CHAPTER 8  PANIC


                           THE DECEITFULNESS OF SIN


                                      By

                                 Phil Scovell

                           Copyright (C) 2003/2007

                             All rights Reserved



                               CHAPTER 8  PANIC


          The feeling had  come upon him  early in the  evening but he  had
     kept himself busy  in the garage working  on various projects to  keep
     his mind  occupied.  When  his activities failed to  keep the thoughts
     suppressed, he  turned on  the radio and  tuned in  a local  Christian
     station but it helped little.

          Suddenly,  it was  as  if someone  tossed a  damp  coat over  his
     shoulders.  He  spun around as the fear gripped him and his frightened
     eyes darted wildly around the well lighted garage.  He could  swear he
     felt  someone,  or  something, in  the  garage  with  him.   He  stood
     listening and breathing  hard for several moments.  Nothing moved.  He
     hadn't put his car in the garage yet so he could see into every corner
     of  the large garage.  His heart felt  as if it would explode from his
     chest.  He laid his tools  down and leaned forward against a  sawhorse
     and gulped in air.

          Standing up, he felt  the coldness of the  garage, which he  knew
     was impossible this time  of year, but he refused to  move.  The truth
     was, he  was simply  too frightened to  move.   It felt as  though the
     garage floor tilted and he was looking at it sideways.  He blinked his
     eyes  several times and  the floor stabilized.   Now he felt  hot.  He
     swore softly.  Not because he wanted to but because he was sick of the
     torment he was  living with every single  day.  The panic  attacks had
     begun months  ago but they were few  and far between.   The minute his
     wife mentioned going  to see her sister  in Minnesota for a  week, the
     anxiety had begun.  He awakened several times a night and now that his
     wife was gone, the panic attacks had returned.  He'd read all sorts of
     psychology books in  recent weeks trying to  get a handle on  what was
     causing the panic attacks.  All it had done was confuse him even more.
     In fact, reading  about it seemed to  draw even more attention  to his
     problem.

          The coldness  returned as he stood at his  work bench and he felt
     the  waves of panic come and go as  he stood there.  He'd finally made
     an appointment with the pastor, knowing  it would mean the end of  his
     job with  the church, but he didn't know what  else to do.  Of course,
     he didn't tell the pastor everything; just enough to give him an idea.
     The  pastor had  listened and commented  little.  When  he finally did
     speak, he said,  "Tom, I'm  not very knowledgeable  of these types  of
     things;  most  pastors aren't.    I do  know  you've done  a  fine job
     teaching the young married Sunday school class and I've gotten nothing
     but good reports from everybody.  Your marriage counseling seems to be
     highly regarded in the  church by all who have  made appointments with
     you, too.   You've been pretty busy  these last few weeks  and keeping
     long hours as well.  You probably  need more time off than we give you
     here at the church.  I know I get very stressed out, as they say, with
     my involvement  here at the  church and I've found  myself taking more
     than  just Monday's  off.   With the  counseling schedule  you've been
     trying to keep, I'm recommending you do the same.  I'll bring it up at
     the next  meeting of the  board of elders  and recommend you  not only
     just work from Sunday through Thursday, but I will put in for at least
     three weeks of  vacation instead of  the one we  have given you.   One
     week just isn't enough.  I think that's all it is, Tom."

          The older  man sat  quietly until  Tom spoke  his agreement.   He
     wanted to tell the pastor there  was a whole lot more but he  knew the
     pastor would fire  him on the spot  if he told him the  truth.  Worse,
     the pastor would  probably recommend he be admitted  to a hospital and
     that thought alone kept his mouth tightly shut.

          Now, as he stood  in frozen fear in his garage, tears came to his
     eyes as he  felt the helplessness of his situation.  He was supposedly
     a marriage  counselor.   He had  a masters  degree from  a well  known
     seminary in  marriage and family  counseling.  That's what  had landed
     him this job  with such a  large church and  no experience.  He  loved
     teaching and he  loved working with the young couples.  He was only 28
     years old himself and  he and his wife  had been married for  8 years.
     They had  two children,  a boy  age  three and  a little  girl age  18
     months, but  they were older than all 25  couples in the young married
     class by three or four years.  He'd learned so much in the three years
     they'd been at the  church, too.   Now it all  was jeopardized by  the
     panic attacks which seemed to come and go for no reason.

          As the fear drained away and his heart began returning to normal,
     he felt  the sexual desire rising.  He  tried desperately to force the
     desires down by threatening himself with total failure and humiliation
     and loss  of job  and even  the loss  of his  marriage, but  all these
     threats were weak now and he knew it.  His mind  desperately scrambled
     for  a way out.   "Didn't the Bible  say we wouldn't  be tempted above
     that we  are able and God  would make a  way to escape?"   He couldn't
     even bring the chapter and verse to mind although he knew the verse by
     heart.  He  turned quickly, picked up  a nail and hammer,  and pounded
     nail after  nail after nail into  the footstool he had  been building.
     By the  time he had finished, the footstool was ruined and he threw it
     across the garage  and watched it  strike a pile  of bricks and  break
     apart.  He was breathing hard but the sexual arousal refused to abate.
     He held his hands up and looked at them.  They were shaking.  Suddenly
     he smelled tobacco smoke faintly  on the air.   He sniffed but it  was
     gone.   Oh how he wished he could have a cigarette right now.  "Not in
     this  church,  buddy,"  he  thought.    The  desire  for a  smoke  was
     overwhelming and he marveled at its strength within his thoughts.

          He listened  to his  thoughts then  and he  saw his  wife in  his
     mind's eye.  Since the children, their sex life had been poor at best.
     He tried his best to rationalize it because his wife was busy with the
     children and  the church work  but he  was a  man, after  all, and  he
     couldn't just  dismiss it all together.  It was the anger he felt next
     and  this time he  did nothing  to try  and stop it  from coming.   It
     wasn't the sort of anger that made him want to break or smash anything
     but a  form of anger that  made him feel  justified in his  actions to
     sin.  He didn't  want to be angry  or mad just  as he didn't want  the
     panic attacks  and the  raw  emotions of  fear  that come  with  panic
     attacks.   "At  least,"  he  reasoned, "the  anger  wasn't harmful  to
     anybody."

          It came then,  in full force, and  swept through his mind  like a
     strong wind.  He had no idea why he had this anger but he had it.  His
     father had it, he knew, so perhaps he inherited it.  He knew the anger
     was enhanced by  the lack of sexual intimacy he had  with his wife but
     somehow that did  not seemed related to  his subsequent behavior.   He
     wondered  about it briefly but couldn't  make the connection.  He knew
     there must be one somewhere or could it be just his debased, degraded,
     sinful nature for which he never seemed to be able to find victory?

          Suddenly he  felt the strong  desires, as if they  were magnetic,
     and he  turned  and entered  the  house;  hunting for  his  car  keys.
     Locking the house up, he glanced at his watch.  It was 10 o'clock.  It
     would be cool  now and a perfect  time for a drive; a  fast drive; the
     type he  loved as a kid driving his GTO all out and with his foot flat
     against the fire  wall.  He ran  through the house and turned  out all
     the lights and made  one more check to  be sure all doors  were locked
     and then he left by the garage.

          Climbing behind the wheel of his restored GTO, he listened to the
     powerful engine fire.  He watched  the garage door roll shut and  then
     slid the GTO into reverse and backed  out into the street.  The sinful
     thoughts in his mind, the voices that  urged him onward, the fear that
     the panic  attacks might intensify, the void  in his emotions with his
     wife and children gone, the  strong sexual arousal, and the wickedness
     growing in his mind, slammed him into  instant action.  He crammed the
     gear  shift into  first gear, pressed  the foot  feed half way  to the
     floor, and expertly lifted  his foot off the clutch; leaving  just the
     right amount  of pressure as  the clutch peddle  rose from  the floor.
     The racing  tires on the back of the car bit down and took hold of the
     warm pavement beneath the car and spun violently.  Smoke rose from the
     back of  the car as it gathered speed  and rubber burned from the back
     tires for  nearly a block.   Shifting smoothly into second,  he burned
     more rubber but quickly down shifted as he rapidly approached the stop
     sign at the  intersection.  He spun  the wheel perfectly at  the exact
     moment as he applied more power and the car, without stopping, rose on
     two wheels as  he rounded the corner.   The second the  wheels bounced
     back down on  the pavement, he  floored the GTO  and smell the  rubber
     burning  behind him as the  ground beneath the car began  to blur.  He
     laughed loudly as  the memories of his  youth flooded his mind  and he
     forced the  car to run faster and  faster.  He was out  in the country
     now, rocketing  down into  and out  of valleys, over  high hills,  and
     sliding  around sharp bends  in the road  at speeds that  no one would
     ever attempt in these parts.

          He geared down as he approached the big highway rolling  east and
     west.  He expertly merged with traffic, as little as there was heading
     west,  and soon  he was  passed  them all  and  disappearing into  the
     distance.

          Tom loved  driving fast  but he  rarely got  a ticket.   He  made
     careful notice  of his driving habits  and of the  roads he traversed.
     This particular road  had few  highway patrol  on it at  this time  of
     night and he  ratcheted up the Goat until the needle touched 120 Miles
     Per hour.

          The  events back  in his garage  slapped at  his mind and  he ran
     faster through the  night.  He hoped  if he drove long  enough through
     the darkness, he would soon be sleepy and he could return home and  go
     to bed without incidence.   The adrenalin, unfortunately, was  flowing
     and he felt alive and powerful and ready for anything.

          His goat flashed by something off  to the side that sat dark  and
     low.  He knew  what it was and he  quickly spun his radio dial,  after
     punching up one of the keys, and then typed in the desired frequency.

          "I couldn't tell what it was," the officer reported, "but  it was
     dark, low, and moving fast."

          "How fast," came the other disembodied radio voice.

          "My gun says 124 so you boys get the two cars down to Exit 71 and
     block that road."

          "What if he  drops off on the  first exit before that?"  came the
     reply.

          "He  won't," the  voice said, "cuz  he's going  to fast  for that
     right now.  I'm on my way and will be there shortly."

          Tom laughed to  himself and began to  slow his car to  the normal
     speed limit.  The cop couldn't see him when he had  flashed by because
     he  had a  special  dimmer circuitry  he had  added to  his electrical
     system.  With  the dark deep  green paint job, and  the lights cut  to
     dim, he was hard to see at high speeds at this time of night.  When he
     was almost to the spot he was looking for, he down shifted, and turned
     quickly down  a bumpy farm road.   He had to stop and  get out to open
     the gate.  Fortunately, he  had remembered to completely turn off  his
     lights  because the  highway patrol  car rolled  by doing  probably 80
     miles an hour.  Tom's GTO was down lower than the highway and in total
     darkness so  there was no way  the car could  have been seen.   He got
     back into his dark car and rolled it through the gate and then got out
     and closed  the  gate.   Then he  drove  slowly for  over a  mile  and
     repeated the process several times as he drove across the farm land in
     the darkness until highway 5 came up to meet him.  He turned right and
     drove the speed limit till he came to the truck stop.

          Parking his car,  he got out and  entered.  The place  was fairly
     crowded  at this time of  night.  Lots of  truckers parked here to eat
     and to  sleep before  turning  their big  rigs south  and heading  for
     Texas.  Tom had eaten here many times during his night time drives but
     tonight he  didn't  feel very  hungry.   He stopped  in  front of  the
     cigarette machine and dropping his  money in, he tapped the electronic
     switch for his favorite  brand, and retrieved them from the  tray when
     the pack slid free.  Leaving the noisy crowded little building, he sat
     behind  the wheel  of his  car thinking.   He  hated to admit  it, but
     cigarettes always helped him  calm down and get  his mind off  things.
     He hadn't smoked  cigarettes once, however, since taking  this new job
     at the church but  the panic attacks were driving him  to do things he
     normally wouldn't  have done.   Stuffing the package of  cigarettes in
     his  front shirt pocket, he  glanced around, and  finding his bible in
     the bucket  seat next  to him,  he picked  it up  and opened  it.   He
     thumbed through the Psalms; secretly asking the  Lord to take him to a
     verse that  would help him deal with the  pain he felt so deep inside.
     Nothing happened.   He felt  empty.   Turning to  the concordance,  he
     scanned down the list of words and  hoped he would fine something that
     would catch his attention.  Again, nothing.  He lay the bible down and
     grabbed the  steering wheel with  both hands and squeezed  so tightly,
     his knuckles  turned white.   Sighing heavily,  he leaned back  in his
     seat and stared out the windshield at the bright blinking neon lights.
     "Hank's Truck Stop," blinked red, white, and blue into the dark night.
     What breeze there was, made the large American flag rustle and snap on
     its 40 foot  pole where it was  lighted by four powerful  halogen spot
     lights.  He watched the reflection of the blinking lights bouncing off
     the chrome pieces of his car and  cried silently to himself and wished
     he were dead.

          Finally, sticking  the key in, he listened to the motor turn over
     instantly and begin to purr.  Backing  out, he drove back up on to the
     highway and headed east.

          Coming to  a rest stop  an hour later,  he pulled in  and parked.
     Getting out, he used the rest  room and upon returning to his  car, he
     leaned against  the side  of the  vehicle and  unwrapped  the pack  of
     cigarettes.  He had forgotten to pick up some matches so for the first
     time since he  had restored the  GTO he so  dearly loved, he used  the
     cigarette lighter to get his cigarette going.

          As he smoked, drawing the  smoke deep into his lungs,  he watched
     the lights from  the vehicles, as they  came and went, along  the dark
     highway a  hundred yards  away.   The smoke  smelled wonderful  but he
     coughed occasionally from not being used to it now.  Lighting a second
     cigarette, he  held the cigarette low and  glanced into the night sky.
     The stars were  bright and friendly.  He  strained as if to  see where
     God was in all of that beauty and then the sorrow came.

          He  was  a  Christian  with  a good  wife  and  wonderful  little
     children.   He had a good Christian job and  he loved the people.  His
     own marriage,  unfortunately, had  little intimacy in  it and  he felt
     empty and  alone and somehow  forgotten.  Every  time he and  his wife
     made love, it  was like someone  tossed a wet blanket  over them.   He
     shuttered at his  thoughts.  The  vivid thoughts in  is mind were  not
     what he wanted to see and he sucked hard on the cigarette as the anger
     rose to the surface.  If others knew  what he had done, he'd be out in
     a minute.   It all seemed so totally unfair,  too.  He could not think
     of  a single  thing he  had  done in  his  life that  would cause  the
     psychological  symptoms he  was now  having  so often.   The  thoughts
     seemed to bombard  his mind at  times as if  he were being  physically
     attacked by a million little  insects.  He tried  to use his brain  to
     sort out the  mess but logic no longer  seemed to work.   The Bible no
     longer  seemed to work  either.  He  tried to get away  from the urges
     germinating in  his thoughts  by recalling all  the times  he traveled
     across the country in  his Goat.  He'd driven the  entire width of the
     country twice trying to figure out who he was and he had only been  21
     at the time.

          Something attempted to  rise from the depth of  his childhood but
     he  forced it down.   He wasn't going to  allow that to surface again.
     The present circumstances and sinful desires were bad enough.

          Suddenly, he dropped his cigarette  and crushed it out.   He held
     the pack up and  he felt the anger burned inside.  He crushed the pack
     in his hand and ripped it apart; scattering the tobacco in the breeze.
     Tossing the remains  away, he turned and sat behind the wheel with his
     door open to let  in the cool night air.  He was  100 miles from home.
     No body knew him in these parts.  He could do what he was thinking and
     no one would ever be the wiser.  He sighed heavily.  It wasn't him and
     it wasn't what he wanted.  He suddenly wanted to be away from where he
     was.  He turned the key and the engine roared into life.   He spun the
     wheel violently to the  left and the car  swung in a half circle.   He
     slammed  his open  door  as he  pointed  the car  up the  road  to the
     highway.   He let the car drive  itself, or so it seemed,  and with it
     being dark and so late, few cars were on the road in either direction.
     He  watched  the  gages  as  they climbed  higher  and  higher.    The
     speedometer pegged and he knew  from experience and timed laps at  the
     speedways he  was doing 145 miles  per hour.   He drove with  a single
     finger on  the wheel and felt the car  almost floating over the smooth
     black top road.  It was the closest thing to flying he  could think of
     and he loved the sound of the engine when it released its power.

          Once he neared his  own town, he slowed and drove  even below the
     speed limit.   He threaded  the GTO through  the quiet streets  of the
     community until he was home.  The car rolled slowly into  the driveway
     and into the garage.   The door rolled  down behind him and he  sat in
     the darkness; listening to the pops  and cracks of the cooling engine.
     He felt  numb and  he also  felt the  fear bubbling  just beneath  the
     surface of his emotions.   He thought he heard voices  but shoved them
     off and climbed out of the car to do what he had come  home to do; the
     only thing  that ever gave him  a measure of  relief.  He  dreaded the
     guilt it generated but  it did help kill the pain for awhile.  He knew
     he was trapped but  he didn't know how to escape and  he couldn't tell
     anybody.

          Unlocking the  garage door that  entered the house, he  turned on
     the dinning room overhead lights.  He was  alone and in more ways than
     one.   He felt as if a 10  mile deep well had been driven down through
     his life  and his heart  dropped to the  bottom and covered  over with
     concrete.  Unfortunately, he knew, the demons had found his secret and
     they loved exploiting it.

          He walked woodenly,  almost if his legs were in  braces, down the
     hall to his bedroom.   He automatically switched on a hall light as he
     walked by it.

          When he reached his own bedroom, he stood for long moments gazing
     in; his arms hanging loosely at his  sides.  The bedroom curtains were
     open and  the moonlight  afforded some illumination.   The  back light
     from  the hall light  made a little forward  progress into the bedroom
     but not much; leaving  the majority of the room in  semi-darkness.  He
     willed himself not to move but  the panic began to return.  It  seemed
     as if it walked down  the hall behind him and slipped  passed him into
     the bedroom.  He saw it walk away, its back to him,  as it entered the
     darkness of the room.  His heart began beating so hard, he groaned out
     loud.  The sound was that of a  wounded animal as it forced its way up
     from the bottom of his life.  He knew of only one thing to relieve the
     pain  now.    He'd hoped  the  long  high speed  night  drive  and the
     cigarettes would be  enough but he knew  better.  He'd only  done this
     once, he mused,  since coming  to this  church and he  had hoped  that
     would be  the end of  it.  Instead,  he knew it  was giving in  but he
     could not stand the fear any longer.

          Standing  in front  of his  dresser, he  bent and pulled  out the
     bottom drawer.  Some of his shirts lay neatly stacked atop  each other
     and  he  lifted them  out.   Feeling  around for  the hidden  tabs and
     locating them, he lifted out the false bottom and sat it on the floor.
     Laying on top  of the silk was his  marijuana pipe.  He  lifted it out
     and placed  it on the  dresser top.   Pulling the plastic bag  out, he
     held  it up.   He had  enough for  now.  He  vowed he'd  never do this
     again.  This would be the last  time.  He'd even throw everything away
     after this one last time.

          After smoking  for a few minutes, he felt  relaxed.  At least the
     panic  was gone.   Carefully  laying the  pipe down, he  undressed and
     tossed his  clothing aside.   He  sat on  the edge  of the  chair he'd
     pulled over to  the dresser and  stared into  the opened drawer  below
     him.  The  clothes were expensive and  beautiful and silky.   He began
     removing each piece  one at  a time  and feeling  each one.   Then  he
     dressed.   Picking up  his pipe,  he sprinkled in  more marijuana  and
     smoked until he felt as if he were a cloud.  He  felt natural life and
     relaxed  and  electric  all  at  the   same  time.    His  heart  beat
     rhythmically and he felt new and fresh and himself.  He slipped on the
     shoes and walked to the full length  mirror in the bedroom and admired
     himself.    He hadn't  gained  any  weight  since he'd  purchased  the
     expensive clothes and everything fit perfectly.  "You feel like a real
     person now because this is who  you really are," came a soft  voice in
     his thoughts.   He felt  the smooth clothes  touching his skin  and he
     felt his  own sensuality coming to the surface.   He turned and walked
     back  to the opened bottom drawer and pull  the wig out.  Returning to
     the mirror, he  placed it upon his  head and adjusted it.   Now he was
     complete.  The long hair flowed down his back and he smiled.  He was a
     real woman now; exactly what he had always been.  The tightness of the
     feminine underclothes excited  him.  Even the caress  of the silkiness
     of the nylons  against his legs made  him feel whole.   The sensuality
     overcame him and his body tingled.  He turned to the bed and fulfilled
     his sexual lust alone in his bedroom.   When his raw lust had subsided
     and he was spent, he cried himself to sleep.

          When he  awakened two hours  later, the sun was  streaming in his
     bedroom windows.   He  felt spent and  exhausted and  half drunk.   He
     stumbled to the curtains  and closed them.  The room became semi-dark.
     He'd slept  in the clothes  and the memory  of the night  flooded back
     into  his mind.   His emotions  flared with  powerful desires  that he
     could hardly control.  His stomach turned  and he ran for the bathroom
     and vomited into the toilet.  Returning to the bedroom, he fought down
     the tremendous desires trying to overtake his thoughts.  Slowly, as if
     in  a dream, he removed all the female clothing and replaced it in its
     hiding place along with everything else.   He then took a shower  with
     it as hot as he could stand it for almost an hour.   He was so weak by
     the  time  he finished,  he  could  barely  put his  own  clothes  on.
     Dragging himself to  the kitchen, he got the coffee going and sat down
     to wait.  He  cried now;  so loud, he wondered if the neighbors heard.
     He had failed and enjoyed his failure  at the same time.  Overpowering
     thoughts cluttered his mind and  he even had thoughts of waiting  till
     dark  and doing it  all over  again.  Except  this time,  he wanted to
     leave the house dressed as a woman.

          He fumbled  with the coffee, spilling  more than he got  into the
     cup  due to his shaking hands.  He  carried it with both hands back to
     the table and  drank it; ignoring how it scalded his  tongue.  He knew
     he  could no longer stay  in the church.   He would eventually give in
     fully to his desires and he didn't even know why he did it.  He wasn't
     a transvestite nor a cross dresser.   He wasn't a homosexual; that  he
     knew without knowing  how he knew.  Why  did he do it then?   What was
     wrong with him?

          Wiping  his tears,  he picked  up  the telephone  and dialed  his
     oldest brother 500 miles away.  He would quit today and if his brother
     still had a  job for him in  the lumber yard, he'd  pack up everything
     and by the time his wife and children returned from their vacation, he
     would have everything moved.

     COMMENTS ON PANIC

          Panic attacks are  not pleasant.  I should know; I have had many.
     If you have never experienced panic, take the  scariest thing you have
     ever witness, such as  an automobile accident, or the  scariest horror
     movie you have  seen, or the time your  child ran into the  street and
     you ran after them and snatched them away from the spinning  wheels of
     the approaching truck.  Then  multiply that feeling times one million.
     That will  be about a tenth of what a panic attack feels like.  I know
     people  who hyperventilate  or  feel as  if they  are being  choked by
     unseen hands when  a panic attack  is full blown.   I know people  who
     have literally stopped breathing and  passed out due to panic attacks.
     It is a  good way of  having a heart attack,  too, because your  heart
     kicks into  over drive and  pounds as if  it is going  to explode from
     your chest.   You  break out  in a  cold sweat  and often your  vision
     becomes cloudy.   Additionally, if the panic attack  is severe enough,
     your  speech becomes  slurred  and  even  communicating  with  someone
     becomes difficult.  People trying to help often think you are having a
     seizure.  This alone makes it even worse.  What brings them on?  Not a
     single thing.  At least not anything you can put your finger on at the
     time.  They do have origin, however, but few are able to locate it  in
     order to be free.


          In my story about the young man who was a  youth pastor, he had a
     secret  sin.  Reading the story, you may  get the idea that the secret
     sin   was   dressing   up  in   women's   clothes,   including  female
     undergarments,  and smoking  marijuana.    If you  think  that is  his
     secret, you would be  wrong.  The  secret he has in  his heart is  one
     that even he has not  identified and that is, he thinks he should have
     been a woman.   Now from where did that idea come?   He has absolutely
     no knowledge he even has this concept  in his mind; he simply believes
     he  is crazy.   What  pastor, or  even  Christian counselor,  for that
     matter,  would disagree,  with his  own  diagnoses, if  he were  brave
     enough to share his  secret?  The problem is, however,  he isn't aware
     this is a lie in his  mind.  He has literally no idea  what drives him
     to dress  in women's  clothing.   There  can only  be, therefore,  one
     conclusion; he is crazy?

          Let me quickly point out that the young man is not homosexual nor
     is he  a transvestite.   A  transvestite is  a man  who wears  women's
     clothing, that is, a cross dresser.  The problem with the youth pastor
     in my story is buried in a memory he has not only  forgotten but never
     knew he had in the first place.

          The event occurred when  he was less than a year  old.  He walked
     into his parent's  bedroom one day looking  for his mother.   He found
     her,  too.  She was changing clothes  and was stark naked.  The little
     boy  had never seen  a naked woman  before.  His mother  wasn't a very
     modest person so she thought nothing of this event as she continued to
     dress in front of  her little boy.  Her little  boy, however, knew two
     things.  First,  he knew he  should not have  been in the bedroom  and
     seen his  mother this way.  He  does not know how he  knew this but he
     knew  it  nonetheless.    Secondly,   and  most  importantly,  he  was
     demonically influenced  at the  very moment he  saw his  naked mother.
     The devil took advantage  of the opportunity of  confusion to place  a
     single thought in  the little boy's mind, "See, you should have been a
     woman."   That  single event  followed  that man  throughout his  life
     without ever once surfacing until a horrible event of rejection forced
     it to the  surface.  The young man  thought he was a  failure; another
     demonic lie.  He felt somehow incomplete all his life; another demonic
     lie.  Until he  was filled with the Holy Spirit many years later as an
     adult, he even  secretly wondered if he  might not be homosexual;  yet
     another demonic lie.  Try carrying that weight around for a  few years
     and see how heavy it gets.

          One day, as he was  in full time ministry as a  youth pastor, the
     young man experienced,  in real life, the rejection of  such a titanic
     nature,  his mind overloaded  with the awareness that  he was not like
     other people and thus he was rejected for what he was, and wasn't, and
     what he could never be.  Without knowing it, the rejection tapped into
     the one  single, harmless, innocent,  unexpected event, which  had lay
     totally  dormant for  over  two decades,  and which  he  did not  even
     remember.   In  his mental  and  emotional and  spiritual anguish  one
     night,  without a  single  word being  spoken, he  dressed up  once in
     women's clothes when he was alone because something told him he  was a
     woman and not  a "real" man.   Can you  see how the  devil can use  an
     unholy planted  thought in  an innocent  mind and  then tap  into that
     thought through  a  traumatic event  of  something like  rejection  to
     literally destroy a  person's life?   How  do I know  this really  can
     happen?  Because the young man in the story I wrote about is me.

          during a prayer session with an  intercessor, the Lord took me to
     the original source of this demonic lie.  I could not understand it at
     first because  all I saw  was like  a single snap  shot picture of  an
     innocent  event  that  occurred when  I  was a  little  boy.   Nothing
     happened, I  wasn't molested,  and no sin  was perpetrated  by anyone.
     The devil, however,  took a single opportunity to  penetrate my little
     unsuspecting mind to plant a lie which he later would exploit in order
     to try and destroy me  spiritually.  It almost  worked.  I carried  my
     secret  lie for over  45 years and never  new I had  it until the Lord
     revealed His truth about it to me through prayer.

          During my  intercessory prayer session,  the Lord revealed  to me
     that I had  been deceived without  even committing any  sin.  Over  20
     years later, the devil used the  same lie to cause a reaction  related
     to another  event which also had  no sin in it.   I was rejected  by a
     church, for whom I worked as a  youth pastor, because I was blind  and
     they told  me a blind man could not pastor a church.  I felt as though
     all life had been sucked from my  body.  I Never had experience   this
     type of devastating rejection.  My reaction?  They rejected me because
     something was wrong with me.  I refused to believe it was my blindness
     because  they literally asked me  to remain as  the interim pastor for
     several months until  they got  another full  time pastor.   So if  it
     wasn't my blindness  and it wasn't my theology or  ability, since they
     said theologically they couldn't ask for a better man to fill the job,
     what  was it?   My mind  was blank  and empty.   I could  not think so
     someone else did the thinking for me.   "It's because you really are a
     woman," and that was not God speaking either.

          25 years  later, following  the rejection,  as I  sat in  a man's
     office and we prayed together, the Lord took me to these  memories and
     showed me His truth about how I had been deceived,  without committing
     sin, as a little boy who did not understand what he saw.  The Lord, in
     a  moment of  time, identified  the  lie implanted  demonically in  my
     little mind, and then tied to events together by drawing a line across
     the years into the future where I was  rejected to the point I lost my
     personal identity  as a  man for  a moment  in time.   What  happened?
     Jesus  spoke His  truth about  me  and my  masculinity, the  devil was
     exposed, the  lie  was  blown  free  of my  life,  and  the  pain  and
     woundedness was healed.  I had not sinned;  I had been deceived by the
     master Deceiver.  Now he had been exposed and the truth of God's  Word
     had been  spoken  experientially and  I  was  set free  and  the  pain
     dissolved.  I was free and I was a man and knew it as God saw me.  Joy
     replaced the guilt and  shame and Satan was once again  defeated.  How
     do I know  I was healed?   I can return to  the event and there  is no
     more pain or  confusion or doubt.   Additionally, I can talk  about it
     freely without guilt or shame.

          So what about your  panic attacks?  What are they?  They are only
     an indicator that something needs to  be healed by the Lord.   I trust
     you see from  this story, including the genuine aspects  of the story,
     that it doesn't even  have to be sin that was  committed for the devil
     to take advantage  of a circumstance.   In the church, we  have missed
     this almost all together.  Why have we missed it?  We decided what God
     meant a  long time  ago and  then drew  up rules  and regulations  and
     creeds and  prayers and positions  and boards and committees  and even
     created  whole denominations to govern our spiritual relationship with
     God and  then  replaced  and  misplaced the  love  of  the  Lord  with
     performance based Christianity.   The remedy?  Repent  as a church and
     then begin following Jesus.

          Additionally,  we  need to  educate  ourselves in  areas  we have
     forsaken and said only the "professional" are capable of helping those
     who are  "mentally ill."  For example,  2 Corinthians 2:11 says, "Lest
     Satan should get  an advantage of us:  for we are not  ignorant of his
     devices."   The  problem  is  currently, we  are  ignorant of  Satan's
     devices  as a  church Body.    We are  allowing him  to  undermine and
     subvert the hearts and  minds of born again believers by  simply doing
     nothing.  Jesus said in Matthew  21:13, His house would be called  the
     house of prayer.   I have been  in many churches in  my travels and  I
     have  seen a lot  of Christians pray but  I have never  once been to a
     church that prayed  so much,  the community around  it thought it  was
     called the  house of  prayer.  No  wonder we  are ignorant  of Satan's
     devices.  By  the way,  the translation  of the word  "devices" is  (a
     mental  perception or  an  evil  thought).   Are  we that  spiritually
     sensitive in  our churches that  we recognize these devices  that have
     been  perpetrated upon  God's people  and are  we able to  do anything
     about it as  Bible Believers?  Apparently not, in  most cases, because
     generally  such people are referred to "the professionals" which means
     those who  can  prescribe  drugs.   Forgive  us  Lord  Jesus  for  not
     believing your Word and  forsaking those in  our midst who are  crying
     out for help.


                               End Of Chapter 8


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