Lauren’s Story:
I lay in bed, my heart racing as the door creaked open. I clenched my teeth and shut my eyes, willing myself not to look into the dark, brooding corners of my room.
Will I ever be free? I thought as despair clawed at me, dragging me down. Pulling my soft, blue cover over my head, I began rocking side to side, hoping to silence the dread tightening around my chest.
“Nothing’s there,” I whispered to myself, but my pulse quickened and my shoulders tensed.
My brother Mike’s words echoed in my memory: “You’re so naïve. Stupid. A goody two-shoes. I’m going to do something about that.”
He had come back from Vietnam a stranger, a shadow of his former self. Darkness clung to him from an occult in Vietnam that had hollowed out his soul. He was determined to drag me down too. After his return, there had been several mornings I had awakened to his dark, evil eyes watching me as he chanted unintelligible words.
On this night, he wasn’t there, but the shadows prevailed. Chanting grew louder, a rhythmic, monotonous drone that vibrated through my bones. “Lauren, we know you can hear us. Turn around and invite us in. Just four words: Come into my heart.”
“God, help me,” I murmured, fighting the urge to scream. The voices hammered at my mind, pounding like tribal drums, rhythmic and relentless. I’m only twelve, I thought. Just let me be!
I clung to the words of the Lord’s Prayer, my lifeline in this darkness. “Our Father, who art in heaven,” I began. My voice trembled as I clung to each line. “Deliver us from evil,” I recited.
The voices fell silent. I stopped rocking, my breath shallow as I peered from beneath my blanket. Eight hooded figures in pitch-black robes stood around my bed, their hollow eyes gleaming.
A chill crawled over me as one figure leaned forward, a hiss escaping from the shadows beneath the hood. “You’ll never escape, Lauren. You’re blood-bought and bound to us.”
I bolted upright, stumbling out of bed and toward the slightly open door. Terror fueled my sprint downstairs to my parents’ room. I burst in, gasping for air. “Mom! Dad! They’re… upstairs. Black hooded things talking to me!”
My father groaned, barely roused from sleep. “Go back to bed, Laurie. It’s just a nightmare. Face your fears.”
I sank onto the staircase, staring into the dark above me, dreading what waited there. Even the thought of my father’s belt was less terrifying than the evil lurking in my room.
Morning came, and I dragged myself through school, haunted and exhausted. Years passed, but the visits continued. Sometimes I’d be left alone for months, but the dark hooded figures would return, tormenting me until I was afraid to sleep. Only David, my steadfast friend and later husband, knew of my struggle.
One day during grad school, I drove to class, my heart heavy with dread. In the empty passenger seat beside me, a malevolent presence appeared, the air thickening with oppressive evil.
The thought struck my mind like a command. End it all. Just jump out of the car. See that bridge? Over the edge and into hell.
My hands clenched the steering wheel, desperate to resist, but a vicious force tugged at my thoughts. “You’ll never be free. You are mine, blood-bought,” the voice hissed.
“Leave me alone! You’re not my father!” I screamed, jerking the wheel to dodge an oncoming car, narrowly avoiding disaster.
Just then, a warm, calming presence flooded the car, and I felt an inexplicable peace. Moments later, I slipped quietly into the back of my classroom, but the weariness weighed me down.
“Lauren, I’d like to speak with you,” my professor said after class ended.
I hesitated but nodded and followed him outside. “I’ve noticed you’re falling asleep often,” Dr. Williamson began. “But it’s not just that, is it? You’re being haunted.”
My blood froze. “How…how do you know?”
Dr. Williamson looked at me with compassion. “It’s called a word of knowledge. God wants to help you, Lauren.”
I felt my defenses rise. “I’ve tried everything. I prayed the ‘Our Father,’ but nothing changed. God doesn’t care.”
“Lauren, have you ever invited Jesus into your heart? Truly?”
Her words hit like an invitation to freedom. “I don’t know. I thought I did. I mean, I know about Jesus.”
“Knowing about Him is different from knowing Him. Would you like to be free of these spirits forever?”
My throat tightened. “What do I need to do?”
Dr. Williamson knelt, beckoning me to join her under a towering oak. “Let’s pray.”
I closed my eyes, pouring my desperation into each word. “Father God, forgive me. I’ve been angry and hurt and scared. I need Your grace. Free me from this darkness.”
On the cross Jesus had borne God’s wrath caused by human evil. Jesus said, “It is finished” when he paid for every last sin. Death and evil were conquered forever. The evil powers that had been tormenting me were defeated when Jesus died and bodily rose from the grave. Now I could embrace that freedom!
The weight lifted in an instant. My shoulders felt light, my spirit cleansed. Joy I’d never known before filled me.
Years of fear melted away. I was truly free. I knew I had surrendered to the one power that could ever truly save me—Jesus Christ.
From that moment, my life changed irrevocably. The relentless darkness that had clung to me for years like a second skin was gone, replaced by a profound sense of purpose and peace. I was filled with a power not my own but from God Himself. I knew I was no longer alone in this world. His Spirit was my steady friend.
The years of torment had prepared me for compassion. Now, I could see brokenness in others. Weary souls hiding their scars behind forced smiles. Those burdened with invisible chains.
The Spirit gave me words that cut through the lies. I began to speak God’s Word with authority and compassion.
I finally understood the meaning of Isaiah’s words Jesus read in the synagogue in Nazareth:
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me … He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners …
to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:18-19, Isaiah 61:1-2).
Then Jesus added, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4:21).
I was set free, and Jesus now uses me to help set others free.
Photo by Peter Herrmann on Unsplash
