and more I am understanding and accepting that many of my problems are a direct result of exposing myself to the wrong people. Particularly my own family.

“Your spirit is too easily influenced,” Cynthia told me the other day after a deliverance prayer session. “You need to carefully guard your heart, Ruth. It’s your responsibility to protect yourself and your children. If this means cutting off all ties with your extended family, then you must do so. Remember, our Savior said that if we’re not willing to leave mother and father and brother and sister behind, then we are not worthy to follow him.”

And I’ve been trying to remember this. As well as the verse about not bringing peace but a sword. I know I am called to go to battle. And so I do. But there is one battle I’d like to forget. The day I
informed Rick that I’d taken the girls out of Christian school. At first he was glad, thinking they’d be back in public school and we could save a few bucks. But I quickly set him straight.

“Homeschool?”
he demanded. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s for the best. I’ve given it a lot of thought and—”

“This is totally nuts. You keep telling me you hardly have time to get things done around here, and you still haven’t started working yet, and now you think you can take on homeschooling the girls too? You are flipping out on me, Ruth!”

“I can
do
this, Rick,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “I really believe the Lord has called me to do it. And if he calls us to do something, he empowers us to do it.” I explained about the other parents at the church who wanted to work together on it, how we’d be sharing responsibilities and how it would be fun.

“I don’t want a bunch of freaks educating our daughters.”