I think that the enemy smiles when he thinks about America and western civilization as a whole. I think the spiritual side of life has been rationalized and explained to the point of obliterating any concept of him and his power over people. There is a complacency that comes along with the good and privileged life that many enjoy. Many people have nice homes and cars and enjoy the comfort that the newest technology provides. I think this masks his work and breeds insensitivity.

Some of our experiences overseas were very different. Seeing the hand of the devil at work in people’s lives was more raw and in your face. Witch doctors practiced their trade and were called on to heal and provide guidance. Men in trances would be able to do unthinkable things without seeming to feel the pain. I went to church one morning with the boys. I don’t remember where my husband was that morning. The older boys went out to the Sunday school class. I found it interesting that the children were not staying in the building, but were going to have their class at a home around the corner. There was a guest evangelist who was speaking. After the sermon he was calling on people to come forward and let him lay his hands on them and pray for them. I remember the congregation standing and I stood, holding my sweet little baby to my shoulder. As he prayed for a man in the congregation, the man fell to the floor writhing and screaming. I will never forget the sound of his screams. I will never forget how his body shuddered on the floor and how the pastor prayed for his release. As the screaming continued, I snuck out the back door with my little one cradled close. The pastor’s wife was outside, and patted my back, kind of smiling apologetically. What really interested me was the fact that all of the white people, myself and a few other men in attendance, had snuck out the back. What made us all so uncomfortable at being faced with this?

Another point that I have grappled with is the concept of “possession”. The man who screamed in great agony, was a man I met at church each week. He regularly attended. He was part of the congregation. Had he ever given his heart completely to the Lord? Is that how the enemy ensnared him?

I struggled with this too when it was suggested to me that my friend was possibly possessed by an evil spirit which led her to the point of receiving a head injury from which she never recovered. My heart has grappled with that suggestion since I first heard it. I saw how much she loved Jesus. I heard her praise the Lord throughout adversity and suffering. I know absolutely that Jesus was her Lord. So, how was there any room for such possession? It really made me wonder how she did receive her essentially fatal injury. I have been completely unsettled by it.

I appreciate it when people purposefully draw me to consider the spiritual battles raging in this world. Its easy to pretend it isn’t happening. It is easy to get complacent. It is easy to focus anger on politicians, shooters of small children, and other people who do unspeakable things. However Ephesians 6:12 says, “For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against might powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.”

She was my faithful walking partner. After school, we’d load up baby Ryan in the stroller and take a hike around the roads in the neighborhoods. By the time that I was walking with her, I had a pretty good feeling for the main walking paths. That took some time. During my first months in Salatiga, I did not have a feel for the roads at all. But by the time of this walk, I had learned quite a bit. I remember that we walked a familiar path, in the depths of the jungle. We came to a T in the road and we knew where the road to the right went, but had never taken the road to the left. We decided we would give it a try. We walked around two corners and ended up walking through an area where we sensed we were very foreign. There were quite a few mosques and everyone who looked at us did so with some surprise and others with some hostility. We definitely had a sense of not belonging in the area and we knew that they had rarely seen foreigners. We talked about turning around a few times, but continued on the path, believing that we would come to a road to take to the right that we could take home. We did get more and more confused. We had been walking for a long time with a baby in the stroller. We had no idea where we were. Finally, we ended up at another T in the road and it was a main busy road. There were many cars and motorcycles. We had no idea what road it was and we couldn’t tell how to get back home. We decided to turn right, knowing that it would generally take us closer to home. I remember walking with her, feeling more and more concern. Mt. Merbabu was clouded over and we couldn’t use any of the mountains as a gauge for our location. We just kept walking. Suddenly I saw it, and my heart sunk. It was a concrete fence, and it was very distinct. It was the fence for the slaughterhouse to the west of town. I remember the shock of seeing it and saying, “Oh! I know where we are!!” And, I felt so discouraged because I knew how far away we were from home. I knew where to turn and how to get home. When we were about 20 minutes from getting back home, Ryan fell apart. He was hungry, he was tired of being in the stroller, and he wanted to be home too. By the time we got home we were exhausted but truly relieved. We didn’t have cell phones back then. We had no way to reach our spouses. We decided we would stick to paths that we knew from then on! I remember Casey’s shock when I had him drive me on the path, showing him how far we had walked. He couldn’t believe it. Sometimes it is good to be adventuresome and to try out a new path, but there are some cases where it just isn’t wise.

I had some incredible piano teachers.  Now that I am older I wish that I had practiced harder and had tried to learn more about musical theory.  I am so thankful for all they taught me though, and I remember that to play a piece well, you had to practice.  After attending a writer’s conference, I learned that writing well also takes practice. And, one should practice writing like a discipline.