Some of the God given gifts in me have allowed me over the years to connect with various people in non verbal ways. Esoteric, right? I don’t know. I think each of us walks what is in front of us to walk. Defining and describing are luxuries we don’t always have. I did not choose to be this way. I did not choose the abuse that opened me all the wrong ways. But I am convinced that God, in his wisdom, is making everything beautiful in its time. The gifts the enemy saw and perverted God is now using for good. When done through his light, with a motive of love, the gift can be of great benefit.

One of the last times I saw Mark on earth I had a word for him about Africa, and rhythm, and songs. It was a chance meeting in Balboa Park, he was with his wife. I gave him the word then continued on to my car with the kids. We were returning from the Zoo. I got within sight of my vehicle. “It’s a good gift, you know.” It was him, but he wasn’t there. I said, really? in my mind. I was very skeptical. “It’s a good gift.” I shrugged. I thought, maybe this was relating to the prophetic word, and that he was talking about prophecy. The jury in me was still out on that. Today, Father, let Mark know for me, he was right. It is a good gift.

Years before I had a nephew that was killed. My brother’s son. Ritual killing, called the most heinous crime in our area ever, the perpetrators had thrown his body in the dumpster when they were done. He was three. I remember after that, I was brutalized by people trying to connect with me in that non verbal way. Chants and curses and taunting. Some of it was demonic. Much of it was his mother’s family, they were indigenous folks who understood their wiring better than I did mine. They got satisfaction and power from harassing me. I had to learn how to do ‘street fighting’ with my mind. Crazy days.

By the time I was 32 I was married and had three children aged 6,4 and 1. My life was normal on the outside. We attended church, the kids an I. My husband was in the Navy and was less interested. Inside I was mainly a mess. The memories had begun a few years prior and chaos reigned. The outside order and demands were what kept me anchored. I was going to school at night to earn a degree and my husband would watch the kids. I was marked. Perpetrators could see me still. I remember a couple of professors and the mind games they played with me. Being connected felt familiar and was seductive in its own way. I did not want to choose sin but I seemed helpless against the mental connections that were sought, found, then used against me. It was like mental rape. I am thankful it never became physical, and I have the strongest sense that God in his grace averted me from that possibility several times. I did not see it as a good gift. I saw it as open doors that needed to be shut hard and forever. I tried deliverance after deliverance, memory after memory, to get that accomplished. To no avail. It was like ley lines inside of me, open routes of travel the enemy could recognize and use. That year was so hard. Memories came, three a week for most weeks. I seemed to always be on the brink of one, in one, or grieving. I saw Mary every other week and my sister helped love the children during that time. It seemed never ending. I was always tired. The special grace I had on worship was where I found God. As deep as the pain uncovered went in me, his love began to penetrate more deeply. Some morning I would awake with a clear choice. Choose life, or choose death. My family of origin still had connections to me and were very aware of what memories I was processing an I was powerless to stop it. I cried out for God. I worked harder to get free. The doors remained open. Sometimes there dead animals left around our property. One day there a chemically treated rose in my mailbox that the Lord told me not to touch with my skin. He would tell me what needed to be removed from my house and he was so specific about where to trash it. Different things were trashed in different places. I remember one time dumping a mirror that was given to me by my dad. Then I went into the store and down the frozen section I saw my dad there. He had a wig on but I knew him. He just stopped an stared. I got out of there fast and shook all day. I did not know then that they could only take me if I was voluntary and if they were able to call out the parts of me that they had trained. I got an answering machine that year because of the terror the silent phone callers would bring. The doorbell stopped my heart. I believed the threats. I knew I would die. It was just a matter of time. But I would rather die trying to get free than to live placidly in the destiny they had planned for me.

32 was a hard year. I was bothered less when my husband was home. And the kids and the love God put in my heart for them was a godsend as well. Looking back to that year I see the great grace God has had on my life. And today, in heaven Mark knows I found the truth. The gift is good after all.