CHAPTER 8 PANIC
THE DECEITFULNESS OF SIN
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
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
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
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
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
"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
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
Go To: Chapter 9 - Anger
Go To HOME