And There Are Brothers

 

And There Are Brothers

^{Hebrews 1:7 “}And of the angels he saith, Who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire.”

^{Colossians 2:18 “}Let no man beguile you of your reward in a voluntary humility and worshipping of angels, intruding into those things which he hath not seen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind,”

^{Judges 13:20 “}For it came to pass, when the flame went up toward heaven from off the altar, that the angel of the Lord ascended in the flame of the altar. And Manoah and his wife looked on it, and fell on their faces to the ground.”

^{Genesis 18:2 “}And he lift up his eyes and looked, and, lo, three men stood by him: and when he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the ground,”

      I will not write out of authority here for I have little experience.  I can share what I can and it is not in length of angels and their ministry to us.  However, this morning I am taken down the dark path of recollection.  So painful I lost nearly everything, but the hand of God intervened.

     1995 was the year.  San Vito al Tagliamento was the place.  My family and I suffered the exodus from Ramstein AFB, Germany to Aviano AFB, Italy.  Two squadrons of F-16 aircraft were displaced and descended upon a small village verily in want of living quarters and necessary accommodations.  Stress?  Well, my wife and family with two little ones sought comfort while waiting assignment.  Finally, the orders came through and we were off to join the others stationed.  Finding a rental house forty-five minutes from base was what was left.  Italian traffic of narrow roads and challenging flow threatened every day.  And we drove a full- sized Chevy van.

     Previously on edge with a “mood disorder” diagnosis at Ramstein and put on lithium, I took the pills with me as I cleared screening to be assigned the new base.  Ironically, my wife got caught up in tape needing special clearance for her eye problem.  Italian specialists were few.  Make no mistake, in some ways Italy just barely made it out of third world status.  Health care resembled our 1950’s accommodations.  Stainless steel and low lighting followed the crucifix on the wall while the nurses cursed us.  It’s a story.

     I ramped up as my disorder called for.  All the newness was too much for me.  I grabbed for something.  I thought it was God.  The voice came to me.  We had pleasant talks back and forth on my commute to work.  This thing gained my trust as I gave over sensibility to it.  Following its command, I acted and spoke as it gave direction.  In clarity, there were not many voices but one distinct coming as a small still voice to my mind.  As you would hear a loud thought, he came to daily.  That almost got me killed.

     The voice told me to buy expensive running shoes.  It told me to drink a new diet of Coca-Cola continually.  Sleep was little and paranoia struck my normal affections for my wife.  It was me and the voice against the world.  I had him, my precious.  God revealed.  Something I had in infatuated desire sought since hearing a prophet previously in Florida.  That experience ignited a flame in me never quenched by rudimentary Baptist denial of Holy Spirit workings of today.  I had seen.  I had heard.  God was a supernatural God and He had come to me.  So I thought.

     “Get off the tracks.”  Again, the small still voice came, but it proved to be safety for me this time.  I obeyed as before and the train came from behind to miss my body huddled down a grass embankment.  After it had passed, the voice said to beginning running again.  In my red sweatpants, in the middle of the night, I started running again.  I believe God intervened there to save my life.  Deception was having its way with me but there was a limit.

     In the end, my commander and first sergeant paid my home in San Vito a visit.  They didn’t find me there immediately.  Maybe I was out running.  Coming in the back door, I met their faces.  The gig was up.  The out processing of the Air Force started there.  Curiously, the United States government did not want me touching their twenty-two million dollar aircraft anymore.

    A straight jacket of sorts bound me to England for two weeks of observation.  My conduct there convinced them I was truly on a manic high.  I told them of the voice.  Oddly, speaking in tongues which I started in Italy, did not leave me.  Me and God had lots of quiet time being secluded in my room.  The voice left me.  Possibly medication brought back mental stability to me.  Fog takes me now.  Somewhere in leaving the Air Force, my senses regained and I found myself at Offutt AFB, Nebraska.  There I pledged allegiance to Jesus again as the only true One.  Shame covered me as I confessed my willingness to follow a demon.  Months of reprogramming followed as I strained to hear the actual voice of God speaking to me in promptings not in loud thoughts.

      Jump ahead to the year 2003.  Working at IBP in Dakota City, Nebraska, my wanting of a supernatural experience did not wither but flared up again with the trial of my daughter Abigail.  Born with Down syndrome found her with many tubes stuck in her at Children’s Hospital in Omaha.  I was left to my own for three months in Sioux City commuting to see her on weekends as I remember.  Stress knocked my being off kilter.  Mania again ramped up.  I gradually lost touch and met “the voice” again one night at work.  Loudly screaming lyrics into the noise of the warehouse, I met the spirit on the Pallet Deck.  He said, “I can come to you now.”  These words I heard plainly in my mind.  Clearly from an outside source, I determined to be it God.  Who else would come?

     In short, this new voice as the one in Italy before preferred my destruction.  For eight months I followed its recommendations until I was fully consumed in its fellowship.  I again had my precious.  It was him and me against the world for no one understood my new relationship including my wife.  After securing other witnesses, she called the police and they took me to detox at the mental ward of Saint Luke’s Hospital.  After evaluation and medication, they released me.

     Back to senses, I ashamedly tried to earn back trust of my wife and others about.  Following the mania crash, I struggled to rebuild Cory.  What was reality?  Where did God fit in and did I continue to pursue Him?   I found security in quietly warming a pew in the local Baptist church.  No supernatural.  Nothing to lead me asunder just the good old fashioned hymn book as my guide.  A part of Cory laid down in death it seemed.

     Pole vault ahead to Radiant Life Community Church about 2009.  A Pentecostal church open to spiritual manifestations.  It was there I experimented with hearing from God again.  Very tentatively for my family was at stake.  Would the head again lose his mind?  I gambled.  I set up safeties in the counsel of my wife, pastor, and his wife.  I gave permissions to them to confront me if my spirit strayed into deception.  Very close connections finally made my spiritual journey possible.  Recently a counselor affirmed my gifting and said it was a shame it was not brought under discipleship earlier for the good of the Kingdom.  At age fifty-three, I tried again.

     Sending up my antenna, I submitted myself to psychiatric doctors and kept my mania under control.  In this state, I listened while I confessed to Him my inability to lead myself.  Total reliance came as I relied on inner leading again.  Scary?  Yes.

    After testing this new relationship of interaction with a spirit, I finally relaxed my guard and said “ok.”  After two years of transparency with vocalization of what was going on within me, I found peace abounding around me.  If this new spirit was demonic, it certainly kept its manners as an angel of light.  My recent conversation verified the logic I had.  My wife had no suspicions of mania.  As for her and others evaluating my spirit, I got the green light.

     Has God come to me?  Has personal prophecy allowed me to hear His voice on my tongue?  Time continues to tell.  As of present, we hold conversations as He offers recommendations on issues of the day.  I consult Him on the tough decisions which drive the family.  He has not failed.  Prophetically, I discern His voice.  Not in overwhelming thoughts as before.  He comes as a gentleman.  I can take His counsel or leave it.  Freedom He has given me and guilt finds no place to control me.

     After thirty years of seeking God, I think I have finally come to the sensitivity to Him which fulfills my spiritual quest.  He indeed is my Lord.  I am His slave.  Yet, I retain the right to not follow when I doubt.  He does not require blind followership.

     This writing is titled And There Are Brothers for there must be guardians.  I have little knowledge of them.  Certainly, I do not see angels but I think they are here.  How they influence I do not know.  I have known demons and the way they control.  God’s angels must act differently.

     Praise God!  Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.  Over the last three years, I have found this true.  Blessings I enjoy in making quality decisions in time.  From where Cory lacked in leadership, I have found an excellent counselor.  I have welcomed Him into my court.  Daily I bend my ear to Him.  He has not let me down yet.